It’s not that I don’t WANT to update…it’s that I have nothing to update.

Baby is still on lock-down, I’m still working, & it’s pretty much just a waiting game.

Scratch that. I’m actually not working today & taking sick time because I feel like crap on a stick. Deep-fried, since it’s almost state fair time. My throat hurts. My head hurts. My stomach hurts. Actually…I can’t really think of anything on me that doesn’t hurt or isn’t sloshing with fluid. So I decided to spend the day on the couch in jammies with a cup of coffee.

Except true to myself, my mind is already racing with things that I should/could/would get done — mop the floors. dust. make meatloaf & mashed potatoes for dinner. & brownies for dessert. take Tuck to the dog park. have a baby.

HAVE A BABY.

Which adds to the frustration. Because I KNOW he’ll come when he wants. & I want him to come when he & my body are both ready because that’s the way it’s supposed to happen. & I’m not THAT overdue, so I really shouldn’t be constantly bitching.

But It would be really awesome if I found myself sitting in a puddle of amniotic fluid in a moment or two.

It’s not me. It’s you. You are disgusting & therefore, I’m evicting you as of this morning.

Since I promised not to take pictures, I’ll just leave you with a visual. Remember this guy?

yeah, that’s what a mucus plug looks like. Minus the hair. & the ability to fly during a sweeping cinematic ballad.

oh, p.s. as of yesterday, I was one centimeter! One glorious, lone centimeter in one night! ’tis time to throw confetti & break out the champagne!!

As a disclaimer, not advice on the blog. At all. I put myself out there publically & fully expect & appreciate feedback.

It’s the “advice” at work from the accounting assistant. In the coffee shop from the teenager behind the counter. From my father-in-law, who knows nothing of birth or childbearing. On Facebook.

I am exhausted of this conversation:
Friend/Family/Stranger: “Have you had the baby yet?”
Me: “No, not looking like it for another week or two!” You know, blase. Not stressed out, just taking it all in stride.
Friend/Family/Stranger: “He could come anytime!! You never know!” ::wink wink nudge nudge::

EFF. OFF.

I know. I’m over-reacting. People mean well & at my core, I appreciate their desire to reassure & encourage me. But NOTHING makes my hormones flare like unsolicited advice when I’m just. trying. to. keep. my. damn. cool. When I spend my entire brain power flip-flopping from being so incredibly frustrated that I have not progressed in 3 weeks versus knowing I can go from 0-10 cm in mere hours. It’s mentally exhausting, so when you toss hormonal over-reaction into the equation…I feel like I’m 2.5 seconds away from exploding.

Because I KNOW that labor can happen with no symptoms. But 3 days away from my due date, 2 days in a row in the doctor’s office, & still ZERO progress…I start feeling overwhelmed. Like I’m drowning in pregnancy. Like I will NEVER EVER have this baby. & although I know that’s borderline medically impossible, a flippant retort from my doctor that I could “easily” be pregnant another two weeks sent me right over the edge. I cried the entire way home.

Because yesterday, for the first time, I felt READY to meet my son. & the disappointment & dashing of that dream made me feel like I was sinking & drowning in this pregnancy.

So accounting assistant, unless you are an OB that moonlights as a number-cruncher, don’t pat my arm condenscendingly & tell me that most babies are late & not to worry. Because people don’t really know when they get pregnant. BITCH, I DO KNOW.

Not my water. Not pee. So we’re left with my fat ass just squeezing out all the remaining fluid from the hose-down on Sunday afternoon.

oh, and ZERO dilation. 50% effaced. Still not dropped.

It’s looking like I could easily be pregnant another two weeks since I am not remotely “inducable.”

I’ll update more later when I stop standing in a corner & screaming my bloody ears off.