Overdue
Today is the anniversary of Henry's due date. In other words, ten days until his birthday.
Last year, May 27th was a Sunday. I was hiding at home, letting the phone ring and not answering it. Trying to come up with good reasons to miss work the following day. Avoiding the internet and an inbox full of questions and good intentions. No, he hadn't come yet and yes, we swear we'll tell you when he does. My personal biology was letting everyone down.
Somewhere in the seventh or eighth month of my pregnancy, something about my exam led my midwife to tell me that I might go a little early, not too early and not to worry, but to pay attention to my printed list of early labor symptoms and not to travel too far out of town. Maybe it was that, maybe it was total naivety, but for whatever reason, it just never occurred to me that I would still be pregnant on May 28th.
As the date closed in, I expected something to happen. Lying in bed, at my desk at work, my body groaned and creaked but did not go into labor. I was restless, anxious, sometimes depressed. I sobbed to Mike that I would never give birth, that Ignatz would petrify inside me and I would be forced to carry around a stone child for the rest of my life. Hormones are a tricky thing.
At one week past my due date we went on a date - took in a movie, ate some spicy Thai food, and finally started to see the humor of our situation. As we left the movie theater, a woman asked me when I was due and I enjoyed answering, "A week ago." The man at the gas station decided not to charge me for my ICEE after I gave him the same answer. Other people who'd been just as late, even later, came out of the woodwork to reassure me that I would eventually have to have this baby.
On Monday, when I was one week and one day overdue, the midwives scheduled me for induction that Friday morning. On Tuesday afternoon, 9 days overdue, I met Kristy for a pep talk. Beached like a manatee on the couch in the coffee shop, I ate the largest piece of coffee cake I'd ever seen. I headed home and let Oskar out into the gray afternoon.
And then my water broke, and as I trudged from the parking garage into the hospital that evening, I finally had my first contraction. And then my next and my next and my next, 4 minutes apart. It was on.
Henry was born at lunchtime the next day, on June 6th, ten days late. This year I'm celebrating his due date too, because it makes a nice countdown kickoff to his birthday, just for us. T minus 10 days until he's a year old. He took his time getting here, and we have savored every moment since.
Oh, and there is pie, but it's still cooling as I type. Patience. In everything.
Last year, May 27th was a Sunday. I was hiding at home, letting the phone ring and not answering it. Trying to come up with good reasons to miss work the following day. Avoiding the internet and an inbox full of questions and good intentions. No, he hadn't come yet and yes, we swear we'll tell you when he does. My personal biology was letting everyone down.
Somewhere in the seventh or eighth month of my pregnancy, something about my exam led my midwife to tell me that I might go a little early, not too early and not to worry, but to pay attention to my printed list of early labor symptoms and not to travel too far out of town. Maybe it was that, maybe it was total naivety, but for whatever reason, it just never occurred to me that I would still be pregnant on May 28th.
As the date closed in, I expected something to happen. Lying in bed, at my desk at work, my body groaned and creaked but did not go into labor. I was restless, anxious, sometimes depressed. I sobbed to Mike that I would never give birth, that Ignatz would petrify inside me and I would be forced to carry around a stone child for the rest of my life. Hormones are a tricky thing.
At one week past my due date we went on a date - took in a movie, ate some spicy Thai food, and finally started to see the humor of our situation. As we left the movie theater, a woman asked me when I was due and I enjoyed answering, "A week ago." The man at the gas station decided not to charge me for my ICEE after I gave him the same answer. Other people who'd been just as late, even later, came out of the woodwork to reassure me that I would eventually have to have this baby.
On Monday, when I was one week and one day overdue, the midwives scheduled me for induction that Friday morning. On Tuesday afternoon, 9 days overdue, I met Kristy for a pep talk. Beached like a manatee on the couch in the coffee shop, I ate the largest piece of coffee cake I'd ever seen. I headed home and let Oskar out into the gray afternoon.
And then my water broke, and as I trudged from the parking garage into the hospital that evening, I finally had my first contraction. And then my next and my next and my next, 4 minutes apart. It was on.
Henry was born at lunchtime the next day, on June 6th, ten days late. This year I'm celebrating his due date too, because it makes a nice countdown kickoff to his birthday, just for us. T minus 10 days until he's a year old. He took his time getting here, and we have savored every moment since.
Oh, and there is pie, but it's still cooling as I type. Patience. In everything.
posted by mrotzie at 9:06 PM
4 Comments:
I was there on the 7th for a client meeting, got your room number, thought of you and your new baby lovingly and went home. Crazy how they just show up, eventually or suddenly and change everything.
"Hormones are a tricky thing."
Quite possibly, my favorite line ever written on pregnancy.
Even after almost a year, 10 days still seems like a long time to wait...
I love pie. I wish we weren't going to be in Duluth for the party. Miss you.
Can't wait to see your latest photoset of the little man! Happy Birthday Henry!
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