And while I have reached the set scientific date of my child's birth, it doesn't look like we will be meeting our tiny human on Will and Kate's wedding anniversary after all. In fact, at yesterday's doctors appointment, we learned that our little miracle is avoiding progress by working it's way backwards.
Smart kid; this world's pretty messed up, so it's probably safer in my womb anyway.
Back at thirty-six weeks, I was told I was one centimeter dilated, sixty-to-seventy percent effaced, and baby was sitting at a negative three station. It was the perfect finding a month before my due date, and set me into my nesting frenzy. But then our next cervical check at thirty-eight weeks found us dilated one more centimeter-a generous two-fifty percent effaced, (yes, that's less effaced than the previous check) but baby had moved it's way down and engaged to a negative one station.
Two steps forward, one step back.
The doctor said that effacement-like everything else-is subjective at this point, and the position of the baby, the time of day, and a million other things can factor into why I seemed to be less effaced at that particular appointment, so I just rejoiced in the fact that baby had moved down and engaged, and let the rest go.
But at our thirty-nine week appointment, we were still two centimeters dilated, fifty percent effaced, and baby had moved it's way back up to a negative three station, where it remains today.
No steps forward, one more step back.
Again, the doctor just explained that these checks are at best subjective, and not to get discouraged because things are definitely moving along at this point.
It's a good thing I love being pregnant, or I may have lost my mind by now. I'm still setting in the minority of enjoying every second of carrying this child, though it's becoming difficult to paint my toenails, swelling has increased again and the weight gain is picking up suddenly after a long lull, but I still feel amazing.
My body is changing once again and I can feel the subtle differences, but I can't help but revel in the beauty of being a vessel to a new life. I've dreamed of this chapter in my life for years now, and knowing it could very well end at any moment makes me appreciate everything about this precious time I have to share with my child; time I will never get back.
Especially since my days are numbered.
I'm blessed to have a doctor who knows and respects how strongly I feel about having as natural a birth as possible, and he's willing to let me go up to a day short of forty-two weeks before giving our tiny human an eviction notice; but unless this child comes on his or her own before May 12th, they will be forced out.
After all this time and all infertility has robbed me of, I long for the experience of going into labor on my own, however painful and inconvenient it may be. There's nothing like choosing your child's birthday to suck the anticipation out of an infertiles dreams of having their first child, and it makes me sad to think that since this little one seems to be working it's way backwards into my womb instead of forwards, we may miss out on the excitement of the unknown birthday.
So my prayer is not only that this baby is and remains healthy, but that God allows the baby to come on it's own, and not on a doctors timeline. I so badly want to experience everything about this process, and I fully intend to avoid a planned trip to the hospital where I'd be hooked up to a pitocin drip to induce contractions while I'm strapped to a bed.
With that being said, however, I'm holding fast to the fact that this child is not my own. It always has and always will belong to God, and I have complete faith that nothing will happen throughout it's entire life without His complete approval, His perfect plan in place.
And even if that means my dreams of a natural, spontaneous, unplanned labor are shattered, I highly doubt my tiny humans arrival into this crazy world will be any less dramatic and perfect; especially since God's seems to like to go big or go home when it comes to His plans for our little family thus far.
So now, we wait.
Refusing to indulge in the old wives tales of controversial caster oil, painful nipple stimulation, greasy, spicy food and doing what got us here in the first place to the point of exhaustion-which, I remind those with this advise, for us is not the same method as it may have been for them-I'll instead continue to ignore the rising scale and pour my heart into daily cardio therapy, argue with my husband over the final name choices, and enjoy these last blessed moments as my own.
Because they are almost over.
And soon-within the limited realm of the next thirteen days-our prayers will have been answered on God's terms, and I will be holding a unmeasurable blessing in the form of a tiny miracle in my arms.
Ready or not.
"It's weird...you know the end of something great is coming, but you want to hold on, just for one more second..."