The Waiting Game

The waiting game. Ever heard of it? It’s what happens when you’re not only expecting a baby, but you’ve finished everything in preparation for him/her. And now there’s nothing to do but WAIT. At this point, I’m due tomorrow, and I’ve managed to keep myself busy the last few months working on the nursery. Well, not only did we finish his nursery last week, I’m too big to do much of anything except sit around and WAIT. Funny, the Dr’s had told me I probably would deliver my baby boy much earlier than expected, due to a medical condition I have, and the fact I went into early labor the day before I hit 30 weeks pregnant. Luckily, it stopped, but it was enough for the hospital OB to inform me she didn’t think I’d make it to June. Tomorrow is June 30^th, by the way. Yep, still pregnant. Oh, and the waiting game? It sucks.

At the Dr’s office yesterday, a woman looked at my belly and said “oh my gosh, when are you due?! Because you don’t get much bigger than that.” Thanks, lady. I already feel like a beached whale, let’s make sure I feel even worse. Oh, and on the way to the Dr’s, my neighbor asked if I was having twins. No sir, just one in there (at least there’d better be!) I love nurses, now. My nurse, once I was called back, told me I look great for 9 months, and asked if this is my first pregnancy, since a lot of women don’t get too big with their first (supposedly.) Can we say mixed signals? I’m going with the professional’s opinion, for the record.

So, the waiting game. Due tomorrow. He probably won’t come tomorrow. After all, only like, 4% of babies actually arrive on their due date. Sigh. I’m officially bored, by the way. That’s why I’m blogging. And for the record, Microsoft Word doesn’t recognize blogging as a word. Just a bit of trivia for you. Told you I’m bored. I’m not in the mood to scrapbook, hubby is at work (hey, Word recognizes Hubby as a word! Weird…) and frankly, I’d rather not take a nap… boy will I be eating those words a week from now. Hopefully. So yes, the waiting game is actually not a game, but an increased sense of boredom while waiting on a life-altering change that you know is coming, but can’t rush. It’s like Christmas, only you know what you’re getting. Oh, except for the fact that Christmas Eve isn’t so full of pain (unless your family is like mine, then maybe labor WILL be just like Christmas Eve!)


I promise, most of my blogs I’ve written (and put on Facebook before I discovered this site) are funny. This one not so much, because I’m BORED. Get the message yet? Bored. Bored. Bored. Oh, and Facebook is also a recognized word in Word. That’s sad. And pathetic. And totally true. And this child needs to get his butt into the real world and out of my ribs! I keep trying to explain to him that he’s too big to remain where he is, and he needs to vacate the premises. I gave him an eviction notice 3 weeks ago, the moment he was “full term.” For the record, pleading, begging, bribing, bullying, threatening, and downright demanding for your child to come doesn’t work. At least it didn’t for me. I still nicely tell him everyday that he needs to come out, but he’s apparently comfy. Or he’s heard my family and doesn’t WANT to come out. Can’t say I blame him.

My hospital stay should be interesting. I have estranged family members who, despite my husband and I not having anything to do with them, have decided they’re going to see the baby “whether we like it or not.” Word has it they’ve been calling the hospital and asking if I’ve checked in yet. Glad I found this out, because I myself called the hospital to talk about security measures, and guess what? I get to be the invisible woman for my stay. They can make me a “confidential patient”, which means when someone calls the hospital and asks for me, they’ll be told “no patient here by that name.” Same for visitors. The only people that will be allowed to see me or call me will have a special pass code to get in. And, if for some Godforsaken reason (hey, Godforsaken is in Word, too!) the crazies manage to slip into the maternity ward by some freak timing of getting off the elevator just as someone else is being let into the maternity ward, I have been informed there’s an awesome button on my bed and it’ll connect me immediately with someone from the hospital, and all I have to do is scream for security. Oh, I’ll do it if these people show up. My family is so dysfunctional, we make the people who go on Jerry Springer look normal. Except we dress better.

So… let the waiting continue.

Ok, that sounded like a good ending to my first official blog. But if you think about it, I actually want the waiting to end. But that doesn’t have the same ring to it. So…

Yeah, I’ve got nothing catchy to end this with. “And they lived happily ever after” sounds good to me, except I intend to continue blogging. Just not now. Now I want to finish this blog. Oh, I’ve got it.

Mischief managed.

(FYI: if you’re not a Harry Potter fan, let me clue you in: that was a brilliant ending.)