If you asked me before I was a million weeks pregnant, I would tell you that I don't actually believe in due dates. I think there's a weeks' long stretch of time when a baby can be born and be considered "full-term" and assigning a specific date is a bit silly.
And a pretty good way to drive an expectant mother crazy.
But I am a million weeks pregnant. And with that comes a whole pile of crazy.
Due to some disagreement among my doctors (aka: too many cooks in the kitchen,) I ended up with two due dates, one week apart. Both of these dates have come and gone. Lady Baby is officially "late" (I say in quotation marks because my hippie heart is screaming, "babies aren't late! Babies come when they're ready!")
As a Visibly Pregnant Member of Society, a lot of people have felt totally free to make comments about my body. Comments that under normal circumstances, they would keep to themselves (my personal favourite? "You're huge!" Yeah, thanks. I know.). Throw in the lateness of Lady Baby and all of a sudden it's like my body's failures are an acceptable topic for conversation.
Now, I'm not such a delicate flower that I can't handle people talking about me or Lady Baby's late arrival. I get it. Babies are exciting. The inquiries all come from a place of love. No one is maliciously asking me why I haven't given birth yet. It's all very good-natured. But here's the thing: I am not good-natured. I am exhausted. I am worn out from a week's worth of contractions that start, build in intensity for hours, and then disappear without warning until the following evening. I am tired from sleeping in two-to-three-hour stretches because my poor, compressed bladder doesn't allow for anything longer. I am a mess of hormones and feelings and body aches and pains. So the constant scrutiny feels less and less like love and concern and more like a glaring accusation of "why can't your body just do something right?"
I was diagnosed with cancer at 30. Last year I had a partial molar pregnancy where my uterus filled with tumours instead of a fetus. I am well aware of my body's failings without the constant reminders.
So. While you wait, please know that no one wants this baby born more than I do. That I appreciate your concern and your interest but I am unable to process any sort of ribbing (no matter how good-natured) without sobbing behind closed doors. That I promise I won't forget to mention when Lady Baby arrives. And I won't always be this delicate or emotional. And this isn't an attempt to shame or reprimand anyone, it's just my way of asking for what I need to create a peaceful mind and body (that will hopefully get the message and go into labour sooner rather than later).
