Eviction Notice

Imagine that I'm writing something very witty and clever about politics, or Occupy Wall Street or something. Imagine that I've just blown your mind with my social commentary, my insights on relevant news stories, or some piece of new philosophy about something deeply philosophical. You must imagine these things because I am, as of this moment, 39 weeks and 4.8 days pregnant. There is no insight to be had, no philosophy to be philosophized, nothing. I am a very pregnant person, and that's about it. My brain is 75% water and 25% GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME.

I shouldn't complain. I read a story earlier today about a couple who struggled for years to get pregnant and eventually spent their life's savings on countless rounds of IVF before having their baby. Chris and I are very, very, very lucky. But just for a second, I want to acknowledge that being 5'2" and having what they tell me is a watermelon-sized baby tucked within my abdomen is beginning to get a little bit uncomfortable. And now that the moment of self-pity has passed, let me describe the silver lining(s) to you: I can still sleep. I am still going to work. My doctor says things are progressing nicely. The baby's head was re-measured and is in the 35th percentile--NOT the 91st, as they guesstimated previously. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

The other day, Chris and I decided to get this thing going. We went for a spicy curry lunch and then walked the mall for a couple of hours. Since I am writing this instead of rocking my infant daughter, you can be assured that neither of these things had any positive effect. We stopped by a Brookstone-type store and I sat in one of those big massage chairs. As my hand drifted towards the 'on' button, one of the employees appeared at my side as if summoned by magic. "Since you've got a little something in there," he said, gesturing loosely at my massive belly, "you can't sit in any of the massaging chairs. It's a store policy. Apparently, it can put you into early labor."

This time, it was Chris who jumped to answer. "But she's 39 weeks. It's OK for her to go into labor." I nodded. "Yeah, a little labor induction would be a great thing!" I said. The employee handled our desperation like a retail wizard by informing us the massaging chairs were on sale and we could purchase one to use for that purpose if we'd like. Instead, we left the store to continue our walking.

And still, no baby. I'm drinking some kind of smelly raspberry leaf tea, walking, doing lunges, and everything the books say to help get this thing going. I think she's just going to have to come out on her own time.

But if December third comes and goes uneventfully, I will definitely be returning to the store to buy that chair.

xo