Here we are, two days after my due date, and we’re still waiting to meet our little babe. I genuinely thought that this fourth child would come earlier than the others, but apparently not. (clearly still have a ways to go with this intuition thing) And that’s okay. Even though I’ve already begun to go stir crazy, I have been able to be semi-productive in other ways…
The first day home from work, I did my nails, finished the last season of A Girlfriend’s Guide to Divorce, and almost finished Good Omens (have since finished it and it’s great—recommend). I also picked up the book, “A Spectacular Catastrophe,” again and made some headway. I may or may not have done a load of laundry, as well (baby brain). It’s a good bet, though; I’ve been doing at least one load every day. I’m trying to stay on top of these things now, as I know there will be a day (any day now) that I will completely neglect laundry and potentially most everything else that requires even a modicum of attention.
My son, who accurately predicted Caroline’s birthday, thinks that the baby will come today. Or at least, that’s what he said yesterday. Fingers crossed! It’s not that I’m totally ready or prepared to have a newborn in my life again (who is?), but I’m tired of becoming increasingly immobile and I just want to start the long (read: loooooooooooong) journey of healing already. That, and I can’t fit into more than a few pieces of clothing and it’s getting depressing.
(side note: it’s not a bad thing to only have a few things to wear #project333, but those clothes should make you feel good and bring you joy… minimalism and decluttering isn’t about punishing yourself; it’s about enhancing the parts of life you really love—but these are points for another post…)
One more really annoying thing about being pregnant this long is that every time I sit on the toilet, I’m worried that the baby is going to fall out. Now, I realize that sounds silly and far-fetched, but I feel like stranger things have happened. I constantly have to remind myself that if I’m not having contractions, I’m probably fine, which are the wise words of my forever friend, Robyn. She’s not a doctor, but she’s a scientist of some sort, and that’s legitimate enough for me.