Part Three: Due or Due Not
I hate the last 2 weeks of pregnancy. I’m pretty sure that “end of pregnancy” is right there in the dictionary defining “misery.”
Holy Uncomfortableness, they should make an epidural for THAT. Can’t sleep, can’t walk, can’t sit, can’t do anything to feel better… Ugh.
And then when the due date is wrong… oh groan.
Why do they give poor, pregnant women “due dates” anyway? They can be up to two weeks off either direction, and if you go over it’s torture!!!!!!!!! Madness, I tell you. Having gone a week over with Baby#1 and 6 days over with Baby#2, I instruct the ultrasound peeps to just tell me my due date is a week later than it really is. But do they take me seriously? Nope. Some folks just have no compassion. Every single day lasts for.eh.ver when you’re “over due.” (Did I say “day?” I meant minute.)
Even with three kids to distract you.
Even with a husband that loves you and pampers you, understands the mental state is temporary and thus caters to your whining.
Even with WONDERFUL friends who are totally there for you in every way imaginable.
Even when you warn yourself your whole pregnancy that baby is likely going to be a week late.
Even when you technically *want* your baby to be “late” so you can have him on a cool date, like, say, Constitution Day.
Even when you know it’s for a good great cause.
Yep, even then it’s misery on every level. At least for me.
I KNEW you weren’t wishing that hard for Constitution Day. I’ve never been “overdue” before, but I have been pregnant. Now that he’s here, though, you are allowed to say whatever you want. It’s an honor that comes with giving birth.
This is the reason I don’t like reading series until all the books are out . . .
Amen, Wendy.