That's me. I am, to put it simply, a watched pot.
I'm being watched my family, friends, fellow churchgoers, neighbors, my midwife, my children, and my husband. Everyone is wondering just when this little baby will decide to be born.
Not the least of which is me. That is to say, I'm wondering more than anyone.
As I've said before, my babies are no respecters of due dates. They come in their own time, when they're good and ready. They don't seem to care that their arrivals have been pondered over, commented on, and even joked about.
They have no inkling that during those last few weeks, while they are contently warm, protected, and oh-so-comfortable in utero, the uncertainty of the yet to be determined birthdates drives people a little crazy.
Admittedly, uncertainty makes scheduling a challenge. Family visits, work schedules, meal delivery, baby showers. Headaches galore, no doubt about that.
And then there's the issue of not knowing the baby's gender.
All told, I suppose that the way we do this baby thing is a little bit inconvenient.
(Although really, birthing at home in my bathtub seems pretty convenient to me!)
Yet isn't this the way it's been done for ages? With the exception of the bathtub, that is. But really, mothers-to-be throughout the centuries have waited and wondered when their little ones would be born. They watched the moon, they listened to the stories other women told. They listened to their bodies, wondering, waiting for a sign that their baby was on the way.
Scheduling? That's newfangled stuff.
And so, I suppose that I'm a little old-fashioned. Though I don't always enjoy the uncertainty, I like that my babes choose their own birthdays. And I like the gender surprise. In spite of all the seeming inconvenience, this is the way we've chosen to go.
So, I'll continue to watch, and to be watched. As time goes on, Birth Day will draw nigh. Comfy or not, this baby will be born.
Because one of these days, I'm gonna boil.