This past Tuesday, Dave and I went to the doctor. This week actually was the first in a string of last visits to our OB-GYN. Throughout this entire pregnancy, we’ve gone in to see her once a month. Then last month they told us she needed to see us once every two weeks. And in this final month, she has requested to see us once a week. This concentration of visits to her office signals that we are almost there. This baby is coming. Soon.
Anywho, this past Tuesday we went in for our first last visit. I thought she would probably check me to see if I was dilated in any way, but I had no expectations that anything was actually happening. I mean, I was just over 36 weeks—not even full term by today’s 37 week standards. I hoped something was happening, but expected nothing.
And then she told me I was dilated 2 centimeters.
2 Centimeters! Dude!
Now, I’ve never been pregnant before, but I literally have read the book and seen the movie (and taken the class, and talked to the many mommies), and from what I understand, the ultimate dilation goal is 10 centimeters. So 2 centimeters, well that’s 20% of the way! I realized I was actually on the road to labor. My body had been prepping me for the trip, and I didn’t even know it.
The doctor told me that this didn’t mean I’d deliver early. In fact, she couldn’t even venture a guess at when I would deliver. She said these things, but I didn’t hear her. All I heard was – 2 centimeters! 20% of the way!
Dave and I drifted out of the office in a happy daze. Well, I was in a happy daze, I think he may have just been in a daze...
Dave writes: Actually, what I was thinking about was how an early baby was going to mess with my very carefully crafted schedule. Who was going to sub my gigs? What was I going to do about my scheduled recording sessions? We needed to pack the hospital bag. I haven’t put the spare on the baby bus yet. Doesn’t this baby know WE HAVE A PLAN ALREADY?? Then I gradually realized that this meant those plans might fade into so much iCal dust and were going to see little our little girl very soon. And that was cool too.
We were actually going to have a baby. Dude! A baby!
I immediately went on super high labor alert. Every baby wiggle meant she was assuming the birth position. Every minor ache or pain was a sign of early labor. Sure the doctor had said she couldn’t predict when the baby would come, but I could. And the baby was coming right now.
It’s now Saturday morning, and I’m sitting in bed, surrounded by the millions of pillows that are required to help me sleep at night, and I’m still very pregnant. I’ve not gone into labor. I’ve not even had any fake-out labor pains (the books say they’d feel like real ones only they wouldn’t be a regular intervals). My water hasn’t broken. Right now, I’m just waiting.
I wish I could tell you that I’ve turned a Zen corner, and I am at home with the idea that the baby will come whenever she’s ready. That I’ve realized that my job is to treasure these last couple of days or weeks of pregnancy, rather than sit with baited breath waiting for my child to arrive. That I am cool, man.
I realize all these things, and sometimes even believe them. The rest of the time, I’m wondering if this gas pain is maybe not a gas pain, but maybe a labor pain. Because, dude, that would be so awesome, and I am so ready for labor and so ready to meet my baby girl! Let’s do this thing!!!!!
Maybe I’m not cool in the traditional sense. But I’ve decided that accepting the uncool is the actually the new cool. And hey, it’s just how I roll when I’m 2 centimeters dilated.