Okay, so, I’m one of those “Never met a deadline I didn’t love” kind of people. The key to my heart actually looks a lot less like a key and quite a bit more like a calendar with appointments written neatly in its squares. So, you can imagine how deeply and profoundly pissed off I get when I imagine a child of mine arriving AFTER the circled date on my calendar! (Serenity now!) But do you know that only 5% of babies arrive on their due dates? This should come as no surprise. About 5% of the people I meet outside the womb are capable of meeting deadlines—so why should I expect anything different from my unborn child? Because it’s MY CHILD. That’s why! And I cleaned the baseboards for it! And they’re starting to collect dust again. And I can’t bear to hear Nurse Yolanda announce my weight gain in a tone custom-made for criminals and naughty schoolchildren. Even the doctor has started in with the “I can’t believe you haven’t had this baby yet!” Like I’m dragging my feet! Like it’s all poor time-management skills on my part. Like if I were a better student, I would have gotten an A plus! And a baby! But, instead, I forgot to read the sidebar in chapter seven, and I am still pregnant.
Today is my 39-and-a-half-week appointment, and I know they will ask (Dad: close your ears) “Would you like me to strip your membranes to see if we can get labor started?”
And I will reply, sweetly, “Strip? No. I would like you to BLOW TORCH my membranes. With a blow torch. Thank you."
But this won’t work either. I have had several friends, including men, tell me how to get labor started.
"Spicy foods! Works every time.”
Not every time!
"Eggplant Parmesan! Worked for me twice!”
Not for me! Twice!
"Long walks!”
I’ve logged fifty miles this week. Up hill. Both ways. In the snow and heat.
Nothing.
So, here’s what I propose. I propose that the only due date doctors be allowed to give is the date of the last possible day they will allow you to stay pregnant. If, doctors, your policy is to induce at 42 weeks plus one day, then that shall be the due date you declare. This way all women who give birth before this day are happy (or happier) because, heck, the baby came earlier than expected! A+! We are all good students! And for those who don’t—well, at least there’s a line in the sand.
And a line on the scale.
And a house full of shiny white baseboards to welcome baby home.
Today is my 39-and-a-half-week appointment, and I know they will ask (Dad: close your ears) “Would you like me to strip your membranes to see if we can get labor started?”
And I will reply, sweetly, “Strip? No. I would like you to BLOW TORCH my membranes. With a blow torch. Thank you."
But this won’t work either. I have had several friends, including men, tell me how to get labor started.
"Spicy foods! Works every time.”
Not every time!
"Eggplant Parmesan! Worked for me twice!”
Not for me! Twice!
"Long walks!”
I’ve logged fifty miles this week. Up hill. Both ways. In the snow and heat.
Nothing.
So, here’s what I propose. I propose that the only due date doctors be allowed to give is the date of the last possible day they will allow you to stay pregnant. If, doctors, your policy is to induce at 42 weeks plus one day, then that shall be the due date you declare. This way all women who give birth before this day are happy (or happier) because, heck, the baby came earlier than expected! A+! We are all good students! And for those who don’t—well, at least there’s a line in the sand.
And a line on the scale.
And a house full of shiny white baseboards to welcome baby home.
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