I didn’t get too worked up about being 3 cm at 36 weeks. All I took that to mean is what the doctor explicitly said it means: it’s extremely unlikely I’ll go overdue. But when I was 4 cm and 70% effaced the next week, I felt like the progress must mean something. My body is moving full speed ahead. We’d better get ready. So we did.
Thomas worked like a madman this weekend. He changed the oil in my car (which we hoped would take care of the check engine light, but unfortunately didn’t). He cleaned the gutters. He power washed the deck. He trimmed the hedges. He installed the infant car seat. He made a batch of chili and froze it. He barely sat down all weekend.
And then there’s my mother. If you follow me on Twitter, you know that when she found out I was 4 cm and 70%, she booked a flight out of China. A week early. She got home last night.
I did all the laundry (at one point there was literally nothing in the house that needed washed). I became obsessive about loading the dishwasher and running it the instant it got full (this is actually part of my ant-reduction plan. I am now a freak about the kitchen counters being clear of dishes, crumbs, or anything else besides ant traps). Then I started on what Thomas said was my job for the weekend: resting.
Which is when time stopped moving. At all. I have no attention span and give up most tasks after a few minutes. The only things I did for any length of time this weekend were Sudoku puzzles and watching TV. It’s not because I found those things interesting, just that I had to do something and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I was actually looking forward to going to work today, because then I’d have something to do. Being at work isn’t helping, though. I do have things to do and time is going a little faster, but basically I’m still bored out of my mind. Each day seems to take a week. It feels like this baby is never going to come, which is ridiculous since I’m only 37w2d, but I also feel like I have to be prepared for him to come on any given day. At the end of every day I’m left thinking: will it be tomorrow?
I still don’t want him to come until next week, but I would like the time between now and then to go much faster.
Maybe I won't have to wait, though. Meg seems to be getting sick, which pretty much guarantees I'll go in to labor, right?