Due over

Today is the date the doctors said was my "most accurate" due date. Still no baby. It's hard not to feel disappointed, sad, frustrated, anxious and completely at a loss. I keep telling myself this is a good first lesson in parenthood; we are not in control. Of anything. And I mostly like to be in control.

I have stopped answering the phone because I can't bear to talk to anyone about how nothing has happened yet, especially as I was so convinced that we were in labor as of last Thursday. Almost three days of contractions that grew steadily more intense and then ceased. I hate the phrase, "false labor." My doctor used it today. She also did something during the cervical exam that is supposed to help things along . . . she was, as always, incredibly nonplussed. She said something like, "Well, the best thing about pregnancy is that it ends, one way or another." What a pep talk.

Leeor says I should have expressed more of my upset to her; he fears I was trying to be a good patient and not make waves and therefore didn't express my feelings. While he may be right, I think there's more to it. Firstly, I don't expect my MD to have a touchy-feely moment with me. My experience in pregnancy has lead me to believe they are not the people to go to with my feelings. I'd rather talk to my doula, or my analyst, for that matter, about how I feel.

Besides, what can anyone do? Technically, I am 40 weeks pregnant. Not "late" by any medical standard. So the plan is for me to return for a "non-stress" test on Thursday so that they can give me an ultrasound and monitor the baby for awhile. If by next week my labor hasn't yet begun, we'll plan to induce. The hardest part, for me, is letting go of my pre-conceived notions of what this experience would be . . . another good lesson about letting go, I suppose. And the truth is, ultimately, I just want a healthy baby. I shouldn't care so much about how that happens.

In the meantime, Leeor has gone out to represent our family at the SF Obama march; they start at the campaign office on Market Street and then they'll walk down to the Embarcadero. I wish I could join them, but I'm suffering from such intense sciatic pain that I can barely walk. As he prepared to leave, I wondered aloud if our baby boy wants to wait for the Super Tuesday results before he greets the world. I can't say I blame him. For now, I'll sit in my rocking chair, feet up, heating pad in place at my lower back, and, as my doctor suggested, "try to stay comfortable."