A friend at my dance studio was absolutely convinced that I would have my baby on October 7th. Sorry. No dice.
My dad has me predicted at somewhere between the 8th and 10th, while my mom says it'll be more like the 23rd. I don't like her prediction much. (Sorry, Mom.)
Meanwhile I have another friend who has had a series of dreams that, whatever day I will deliver on, it will be at precisely 4:20 a.m.
Ha... no comment.
A series of well-wishers cautiously call as the days go by:
"How are you?"
"Still pregnant."
"Ah."
My co-workers swivel around with surprise every time I toddle in the door. One of my clients just dialed my extension and answered my greeting with an, "Oh good! You're still here." And the regulars in my scheduled ballet classes peer around to see if I'll actually show up to my accustomed slot at the bar. Haven't missed a class yet.
I'm feeling a bit like a watched pot. And no one is watching closer than me, I assure you.
This waiting period has a purpose, I'm sure. I'm of the personal opinion that your body generally knows what it's doing and has a purpose for all the symptoms and side-effects it sends your way. I have trouble sleeping now for no reason. But soon I'll have trouble sleeping because there will be a little somebody who needs me to get up and feed him or her every few hours. Preparation. The fatigue and nausea and all the the little inconveniences serve their purpose.
So what's the waiting period for? Is this a mental preparation so that when contractions finally start, you're happy to see them instead of frightened at the painful job ahead? Is this your body's way of telling you that life as you know it no longer operates solely on your schedule? Is there some hormone that you produce when watching a not-quite boiling pot that triggers the necessary chain reaction to get the ball rolling?
Better question: how do you not watch the pot when you are the pot? Close your eyes? I bump into things enough as it is.