We're still pregnant.
I have been telling myself for weeks that I shouldn't expect to have this baby on my due date, but nevertheless, that date stuck in my brain like a glittery promise.
It's like Christmas in Japan. We were living in Kyoto during the holidays a couple years ago, and since they don't bother with Thanksgiving, the Christmas cheer started building right after Halloween. There were all the familiar trappings -- piped-in jingles over loudspeakers, tinsel decorations, Santa in all his cheeky glory -- it was infectious enough that I couldn't help but get a little giddy about it. And then Christmas Day itself was a total letdown. Nothing happened at all. I think there was a marathon in our neighborhood.
So it is with due dates that come and go. Except this holiday is gonna come, dammit.
Last night the full moon rose like a tangerine over the San Diego skyline, and I willed the baby to be pulled like the tide, down and out of me... It would have been so poetic and fitting, as we're sure he was conceived on a full moon, too. I felt a distinctly painful contraction around 7pm, but then just more Braxton-Hicks. I'm told that these are not without their function, and I should not be discouraged. I keep saying, I'm ready! J keeps saying: It's not up to you.
I know he's right. I'm not even technically late. But it doesn't stop me from wishing and scheming and hoping...