It was another episode of "My Doctor is a Crackhead" this afternoon. Except he is much more tan, relaxed and groovy since returning from Hawaii.
Even if he couldn't get his laptop to work properly.
The appointment started out with a blood pressure scare, which was weird since I had done little today except lie in bed for hours before the appointment and wait for the laundry to wash itself. But apparently it was high enough to warrant the nurse to order me to lie on my left side, relax and then take my BP three or four more times until it finally went back down to 120 over whatever. Only then was I allowed to sit up under the watchful eye of the nurse while she monitored me for signs that I might pass out or otherwise collapse.
So, yeah. That was fun.
After that the appointment went back more or less to normal. And by "normal" I mean that I spent the next twenty minutes texting people to pass the time while seated on an exam table pantless and covered with a paper sheet. Which, quite frankly, is how everyone should spend the Friday before Christmas.
Finally, though, the doctor showed up and immediately asked me why I hadn't had my baby, yet. Because that isn't the million dollar question! Then, he flipped through his notes and found an obscure reference to a post Christmas due date that he dismissed months ago and decided that THAT due date must be the real one. Because, obviously, the other ones weren't panning out, so let's just pick a new one and see what happens. Heck, if you guess enough, you are bound to hit a home run, right?
Can you imagine my doctor in Vegas? He'd put his money on 14 and then change it to 5 and when the ball landed on 22 he'd claim that was his bet all along.
So, thanks to my doctor, I am now no longer 8 days late, but still have four or five or seven days to go. I don't know the specific date (because I was too flabbergasted to pay attention), but I am sure whenever the kiddo is born my doctor will claim he was right on time. I've decided to stop holding my breath as a self preservation measure.
The good news is that it probably doesn't matter how early, late or right on time I am because my body is holding up well (despite the BP episode) and Thor is thriving on the inside. As long as, you know, the baby comes before April 2014. Plus, my doctor said he would be surprised if I made it to my next appointment next Thursday. So regardless it seems like an end to all this might be in sight. Maybe. Because no one likes deadlines, and the world needs a little more flexibility. Obviously.
The bad news is that my internal exam had me progressing backwards (yet again). I am now only dilated 1cm (instead of 2) and my doctor said the baby's head is "two thirds of a mile from the birth canal". Which is fabulous in a I-am-being-completely-sarcastic kind of way.
You gotta give it to Thor. He is nothing but consistently unmotivated.
My doctor does think there is a very good chance that I will go into labor at more or less any moment, and even mentioned that he wouldn't be surprised to see me tomorrow or Sunday in the hospital. He also recommended that I walk more (seriously? MORE?) and have lots of sex. Because there is nothing quite like being a ten month preggo lard a$$ with shooting groin pain and nearly uncontrollable flatulence to boost a gal's libido. I'm pretty sure I am the epitome of "sexy" at this point. And I've probably never looked better to Trevor, either.
In other news, I am no longer sleeping well and have started spontaneously crying for little or no reason. Which is fantastic since I thought these were both things reserved for AFTER Thor's arrival.
Trevor, on the other hand, is sleeping fine and is eagerly awaiting his son's arrival with baited breath. It all seems very unfair somehow, but he did bring me brownies from work today so I'm kind of over it for the time being. Plus, it is the beginning of the holiday weekend and it is great to have a clean house and the hubby home for a change. Even if I have to be (most likely) pregnant for all of it when I assumed I'd have a baby by now.
But enough with the self pity! Merry Christmas Eve's Eve, everybody!