This week has started out particularly rough; not only for a few bits and bobs of bad news (the boy lost his job today; more on that later), but because my physical state makes it harder and harder to sit comfortably upright for prolonged periods of time. I’ve spent most of the week propped up by pillows on a semi-incline, watching Netflix on the iPad, and feeling mostly grumpy and ready to have this baby out NOW.
I only made it out of the house once last week, and that was to see Dr. Freedman on the 6th. I was so bugged about being sleep-deprived, that I totally forgot to mention that that’s when she told me that she was bumping up the date for my C-Section to the 21st from the 28th.
But that was last week.
This morning I got a call from her office, and it was Laura the receptionist on the line. “Hi honey,” she said with characteristic cheerfulness. “Dr. Freedman wanted me to let you now that we’re moving the date of your section again to the 19th.”
I processed her news in stunned silence.
“Yes, hi, Laura. Sorry. That’s like, a week away!”
“Yep. So get your bags ready, honey…you’re gonna have a baby!” The rest of the conversation was all blah, blah, blah as she set the time for my final appointment as a pregnant person on the following day. “Bring any questions you have for the doctor and you can ask them then,” she said.
I could barely wait to tell the boy, who had gone to his Union Hall that morning for a meeting. I sent him a text:
– What are you doing on the 19th?
A few minutes later, he wrote back:
– Nothing that I know of, why?
I giggled as I typed my response, knowing it would freak him out.
– Good. Coz we’re gonna have a baby that day.
I put my phone in my lap and waited. It rang less than a minute later. Naturally, he was full of questions, but in the end, just as excited and shocked as I was.
Eight days. We’re gonna finally meet our girl.