Oh heeeey! One day left until the official due date…the day on which less than 5% of women actually deliver (look it up).
Throughout my pregnancy, I airily exclaimed to anyone who’d listen that people place entirely too much importance on this somewhat arbitrary date, and the baby will come when she is good and ready. Of course, throughout my pregnancy, my pubic bone was not being ripped in half and all the organs housed in my torso had their own little happy space that was not invaded by a giant pulsating parasitic fetus. (Note to fetus: If you read this some day, dear child, I use the term “parasitic” in only the most affectionate sense).
So, while I understand I actually have very little likelihood of giving birth ON my due date, I’m still hoping with the passion of a thousand gallons of fiery Sriracha sauce that I will be one of the 5%.
Today, with the goal of arousing the baby’s swift evacuation from my battle-weary womb, I went for a long walk and then guzzled an extra large bowl of spicy pho. I had a few twinges of crampy pain, hardly worth mentioning, and my lazy, underachieving baby slept through the whole thing.
Tomorrow I’m upping my game: hill repeats, hot wings, tequila and rough sex.