I Am a Reproductive Greyhound. Place Your Bets.

37 Weeks, 5 Days

First the midwife told me she'd be "very surprised" to see me still pregnant on my due date. Then one of you posted that you thought it would be this week. Sunday, we met up with another couple who's also due soon, and the husband -- even MEN apparently have more intuition than I do about these things -- tells me he had a feeling that I would have to cancel our breakfast together because my water would break. Then today my sister-in-law emailed to say she has been having lots of baby dreams.

What did I dream about last night? That I'd murdered someone and was trying not to get caught. No, I hadn't murdered one of the many soothsayers in my life. Actually I enjoy being the center of baby speculation. And I will take a cut of any wagers won based on my delivery date, thank you (if anyone's betting, I'm saying Jan. 29, just 2 days before the official due date).

While the baby's imminent arrival has certainly been on my mind almost every minute, I'm just not feeling anything that tells me delivery is imminent. Yes, she's cramped in there and low. Yes, I have braxton-hicks contractions every day. But in the week before I delivered last time, I felt strong pressure on the pelvic floor, so strong that I had trouble standing still for more than a few minutes at a time. I lost the mucous plug six days before delivery and after that had bloody show and just all kinds of flotsam and jetsam coming out of me (Sorry boys, but this is a pregnancy blog! Fishing tackle is the next blog over.) I don't feel anything like that now.

Of course, every time can be different, so I'm not relying on that evidence for all my procrastination needs. I also got an opinion from an expert Saturday. Our doula, or monatrice, as she calls herself, Tanya, is said to be an expert predictor of imminent labor. She claims she has almost never been wrong, and when she has been wrong, she can point to extenuating circumstances that postponed a labor that actually should have started when she said. On Saturday, Tanya pressed her hands into a pressure point on my ankles, breathed deeply, and stayed that way for a good minute or so. After feeling the energy running through the pressure points (I know, I know) she predicted I will have the baby around the due date. She did say that when she touched the point AT FIRST, she actually thought the baby would be coming THAT DAY, but that her initial perception had been wrong.

So I guess it's a little glitch in my energy flow that's messin' with some of you. ;-)

Despite getting permission to procrastinate, we actually checked a bunch of stuff off the baby to-do list this weekend. I packed my bag (Robe, slippers, my own nightshirt this time because trying to breastfeed while wearing two hospital gowns was not all that fun, going home outfit, and a labor bag of snacks, drinks, massage oil and stick-on heating pads, address book, novel, champagne.) I also prepared a home labor bag with the same stuff so I hopefully won't be digging stuff out of my hospital bag during labor and inadvertently leaving some of it at home like I did last time. Epu has filled up our hallway chalkboard with all the pertinent phone numbers. We have arranged childcare, backup childcare, backup backup childcare and backup backup backup childcare. Multiple infant items have been fetched from my parents basement in Kenosha and piled up in Nutmeg's no-longer-used crib. A small dresser has been cleared out for baby clothes. An iPod has been loaded with hypnosis tracks, a very light book and some tunes for distraction. And Nutmeg, bless her heart, on her own initiative moved her old diaper pail into our bedroom, because "the baby will sleep in here." That's true, and I didn't bother her with the detail that the baby's diapers will be changed on a changing table in the bathroom this time around because there is room in the bathroom for that, hallelujah.

Yes, there is a bunch of stuff not checked off the list, mostly pending a trip to Target this week: I haven't laundered a stitch of infant clothing, not even a going-home outfit, because I need Dreft. I need to get some teeny little toiletries for my toiletry bag. And some wipes. The cloth parts of the car seat and swing should also be laundered. Oh, and we have never gotten around to digging the swing out of the storage room, putting in batteries, and checking that it actually works, since I bought it at a garage sale this summer. And I have more hypnosis practicing to do, as always.

But that all's not so bad. I daresay they actually send babies home from the hospital even if the cloth cover of your car seat has not been laundered in specially formulated baby laundry soap. And Dan Savage, in his hilarious and touching book "The Kid: (What Happened After My Boyfriend and I Decided to Go Get Pregnant) an Adoption Story," everything you REALLY need to take care of a newborn you can pick up on your way home from the hospital. Except for the car seat. But hey, I know my to-do list is minimal compared to what a lot of parents do -- i.e. decorating a brand new nursery for each arrival, knitting booties. It's as much about the nesting as it is about detergent-free laundry soap.

Still, we're off to Target by Thursday at the latest. Just in case Filbertine comes on Friday. Which she won't.