To take my mind off the waiting and the boredom I have been experiencing, I have decided to pay attention to my appearance today. This means not just bathing and washing my hair, but also styling my hair. And then applying actual makeup, followed by jewelry, and then putting together an outfit, with accessories. Then maybe going out into public, carrying a nice handbag. I think this will help me feel better about being a giant cetacean.

I figure all this effort may be another good tempting fate exercise, and my water will break while we're downtown having lunch. I double dare you, amniotic sac! Go ahead, make my day.

You know, 41 weeks is not at all an abnormal gestational period. In fact, in France, 41 weeks is considered full term. I feel normal (though extremely uncomfortable!) and the baby is just fine. She apparently loves it in there. I have provided for her an ideal, optimal climate, where she is never cold, doesn't know what hunger is, is always held close to my heart, which she listens to day and night, and still has the freedom to kick and squirm at her leisure. She enjoys hearing my voice, and music, and is rocked to sleep each day by my walks. Of course, her little head is now bouncing against a softened and effaced and partially dilated cervix, so that's different, but she doesn't yet mind enough to decide to evacuate. But soon, she will. Soon!

I am somewhat bored and impatient. It's tough to really move around much. I haven't gained any weight in three weeks, but the baby is now positioned so low in my body that she feels like she's swinging between my thighs (exaggeration). Everything seems go for launch. Just waiting for that one last change in chemistry. I've done what I can to inspire her; walking, sex, more walking, bargaining, etc, and been given a few scattered irregular contractions and the loss of the plug. She kicks me firmly each day, which tells me she is in good health, and still has some room in there, so I don't need to fret that she is "too big." She has always measured perfectly, in the 50th percentile.

Tomorrow I have another doctor appt, one I had hoped we would not need to attend. They will want to do an ultrasound, and I am considering declining that, as it is basically pointless at this stage. They will ask to sweep my membranes (this is to try to get my water to break), and I will say no. They can listen to her heart, how about that. Maybe do the non-stress test, which is a fetal monitor. They will find out she is normal and fine. They will talk to me about induction, and I will say no, unless they can give me solid evidence that my baby's health is in decline or in danger. Remember the first sentence of this entry?

I will start to really worry after 42 weeks, but I don't think it will take that long. I feel changes every day, an increase in discomfort around my womb, stronger (irregular) contractions. They feel like my belly is suddenly tighter, literally contracting its muscles, which soon will force the baby down against the cervix repeatedly, and one centimeter at a time, draw it open for her passage. That is what labor is. The pressure and other chemical/hormonal changes will weaken the amniotic sac and at some point cause it to break. My coworker told me it felt just like a water balloon popping inside her body.

So, I am still pregnant. In the morning I wake up, sit up on my pillows and look down at my bump. "Hi, baby," I always say, and her little butt moves under my hand.

I don't have anything planned today except taking another walk in the beautiful perfect fall weather. Oh and I am also going to clean the downstairs (kitchen and living room), albeit slowly, and reward that with a nap and watching the baseball game.

Just got my weekly email from babycenter. It's all about caring for my one-week-old infant. Because every baby in the world gestates for exactly 38 weeks (+2 when you start with the first day of your last period. It is very unscientific). You know what? Fuck you, babycenter. Unsubscribe.

This morning I woke up just after 3am to pee, as usual, then lay in bed awake. I felt hungry, so I ate some walnuts. Lay down again. Couldn't sleep. I turned to look at the clock. It was 4:45. I stared at the dark shapes in the room. I listened to Kona on her bed, breathing heavily as though in a dream. I climbed down beside her and pet her soft ears and kissed her head. It hardly seemed worth it to just lay awake anymore, so I put on a sweater and slippers and went downstairs. Dog and cats followed.

I washed all the dishes in the sink, made a cup of tea, and ate a slice of the banana bread I baked last night. Watched "Project Runway" on the Tivo. Despite it being 6:30 now, Kona thought it was playtime, and kept bringing her soft frisbee over to my lap.

Baby is four days "overdue", which I realize is arbitrary, meaningless, and not worth worrying over. But I am so ready and I wonder what is the holdup, why isn't she ready, too?

Yesterday morning I lost my mucus plug while in the shower. For those who do not know what that means, the mucus plug is what it sounds like: it's a thick blob that protects the uterus from bacteria by sealing over the cervix. Well, I looked down while bathing, for whatever reason, and saw this huge yellowish blob on the floor. It was dim in there so at first I didn't even know what I was looking at and for some reason thought maybe it was a piece of sea sponge that had fallen into the tub. Which is absurd. Before I could investigate further, it had slipped down the drain entirely.

An hour later, there was more, after I used the toilet. Like the novice I am, I wondered if things would start happening within the hour. No, they did not, but losing one's plug at this late stage is a meaningful sign that labor *could* start in a couple days.

In the afternoon, I went out for coffee with my doula. We went to this great little coffeeshop downtown that I've driven past many times. It's the type of place with carpeted floors and mismatched tables and random funky stuff all over the place. I liked it. Kristina brought her three kids with her, who were all very well behaved and charming. She and I talked about pregnancy and birth stuff, as usual. She makes me feel extremely confident. I just want to get going, I know I can handle whatever nature throws at me, and if not, I know I'll be okay anyway.

Today is extremely gray and dismal. So much for walking Kona again. I need to be walking, so the best way for me to do that indoors is to do more housework. The master bathroom is pretty gross (to me) at this point, and has been on my to-do list for weeks. Got to clean it up.

I opened up a chapter from my book this morning, too, which I sadly have not looked at in a shamefully long time. So many revisions have taken place in my head since the last time I typed anything, I could just start over from scratch and probably will. Maybe my goal today will be writing a few paragraphs.

The baby will come when she is ready. I am strongly opposed to inducement except in cases of emergency. I am starting to feel a bit pressured and overwhelmed by the constant inquiries and encouragement. The baby cannot hear you. She does not care that we all want to meet her. She will instigate labor at the moment she chooses. Her mama does not want to feel like she is disappointing everyone by not producing a baby in a timely fashion. So please be sensitive to this if any pregnant woman you know has gone past her due date. She wants the baby to come, she is tired of being pregnant, she doesn't need reminders of this. Maybe she just wants to watch baseball on TV and bake cookies and play with the dog while she waits.

I understand everyone has the best of intentions, of course. But I guess it's hard to understand how it feels until you're going through it. "Where is that baby??" She is in my uterus, of course.

Also I am hormonal. Apologies!

I can't believe October 12 is actually here.

This morning at just after two a.m. I woke up and felt a dull but intense pain in my belly. Hmm, I thought. Hmmmmm. I rolled myself out of bed and stood, leaning on the mattress, feeling the pain continue. Brian was awake at this point and could see what was going on. My breathing was different too. I was just trying to figure out what it was, a contraction, or the usual pain of pressure on my bladder, or a pulled round ligament, etc. It did feel different though. I waddled into the bathroom to pee.

Then I lay down again. I could still sort of feel it. I checked the clock, about 2:20. Brian put his arm around me and touched my tummy. We hadn't said anything. The pain disappeared so I waited for it to return. Fifteen minutes, then twenty, and nothing. The whole time I was thinking, wow, is this it? And how awesome to go into labor on my due date. Thought about calling my doula, my mother, etc. Wondered how many hours I would labor at home, and so on. But I didn't get another contraction, and I fell asleep.

So this morning, I am puttering around in my nightgown, with some low back pain, kicky baby, wondering if should be doing anything to get things going. All I can really do is stay hydrated and talk a walk or two. I am really excited. I'm not scared.

Feeling so huge and also heavy today. Like there's a bag of bricks rolling around in my pelvis. I took Kona for a walk and we went sooo. Sloooow. Poor pup probably hated it. I just felt pressure the whole time. Got home and poured a little glass of juice, immediately knocked it to the floor. Oops.

Later I decided to go grocery shopping. Slowly shuffled through the aisles. Got some ingredients to make meatloaf. Also got marshmallows and a graham cracker crust. For some reason. I think I was envisioning a banana cream pie? Anyway, I think I need Brian along the next time so I don't randomly grab things.

Finally back home, Brian and I prepared the meatloaf together. It's in the oven now. I really need to rest on the sofa.

Thirty-nine weeks today. I feel like she is coming soon.

Something that has occurred to us as we get closer to childbirth: there will be a new person living in our house. For years now it's just been me and Brian, and our pets. When he goes off to do something, I'm alone. But very soon, there will be this third person. Yes, she'll be a little baby, our baby, but very soon her personality will appear, her voice will fill the rooms. Everything will be different.

I had odd dreams this morning. In one, I am standing on the ferry deck as it slowly moves toward the Bainbridge dock. This is something I have done hundreds of times now. It felt very real. The air was white with fog. I began to wonder where my purse was. Then I couldn't remember how I had traveled to work that day, if I had taken the bus or driven. I felt in a panic about my bag. Then I realized it was on my shoulder, it was my woven light brown hobo which I love. In the other dream I was in San Francisco, standing outside a house where a punk show was being held in the basement. Very much about being a younger me. But, as I am now, I was hugely pregnant.

Anyway.

This morning I baked an apple crisp. And now I have given myself a bunch of chores, which I will perform at a leisurely pace. I feel like labor could be a few days off. It's strange to finally be at the end of this, thirty-nine weeks from the first day of my last period, which was, of course, also my birthday.

The boat was relatively on time today. Two minutes late is a good day. The sky was a high, cool curtain of white clouds -- a nice break from what has seemed like five months of heatwaves. I sat in the top deck quiet room and listened to a podcast.

It came time to disembark, and I stood near the front of the crowd, knowing how slow I walk and how tight that connection to my bus always is. We were released into the cattle chute and I started my march eastward to Third. On the way, everyone had to go around/step over some homeless people who had just laid their stuff and their bedding right across the narrow bridge that connects the terminal with Marion Street.

I missed a couple traffic lights and started to fret about my bus. As I waddled down Third toward Columbia, I saw it down the block, approaching the red light. So I waited across the road. I waved my arm to get the driver's attention. I was ten yards away.

The light finally turned and I started crossing, still waving to the driver. He ignored me and pulled out into the lane. HEY! I shouted. HEY!! The bus blew right by me. I couldn't believe it. Because I am eight and a half months pregnant and hormonal, I had to sit down and cry for a minute or two. Fucking asshole, I thought. Fuck this pathetic, provincial backwater of a "city" and its joke of a transit system.

So that's why I was late to work, again.

But today is the penultimate day. It's to be expected. I think every day this week I have been presented with some kind of public transit incompetency in my commute, or at the very least something irritating. Maybe the coup de grace tomorrow will be a 45-minutes-late ferry that causes me to miss my doctor appt!

Anyway. Eating lunch at my desk now. Leftover green beans and mashed potatoes from last night. Mmm. Snack later will be a pear and a slice of cheese. I will attempt to avoid being tempted by the junk food. I realized today that being at home will vastly improve my diet. No more eating out, no more desperation candy bars. It will be lots cheaper, too.

Last night I did not sleep well, as always. Woke up multiple times to pee or change positions or otherwise sit/lie there trying to get back to sleep. At some point around 4am, Kona woke up from a bad dream and started howling/crying like she does when she has one of her little doggy nightmares. Brian and I both got out of bed to go hug her and pet her. I feel bad for thinking this is the cutest thing in the world.

It has once again been too long since I posted and I don't have a cohesive entry in mind so I will just string together a few random things.

+ Brian and I visited the SAM last week (we were on a date) and after enjoying the Wyeth exhibition, fell in love with this raven puppet that was hanging out in the kids area. Want to have. Verily.

+ Thirty-seven weeks. Feels like an iron ball is attached to my torso. I am fat, awkward, and uncomfortable. And sick of all my clothes, which I am steadily growing out of, in part because cheap maternity clothing can only be washed so many times before it starts to really shrink up. Baby is kicking as strenuously as ever; good girl. But sometimes it almost hurts, like when she rakes a knee or heel over my abdomen. I think she wants out soon. We are just about ready, the nursery is set (not that she'll really be in there much), she has a little basic wardrobe of things to wear. Just waiting on the remaining cloth pre-fold diapers to arrive next week.

+ Very swiftly, the trees outside my window here at work changed their colors from green to yellow. And now the yellow leaves are shedding fast, spinning down to the street below. By the time the horribly offensive gas-powered leaf blowers show up, I will hopefully have finished commuting and be tucked into my nest at home. I'm working remotely next week (provided I don't go into labor), and after that... we wait. And I clean and organize things and make food.

+ I need a haircut. And one more paid-for pedicure.

+ My baby shower was pretty awesome. My friend Ann went totally above and beyond and everything was just beautiful. And yesterday we had another little party at home, very casual, with a few local friends and neighbors. I made my favorite pasta salad, Brian made chocolate-chip pecan cookies, and one of the guests brought us a peanut butter pie with Oreo crust. I almost wept at the fact that I could not eat a giant slice of it. I was stuck with about four bites.

+ Which brings me to my heartburn. Wah! Lately I have been openly fantasizing about the HUGE meals I am going to eat once my uterus has been evacuated and my stomach can resume its normal volume. These days I am eating the smallest un-acidic portions I can manage, in an effort to quell the heartburn I get every day starting sometime in the afternoon. Medicine so far does nothing. I figure I can handle this for another three weeks or so. Then when we arrive home with baby, I am going to send Brian out for a massive platter of good sushi and a bottle of very good beer to go with it.

+ The title of this post is my misinterpretation of the title of an old Spoon song.

I hate that I can't run. So much so that I wonder if, as soon as my body has recovered from childbirth, I will start running for exercise, simply because I can. Of course by then it will be December. But that won't deter me. I'll leave baby with Brian for a half hour or so and take a nice jog in the crisp wintery air. I can see it now!

Last night we watched the new show "Hoarders" on A&E. Disturbing. I don't think I can watch another one. I kept wondering how one person can accumulate so much worthless junk, never clean it up or let go of it, never admit there is a deep-seated problem. It's such a fascinating illness, and so sad. This one woman had a 2000 sq foot home and had filled it almost top to bottom with "bargains" and crap. She placed an oversized level of emotional value on "things." Another guy had a teensy little studio apartment which he had filled mostly with actual garbage -- pizza boxes and soda cups, etc. The floor was not visible. They had to use a big shovel to clean it out.

The worst was the food hoarder though, who looked to also be a fledgling cat hoarder, too. A whole house full of spoiled food and cat shit. Glad I watched that one on a tiny box on my computer screen and not in HDTV in the living room.

It makes me wonder if this illness is unique to Americans, or to countries where people live in relative comfort and with access to so many material goods. Probably not. Even in this country, both the rich and the impoverished can become hoarders. It's an external manifestation of an internal psychological problem -- the chaos inside demonstrated outwardly with a completely chaotic living space. And it's also one of the hardest disorders to treat and cure.

Watching that show makes me want to clean house. I love having a tidy home. I'm not OCD about it (I guess the other end of the spectrum from hoarding), I don't vacuum the ceilings or anything, but I do like to have things put away where they go and wake up to an empty kitchen sink. Not easy when you have the schedule I do and are also pregnant. My hormones are clamoring for me to nest. Pretty soon I probably will be vacuuming the ceilings, and washing the baseboards, and dusting everything.

Speaking of nesting, the baby's dresser arrives today, as well as the new switch plates I ordered for some of the light switches. Still need to re-do the closet in her room, and finish the guest room, install new lighting fixture in there, decorate the shade for the lamp in the nursery, etc etc. Busy busy bzz bzz.

Top Four Questions I Am Asked by Random Strangers:

1. When are you due?
2. Boy or a girl?
3. Is it your first?
4. Do you have a name picked out?

Usually in that order. Seriously, I have completed this survey dozens of times now. We need some new personal questions to ask pregnant women.

1. Do you know who the father is?
2. Was it an "accident"?
3. Are you getting a c-section?
4. Are you getting a nanny?
5. How old are you, anyway?
6. How much weight have you gained?
7. You're still drinking coffee??
8. Are you having twins?
9. Are you going to quit your job?
10. Are you going to keep your cats?

I've been asked several of those questions, too.

Thankfully, only close friends and relatives (and medical professionals) have touched my belly, and a few of them have even asked first. I pity the fool who doesn't know me and dares put a hand on my bump.