Technically, I have a little over 4 more hours left in what should be Davey’s scheduled due date; however, I feel that he is definitely not going to make it today.

I’m told that your first child is usually late. This isn’t the rule nor is it the exception. Am I frustrated? Yep. Am I tired? You betcha. And I suppose here’s the worst part…I’ve become so antsy as of late, that I’m annoying not only my husband, but also my dog and most everyone else around me.

My doctor asked me last week if he should prescribe me some patience pills? Yes, please, but I suppose he should have prescribed those years ago.

There’s nothing left for me to do except relax and wait for Davey’s arrival and I’ve never been one to do either of those things. Stress is not good, or so I’m told, but for the majority of my life I have thrived and excelled on the rush of adrenaline brought along by stress. I find myself these days unaware of what to do. My house is clean. The nursery is prepared. The bags are packed. What am I missing? Trust me, I’m eagerly looking for something to do other than the bed rest that I’ve been relegated to. If any of you out there have any suggestions, I’m all ears.

Tomorrow is a new day and I’m already worried about what I will do. There is only so much reading I can do in one day, so much writing I can do, so many episodes of Law & Order I can possibly watch. And what’s worse, if I sit for too long then I become tired which means I take a nap, and I hate sleeping. It’s so unproductive, although I’m told that I’ll be eating my words soon enough.

So, hopefully tomorrow I’ll have something new and exciting to report. Perhaps the long and dramatic story of how my water broke and my husband, in his excitement to get me to the hospital, trips and falls meaning I have to drive both of us to the hospital, all the while Davey is already crowning. Highly unlikely, and I would rather have a quiet and easy labor, but you never know.

Stay tuned…Davey’s arrival is imminent.

One of the greatest things about being pregnant, especially in the waning days of the pregnancy, is hearing from other mothers about their experiences during pregnancy.

It seems like every mother has their own personal horror story about the agony they went through during those last few days including the actual labor part. Of course, I have encountered the occasional few who claim that it’s the most amazingly awesome thing they’ve ever experienced and to that I laugh at them for drinking too much of the kool-aid.

Being pregnant is a wonderful experience and don’t let the word “wonderful” confuse you into thinking that it’s synonymous with the word “great”. Pregnancy has its share of greatness and as whole it is wonderful, but some of that wonderfulness can be miserable and down right ugly. Case in point is the constant back aches, heartburn and overwhelming inability to breathe during the final weeks. I am no longer sleeping well. I have learned that Italian food gives me the worst heartburn and that eating after 8 at night is no good for my digestion. My son constantly kicks on my bladder, so even if I don’t really have to pee, it feels like I do which means I’m constantly up and down, going back and forth to the bathroom.

This week should be my final week of pregnancy, although that is up for debate thanks to the fact that I’m still not dilated and my son should be here on Sunday (“should” being the operative word) and yesterday was my last day of work until after maternity leave. I must admit that I am a bit dejected to know that I’m still not dilated and that there is a pretty darn good chance that Davey will be late. I talked about this at length with a couple of my co-workers yesterday and one co-worker actually shared an interesting story with me.

During her final days of pregnancy as it was beginning to appear that her child would not be on-time, but rather late, she became a bit more hormonal than normal. While on bed rest at home, she saw an infomercial for Dionne Warwick’s Psychic to the Stars and decided to pick up the phone and call in to speak with someone about her pregnancy. Here’s the interesting thing…her psychic told her what day to expect the baby. When she went to her doctor on that day, he told her that it just didn’t look like that day would be it. She cried and told the doctor what her psychic said and the doctor agreed to see her again later that afternoon, giving her a pity stroke on the hand before she left. Long story short, her child was born on that very day four minutes before midnight. Coincidence?

So, I’m contemplating that if Monday rolls around and my son is not here, I may be engaging in the assistance of a psychic. It’s sad what happens to extremely tired and hormonal women during the final days of pregnancy and the straws that we’ll grasp at just to know exactly when the end is here. Fortunately, at most I have nine more days before I hold my son. OMG! 9 more days and my life is changed forever. Wonder what my psychic would say about my upcoming d-day and impending vacation from solo-land?

T-minus 7 days and counting.

Have you ever had the feeling that you’re running with all your might and you see that finish line so you pump even harder knowing that the end of your long arduous journey is here? But with each step, as your foot hits the pavement and you become closer and closer to the finish line, it stays the same size as it was a few steps back. You pump harder and harder, propelling yourself to the finish, but with each step the finish line seems to be taking that same step away from you. It’s so frustrating and it’s almost like you’re expending all of your energy for nothing. Well, that’s exactly how I feel in these waning days of my pregnancy.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and I know I’m near. Victory is so close I can almost feel it, but that light keeps getting further and further away and I can’t help but wonder….Am I ever going to give birth to this child????

It’s an exaggeration, but I feel like I’ve been pregnant my entire life, when in all actuality I’ve only been pregnant for 2.3% of my life. That seems odd and not quite right.

The final days have become the worst. I went to the doctor last week, full of excitement and anticipation…my cervix was going to be checked and I just knew that I was at least 1 cm dilated. Unfortunately, when the doctor checked me out, I wasn’t even so much as a tenth of a cm dilated. Yeah, that’s right, my cervix was still closed tight and my son was just enjoying himself in the womb. I actually had a vision of him sitting all balled up and listening to the doctor tell me the dreaded news and then my son laughed at me, almost as if being spiteful.

My level of discomfort over these last few days has meant lack of sleep for me and a severe emotional state that has bordered on needing quaaludes. My poor co-workers feel like they are walking on eggshells around me, unsure if their simple “Good morning” will set me off into a crying spree that I can’t stop. It was so bad that I was actually sent home at 930 on Friday morning. What a disgrace!

This past weekend, I’ve tried my best to develop some patience. After all, Davey isn’t coming until he’s good and ready and apparently he’s just not ready. The problem is that he’s exhausting me. I can’t find a comfortable way to sleep, nor is there any way comfortable to sit. For crying out loud, my belly is so huge now, I feel like I’m stretching out to reach this keyboard!

I’m hoping that by this time next week, I’ll be posting a blog with our wonderful news, that our beautiful baby boy is home. I’m not holding my breath and I’m doing my best to not get too frustrated each morning that I wake up and he’s not here. Let’s see how well I hold out this week.

I look at it with disgust, angry that what I once saw was peace and longing. Its firm supports and extra large size always made me eager for its nocturnal qualities. We bought it, having tried out so many others, but this one was the best. He put his best support foward and plush tops were prominently displayed as he eagerly drew us in. For years, it was my respite, my desire, my favorite place to be, but now I find myself becoming angry with my former friend. I no longer believe he has the ability to provide me the comfort I so desperately desire.

There were nights he would caress my back, engulfing my body into a type of cocoon, a security and comfort that made me melt. I used to curl up in him and hold myself tightly, at times feeling like I could drift off into a dream like state. As a matter of fact, I did drift off into that state for quite some time, but not anymore.

My bed and his brother, the mattress, now are my antagonizers since I’ve become pregnant. I used to get excited thinking about their comforts, curling up in the blankets and comforters while I drifted off to sleep. I used to sleep through the night, never once waking up with each toss and turn, but not anymore. I dread this time of the night and my new nemesis, the bed.

I used to sleep so well on my stomach. It was always my favorite position, but not anymore. My mattress doesn’t conform to my burgeoning belly, which means I try to sleep on my back. Is that possible? No way! Now I feel like I sink too far into the bed and cannot breathe. It’s almost as if a pile of weights is pressing down on my chest. I’m now forced onto my side. On my left side, I breathe better and apparently so does my son, but there’s no place to put my arm, so it just dangles off the side of the bed. If I move onto my right side, then in most cases I’m forced to face my husband, who has a tendency to snore and breathe in my face. Can’t happen! So, now what must I endure? A few sporadic hours of sleep here and there.

What happened to my bed, the one that was marketed as the most comfortable? The one that used to lull me to sleep in the blink of an eye. I’m exhausted right now, my son is not kicking (hopefully that’s a sign) and I really want to sleep, but the anticipation of what lies upstairs is so disheartening. I can only hope that my love for my former friend will return within a matter of weeks. Until then, I’m off to wrestle the beast for another night. Perhaps tonight is my night to win.

One week and five days! That’s it! Well, that’s if he’s on time, which I’ve been told first children aren’t exactly notorious for arriving at the scheduled time of delivery.

Last week, I have to admit, I was a tad bitter and even jealous. One of my co-workers, who is approximately two weeks behind me, actually lost her mucus plug and found out that she was dilated one centimeter and her child was 70% effaced. I mean, really? I’m scheduled to deliver two weeks before her and she’s already that far along?!?!?!? It just seems so unfair and I spent the better part of my morning wanting to hide in the bathroom and cry at work. I reminded myself of a spoiled child that can’t seem to get her way.

So, I decided to start taking matters into my own hands by following all of those ridiculous myths we all read and hear about (and admit it, mommies, you’ve probably tried a few of them yourself) that could possibly induce labor. I went walking with my husband and my dog. I contemplated going to the hunting land with my husband and dad just because I wanted to ride the tractor in the hopes that the vibrations would jolt Davey loose. I can thank my friend, Gretchen, for that crazy idea! I’ve eaten started eating spicy food, walking seven flights of stairs at work, and if I my husband would only agree to it….having sex!

I don’t know if it’s because I can see the light at the end of the tunnel that’s making me impatient. I never thought this day would arrive and technically it hasn’t yet, but I never thought I would be this close. And as I try to envision what it will be like if and when my water breaks, I find myself a little terrified, not for the labor, but the after part.

I’ve spent the better part of these past nine months feeling pretty cool, calm, and collect (my favorite 3 C’s). I’ve made fun of other mothers who were basket cases and worry worts. I haven’t felt overwhelmed by anything and for the most part I’ve felt like I’m ready to bring Davey home. Now, I’m starting to hit that worried stage.

Things are going to be so different. No longer will it just be me and my husband, we’ll officially be a party of three. What does that mean? I’m afraid that I’ll stress too much. I’m afraid that I won’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. I’m afraid that I’ll kill myself trying to keep my previous lifestyle while incorporating baby Davey into it. And most of all, I’m afraid that I’ll never be alone.

I’m not a solitary individual by any means, but I do appreciate the occasional overnight travel my husband must take in the name of his career. I like to have a glass of wine in the evenings while taking a bubble bath and reading a book. I like my cup of coffee in the morning, well before the rest of the world is rising, as I sent in front of my computer and bang away on the keys. I’m not going to have this anymore and I’m afraid of how it will impact me.

In the end, I want my son here. I want to wrap my arms around him, to cuddle up to him, to feel his little hand grip my finger, but I worry that my fears may outweigh my excitements and that I’ll find myself in a downward spiral of overwhelming postpartum depression. Am I normal?

Normally this isn’t something I would have considered for my child, and some people may feel that my husband and I are going to extremes. After all, if the good Lord wants to take my child home to him, then nothing I can say or do will ever prevent that from happening. Many people claim that playing with cord blood and stem cells is going against God’s law, but I can’t see how that’s true and perhaps I’m naive, but I can’t imagine having to go through what my mother went through.

Seven years ago this month, September 29th to be exact (strange how certain dates always stick in your head) we found out that my younger brother had leukemia. We knew what the disease was and had a basic understanding of it’s ramifications, but never thought in a million years it would hit so close to home, a direct bulls-eye at that. We watched my brother, the stronger child of the two of us, suffer through months of chemotherapy and radiation. We saw how the disease not only humbled him, but also ourselves and we watched as it broke down this once active and vital young man into a shell of a human being.

Almost 6 months later we found a bone marrow match for him. He moved to Atlanta with my parents, lived there for almost 3 months while he went through his transplant process. We were told up front this wasn’t a cure, but he could still live his life and the cancer would be in remission. This was true until a couple of years later when it came out of remission and there was nothing more we could do. My brother died fighting the hardest and worst battle any person could ever face. He fought it proudly and strongly, but in the end he died with his dignity and his faith and now serves as an angel in God’s army.

We chose to name our son after my brother, one of the greatest men to ever walk this earth, and as the days transformed into weeks and the weeks into months, I began to start giving serious consideration to cord blood banking. For those of you unsure of what this is, it’s basically taking the umbilical cord blood of your newborn child and banking it. This blood is considered to be the purest blood ever and has been found to help in such cancers like leukemia. The procedure is simple and doesn’t cause any harm to the mother or the child, but it isn’t cheap.

My husband and I discussed this process in depth and looked over our finances before firmly deciding that this is the best way to go for our son. I can’t prevent the inevitable, but I can at least provide my child with a fighting chance should he get leukemia and if it’s not used, then we can always donate to someone else who may need it.

I don’t know that I’m as strong as my mother and I don’t know how I could ever watch my child die in my arms. It was hard enough holding my brother’s hand as he took his last breath. I don’t want to experience that pain again and I don’t want my child to experience it either. Cord blood may not save his life, but banking it provides me with a little more peace of mind.

For those of you expectant mothers or for those of you who may know other expectant moms, please take some time to learn more about Cord Blood Banking and how it works. It may cost money right now, but my husband and I can always make more money, we can’t always save our child’s life or someone else’s.

My husband and I are choosing to bank ours with, CBR. Below is their link. Please take some time to check them out.

www.cordblood.com

Any day now and the doctor says that my son will join us in this world. The excitement has been building and I’ve read up on everything to expect while expecting, but this week is the first that I’ve ever actually begun to wonder what to expect when I’m no longer expecting.

Babycenter.com wrote a very interesting article this week about the changes that will occur with a woman’s body after she has given birth, everything from how much weight will she lose immediately to how soon her uterus will shrink and why is she losing her hair? Yep, that’s right…apparently one question does indeed deal with the fact that a woman will lose some of her hair after giving birth. Personally, I have a lot of hair to spare, but the thought of it thinning is a little worrisome almost to the point of feeding my vanity monster.

Everyday I’ve found out something new, something unexpected, and something that usually elicits a groan of discomfort or at least anticipated discomfort, from me. I’m assuming that every mother at least knows what to expect and that what I’m about to share is not new knowledge. Unfortunately, there are a lot of new mothers and mothers to be out there who haven’t the slightest thought to some of these uncomfortable and even embarrassing situations. I’m not going to address all of them in this one blog, but there are a couple that I wanted to highlight.

I’m already to my wit’s end these day when in comes to my bladder and my constant need to pee! And here’s the real kicker, I feel like my bladder is going to explode every thirty minutes, but when I get into the bathroom there’s hardly even a drop of pee that comes out of me! It’s almost as if the bathroom visit was a colossal waste of my time. At least I know that I have to pee because according to babycenter.com, for the first few days after birth I may not even know that much! What?!?!?! Apparently my bladder will become less sensitive.

Great! Just what I need is a reversion back to my childhood when I can no longer control my urge to urinate. I’m already worried about my husband waking up at night to find that I’ve wet the bed. On the plus side of things at least this should only occur within the first few days after pregnancy so I won’t have to worry about any embarrassing mishaps while at work!

The next thing that caught my attention has to do with my vagina and perineum. Where my sex life (or lack thereof since becoming pregnant) is concerned, I have experienced a few ups and downs over the past nine months. I have had weeks of sheer exhaustion to the point of literally passing out right after work which obviously inhibited my desire to have sex, to a few months where I craved it more than food, air, sleep, basically anything. On those months, I think my husband definitely started out taking advantage of the new side of me, but then he started using excuses to quiet my insatiable desires.

Of course with the last few weeks, I haven’t had much of a desire as I’ve found myself completely uncomfortable in so many ways. I can’t even sleep at night without constant leg cramps, foot cramps, bad dreams, and even the incessant need to pee. I can’t even really sit at my desk anymore without having trouble breathing or when I first stand up the pain felt within my groin muscles where the excess weight of my child is stretching them beyond oblivion. Obviously my comfort level has declined fast.

What I was hoping for is that my sex drive would come back after birth and while I haven’t read anything to the contrary, the little bit of information on babycenter.com about my vagina and perineum really agitates me already.

After giving birth, a woman’s vagina will be swollen and even possibly bruised. It is to be expected since you are squeezing something the size of a melon out of the size of a pea hole. This part did not shock me, but what did concern me was that my levels of estrogen would be so low and even more so if I breast feed to the point of dryness in my vaginal area meaning my husband and I will have to invest in lubricant. While I’m sure that doesn’t really concern him, it still bothers me. It’s already bad enough that I’m 36 years old and that over the course of the past few years I’ve already started noticing an increase in dryness within that area especially when I have the desire to have sex, but now it’s going to be even more amplified. It’s just more frustrating than it is worrisome. And like I said, I’m sure my husband won’t really mind.

These are just a two of the topics covered in this article:
http://www.babycenter.com/viewArticle.htm?articleId=1456740&scid=preg_2_20110901%3A2
You’ll find a lot more interesting things and for those of you who are already moms perhaps you’ll be able to embellish upon some of these concerns and what your experiences were like for the rest of first-timers. It’s an interesting read and I highly encourage you check out the article. You can visit Babycenter’s website directly by clicking on the link on my homepage. There’s a lot this site has to offer. A lot more than I ever thought I would want to know.