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?