They say you labor more like your sister than like your mother. But really, who are these people and how do they know?
My sister carried her baby a few days past her due date (I think) and then was medically induced.
My sister arrived 4 days before her due date.
My brother arrived 3 days after his due date.
I arrived 2 weeks early, after a few weeks of false labor.
My grandmother did not carry any of her 9 babies to 9 months. Most of them were born around 8 months and 1 - 2 weeks.
Chalk it up to miscalculation, chalk it up to genetics, but it doesn't look like this baby is coming early. I've been fine with that. No, really, I have been expecting to carry it all the way through 42 weeks and go through 30 hours of labor, if that what it takes. I've been saying that for months. But now? Here? At 36 weeks? I imagine 6 more weeks and I'm not so optimistic. I don't think I can do it. I know I should remember to take it one day at a time, not get overwhelmed with how much time is left in the pregnancy, but more and more I'm feeling like I'd like the babe to come a little early. Just a little early, like the week before the due date. Or heck, on the due date. But not late.
My belly feels like it has grown exponentially in the last weeks. I can't wait for our midwives to measure me tomorrow because I'm certain there will be a huge change from last time. At this rate of growth, I will be tipping over by the time the baby is due. Dave will be pushing me around in a wheelbarrow. I know I've had it easy, I know I've been lucky. I'm grateful for 8 months of not-so-bad. I know this is the last month, the home stretch (ha!), the end of the road. But seriously. I'm huge. My shirts don't come down to meet my pants anymore, and even my sweat pants are revolting, refusing to stay up. I thought this pregnancy thing was supposed to be easy! Come on!