Missing the deadline

Well D-day has come – and gone. With no sign of the mini traveller making an appearance. And however unlikely it was that we’d be bang on schedule on the due date, someone has to be in the 5% who have their babies right on time so I was optimistic.

I’ve enjoyed being pregnant, but I’m done now. I’m fed up of my feet being swollen, my knuckles being so stiff I wake up with a pair of claws in the morning, of not being able to put my shoes on without assistance.

The nursery is ready, the hospital bag is packed, I’ve washed everything it’s possible to wash and I’ve even read through my ridiculous backlog of travel magazines. I’ve even got so bored, I’ve sent off for the forms to apply for a baby passport.

In between researching other natural (and mostly inefficient) ways of bringing on labour, I’ve been going for long walks, eating curry, and trying to decide if the apparently vile taste of raspberry leaf tea is actually worth it for the very vague possibility it might speed things up.

Frankly, I feel in limbo. Too pregnant to do anything much, but not able to start on the next step. And while everyone tells me to make the most of this time before life changes for good (although stocking up sleep is easier said than done), I’m ready to move on.

Shame the mini traveller seems to have other ideas…