No baby yet, huh?

I get that question so many times every day. It totally doesn't bother me at all (so feel free to continue to ask; it shows you care!), but I do get it in all its varied formats many, many, many times. Consequently, I can answer the question pretty succinctly. For example:

Question from teacher this morning: When are you due?

Answer: Three days ago!

Question from 4th grader this morning: Are you having a baby?

Answer: Hopefully soon!

Question from co-worker: You're still here?

Answer: Unfortunately!

Question from folks at church yesterday: Wasn't your due date on Friday?

Answer: Apparently not!

Question from people over the phone who can't see me: Are you in labor yet?

Answer: I wish!

Note the exclamation points at the end of each of my responses. I have all the enthusiasm in the world for these loving friends, family, and strangers. At the same time, I'm so far past being ready to deliver this baby, if she doesn't get here in the next day or so, my answers will start to become a bit strained. You've been warned.

So here's the full update: I have been having contractions since last Thursday (10/14). Last Saturday I was actually starting to believe I was in labor. Well, obviously not, since it's been 9 days since then. I had a doctor's appointment last Monday, and I'm at zero centimeters. I'm closed. Not dialated at all. Stupid cervix! I have been having contractions off and on the past week, but none particularly severe or noteworthy. I have a doctor's appointment today at 3:15, so I will update again if anything has changed...but I'm trying really, really hard to go in with no expections other than still being at zero. I do plan on discussing induction with my doctor today even though I've been so adament against it this whole pregnancy. I'm not going to do it sooner than necessary, but I don't want to go past two weeks late for fear of giant baby c-section, bad placenta, or any of the other scary side effects. So my personal induction goal date would be Nov. 3 or 4 (12-13 days past due), and we'll see what Dr. McEvoy says about that.

Otherwise...things are fine. As of this morning, I'm officially done with all work commitments. Finished volleyball on Tuesday; I have included some lovely pictures of my team's end-of-season celebration as well as pictures of me in the team shirt I made at that celebration. I ended up working one more Sunday (yesterday) at Bryn Mawr, but I plan to continue to attend church as a member. I finished up at the schools I'd been teaching in and even made it out for some surveys at a school this morning. Now all I have on my to-do list are a few non-essential meetings that no one was expecting me to attend anyway.

In other news, the Vikings are hugely disappointing me. Sad, sad loss to the Packers, not helped by the two questionable ref calls that cost us 4 points (the difference between a loss and a tie) and gave them 7 points (the difference between a loss and a win). I hate losing games that way.

And Romelie has been given a new mantra. Stay calm; ask for help. I've started to say that to her anytime she has a panic attack over something trivial, which unfortunately she does a lot. I've always said she's a pretty senstive kid, and I'm okay with that. She's smart and creative and loving and emotional. But remember that scene in "Parenthood?" The oldest son of Steve Martin and Mary Steenburgen is at Chuck-E-Cheese or something and loses his retainer and immediately throws this huge, panicky, crying fit. Everyone's looking, and the parents are stressed and embarrassed. Later, the parents are outside in the alley digging through the trash to try to find the retainer, and Steve Martin is frustrated at how his son just goes into these instantaneous freak-outs. "He's so high strung." And he laments about how he doesn't know what to do to change this behavior.

That's how I feel these days. I understand that Romelie is still 2 years old, and that this is not crazy uncommon for toddlers. I also can't help but feel frustrated when she's playing nicely or reading, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, she's crying and screaming "Where are my shoes?" I mean, I get it - in her head, she decides she wants her shoes, realizes that she doesn't know where they are, concludes that the shoes are gone forever, and panics and cries. However, to my logical grown-up brain, particularly when I know exactly where her shoes are, it stresses the heck out of me. I just want her to calmly ask "Where are my shoes?" and give me a 5-second opportunity to at least try to answer her question before the freak out begins. So, new mantra. Stay calm; ask for help.

I'll let you know if it works.