Waiting for Labor Day

Babies are tricksters. How do I know? I spent several days this week thinking I was finally going to meet my daughter, only for her to stay firmly rooted in her warm little cave.

On Monday morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. having the most painful contraction I had experienced up to that point. The same thing happened that afternoon, but only one contraction each time. Nothing to be excited about, right? Wrong.

When you're nine months pregnant, you crave nothing more than to feel unbearable pains radiating from your midsection. It's the most masochistic state of mind you can imagine.

At 3 a.m. on Tuesday morning, I awoke with similar pains that weren't subsiding. They lasted half an hour before I called Roy and told him to get to my house in Louisville. I got in the shower, only for the contractions to slowly and subtlely subside. I felt guilty for making Roy wake up and come all the way here for nothing, but there was nothing I could do. Neither of us got much sleep that night.

We spent the next day walking around as much as I could manage to no avail. And so Wednesday passed with no baby.

I'm not a superstitious person, but by Thursday, I was fully convinced that making a big deal about labor would only prolong my pregnancy. So when Roy went to work with my mom on Thursday, I insisted that neither of them call to check on me. If anything happened, I would let them know. (Nothing happened.)

We decided to make a trip up to the IKEA store in Cincinnati that afternoon thinking that maybe getting me a couple hours away from home would tempt the baby to come out. Sure enough, it seemed to work. By the time we were almost home around 10:30 that night, I was gripping the arm rests in my chair, completely immersed in painful contractions every three minutes for two hours. My hospital bag sat in the living room, ready to go, while I focused on breathing in and out, in and out.

Words can't describe how disappointed I was when I woke up in my bed several hours later. My contractions had subsided enough for me to fall asleep.

So today is Saturday and still no baby. The last week is a blur of anxiety, frustration, guilt and disappointment, all strung together by a series of good meals and a successful trip to IKEA.

The guilt may be hard to understand, but trust me when I say it's there. I feel so disheartened every time I make people think something is really happening only for it to stop. I'm sick of the phone calls. I've heard, "No, nothing yet," spoken into the phone receiver more times that I could keep track of. The anticipation alone of wanting to see your baby is exhausting.

A while ago I wondered to myself how labor is possible. When your body is so worn out, your back feels like it might break any moment and you can't even walk up a flight up stairs without getting winded, how in the world are you supposed to push out a baby? Now I understand.

Childbirth relies on willpower, on the idea that you are so excited to finally meet this little person for whom you've been preparing for months that you will surrender your entire body to the process of getting him or her out into the world.

So here I sit, no baby to speak of, still waiting. I'm indulging in selfish pleasures- painting my nails, baking desserts, taking naps- while I still can. But my greatest selfishness of all is probably wanting this baby to come out when I want her to. What a conundrum...