I saw the ob on Monday. I get the distinct impression he's tired of pregnant women because he never wants to talk about, well, pregnancy. My pregnancy. He measures, he waves the doppler, he checks my cervix, all while talking about the state of health care in America today and his last 18 holes. Golf, people, golf. Then I interrupt and ask the pertinent questions, like my glucose levels, strep test, and, of particular concern to me, what's happening down there??!! Strangely, I really like the guy, he's funny as hell, he's purportedly the best perinatologist in the city, but, he's amazingly nonchalant. He fails to understand that Adam is not the result of a wild drunken romp, but the result of life altering good luck, plenty of science and the financial equivalent of a Porsche Cayenne.
All that to say, Adam's taking his sweet time. I'm not dilated, but my cervix has thinned since last week. I knew this anyway because my little Alien is playing hammer time with my bladder. My hands and feet are swollen and strangely, the bottoms of my feet hurt. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the four, 5 lb bags of potatoes I've added to my frame. My largeness is becoming painful, particularly as it affects my fashion sense. Tentwear is so passe. So, I feel relatively sure that I won't be giving birth anytime soon.
That's all I know for now. Other than it's 1000 degrees outside and if my feet don't go back down to a 7 1/2 after giving birth, I will be cutting off toes and expensing the Jimmy Choos I have yet to wear from Adam's college fund. I'm not kidding.