The "Past-Due" Club

*I wrote this the day before I had Myles.  Truly believing I had more time before he would make an appearance, I didn't publish it right away.  So while I'm thankfully no longer pregnant, I thought I would still share this!

            This was a whole new ball game for me, and no matter what the stats say for how common it can be to go past your due date, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  It’s a form of torture, to put it mildly.  After having Baya come 11 days early, it’s even more torturous.  She was due March 9^th and came February 26^th.  And everything was pointing in the direction of me going early again as well.  I was dilated to 2.5cm at 37 weeks, then at 38 I was 3cm, 80% effaced and the baby was dropped into position.  At 39 weeks, I was still at 3cm, and at 40 weeks I was nearly 4 cm.

            I went back in at 40.5 weeks and measured at 4cm.  We set up a non-stress test for just past 41 weeks, and scheduled my induction for the day before I would be 42 weeks.  Were there contractions?  Sure, here and there.  Contractions, cramping, but nothing that signified, “this is it!” even though sometimes, especially in the middle of the night, I would hope.  Then I would wake up in the morning with another day passed.  Those were the worst.  On the days where I was in a mental place of “this is never going to happen,” – those were the easiest days.  Whenever I would get my hopes up though, those were terrible. 

Thankfully only went 5 days over...

            There were days along the way where I thought, this would be a good birthday!  But you can’t think that way.  You can’t hope for a particular day, or week, or even the month of February.  We were once concerned that this one might share Baya’s birthday (this one was due 2 days prior to her), but that day has long come and gone as well, and now they’ll have birthdays that are weeks apart.  Because at this point, I have now been pregnant WEEKS longer than I was the first time around.  Baya’s early arrival gave false hope for the next one, and even the doctor seems surprised that I keep showing up for another week’s appointment.  As he put it, “Whenever you try to make a guess, you always end up being proven wrong.”

            There are also other concerns that come into play at this point.  This baby will obviously be bigger than my first (6lb 5oz Baya), and it worries me how delivery and recovery will go – will I tear?  This makes recovery longer and we are already weeks behind where I was the last time at this point in the year.  Everything has been delayed, including recovery, which is a big focus.  Will I get stretch marks?  While I continue to swim (so much slower now), run (yup, did another 4-miler), and bike (something I can at least still push out hard watts on), I struggle with motivation, tiredness (I do NOT sleep well at night), and concern about my return to training and racing.  I wrestle with self-doubt: will I make a strong return after this baby like I did the first time?  How do I fit everything in with 2 kids?!  I worry about labor and delivery – there are so many things that can go wrong.  You become borderline depressed.  You can’t shut your mind off, despite being exhausted.  You realize that all the women you know who went over their due date are warriors, not by choice, but warriors nonetheless.

            You try to distract yourself with activities.  I try to take Baya swimming as much as I can while I can.  We went sledding before the warm-up (we still could but it’s too wet in my book!).  I picked out a new bike, listed my current one for sale, and planned the track season (which practices started this past week).  Before I hit 40 weeks, I was already losing my mind.  I dreamed my water broke during the night while in bed, and I jumped out so fast that I startled Andy.  Completely wide-awake.  Completely NOT in labor.  Another day passes.  And another, and another.  So my new countdown is until the 20^th, when I have my induction scheduled, because believing that the baby will come any sooner, is just too much disappointment to handle.  So I make plans for tomorrow, and accept that I will be pregnant forever.  Or until March 20th.