So 2 and a half weeks after the doctor said, "Any minute," I'm still here, still pregnant and as cranky as ever. We've given Boo a new nickname, "Little Princess False Alarm." Thursday night I had contractions 4-5 minutes apart, 45-90 seconds in duration for about 2 hours. Just as Kevin and I decided it might be time to head to the hospital the contractions tapered off and then stopped. The same thing happened last night. It's disheartening and depressing and leaves me tireder and sorer than before. I'm officially DONE with being pregnant now, thanks ever so much.
We've done everything that the doctor and the old wives' tales suggest to get things moving and so far, dear little Boo seems not to be getting the message. It struck me yesterday as I returned exhausted from yet another walk, that perhaps all the effort to get things moving was, in fact, delaying the process. I'm laying off now and just chillin', letting the wee one take her own sweet time. She'll arrive when she's good and ready.
Lots of well-meaning people have been checking in regularly, and, while I genuinely appreciate their concern, questions like "How are you feeling?" and "Still no baby?" begin to grate on my already fragile nerves. I find myself short-tempered, tired, crabby, and increasingly hermit-like. I'm spending most of my time at home, sitting in my rocking chair and knitting to while away the time. I'm nearly finished with Kevin's socks and turning my attention to some of the older projects in the queue like Mr. Greenjeans and Swing. I also started a new Clapotis for Robin in BMFA Twisted in the gorgeous Rooky colorway.
I'm officially disappearing for a while now, to knit away the rest of the pregnancy until the little one decides to grace us with her presence. Trust that no news means that she hasn't arrived and that as soon as she does, Kevin will post from his phone. See you on the other side.