Turns out, I think I'm failing. If there are two things I dislike, it's failing and uncertainty, in no particular order. I'm fairly uncomfortable. . . not horribly so, but just enough to keep my complaint-meter in the red zone. And oh, the uncertainty! I am thrilled that pre-eclampsia seems to have been avoided, but the not-knowing about WHEN this kid will arrive has sent my predisposition for analyzing and over-analyzing into over-drive. Evidently, there is no magic formula to predict when I will go into labor, despite typing in all kinds of variations on the internet searches.
Le sigh. Last week's tonsil check at the OB brought news that I was 3cm dilated and 50% effaced. I'm holding out hope that this week will bring more progress. . . or better yet that I'm one of those women who doesn't know they're in labor until the doctor announces it. I'm guessing the chances of that are slim?
I know Brooklyn will be worth the wait. I can't wait to hold her, sniff her sweet skin, marvel at the tiny-ness of her body and see if she looks like Elliott. I am hoping she does, because remember? He's the best of Chris and I combined. Let's hope the chance of that happening for two kids is fairly high.