So, I'm wussing out. After a particularly grueling few days of lugging this baby around, I've decided that this is going to be my last week at work if I don't go into labor on my own before then.
Which I won't. Because she's never coming out. Never. Never ever.
I'm sort of disappointed in myself for not being able to work right up until contractions knock me on my ass and I call Jerry in a panic to come pick me up. I guess that's sort of how I always envisioned it.
Sure, I know I should be proud that my last day will be my due date. In fact, everyone in my office with children looks at me incredulously when they see I'm still pulling full-time hours. And as miserable as it is to force myself out of my comfy fleece pants every day and put on one of the two pairs of public-appropriate pants that sort of still fit me, I'm motivated by the fact that most people think I shouldn't be able to do it anymore.
Every day someone looks at me and says, "You're STILL HERE?!" Or some version thereof.
But the truth is, it's getting difficult. The mere act of standing up from my desk for any reason is an event in itself for my uterus. I just feel the weight of it pushing down on my pelvis and often have to hold onto something, anything, for support. And sitting back down again requires my utmost concentration -- feet square on the ground, each hand on an armrest, slowly lower using my biceps and flop.
It's such an exhausting regimen that I plan out my activities for each rise. I always multitask. One round might include a trip to the printer, a stop at the photo desk, a refill at the water cooler and a trip to the bathroom. Then I'm good for at least another 20 or 30 minutes.
Then again, even sitting is no picnic. I can't cross my legs. They ache if I don't stretch them. I need to keep them elevated if I don't want my feet to swell. Sometimes I get brilliant shooting pains that run from my hips to my toes if I shift slightly. And my hips hurt so badly that sometimes I just want to wave a white flag and sever myself at the ribcage. The baby wins. She can have my lower half. I give up.
So, last night at work, after much hesitation, I talked to one of my bosses about making this my last week instead of ending Nov. 17 like I had originally planned. Friday will be my last day.
But I'm still holding out hope that I'll go before then.
In fact, I woke up this morning humming "I believe in miracles ... you sexy thang."
Granted, I'm pretty sure it's about a guy trying to get a hot woman to sleep with him, but um, I think it translates loosely.