Dan was born five weeks early.
Earthmom, Dan’s sister, was born three months early.
I was born two weeks early.
(By “early” I mean before the doctors’ estimated due dates or EDDs.)
I was induced with Flora at 38 weeks, technically two weeks early, and with Kate at 37 weeks, three weeks early.
So it didn’t seem improbable that Bud would be four weeks early.
Sunday, it looked like my mucus plug was breaking up. Monday morning, I was having cramping and a lot of pressure.
So we headed to the hospital (and the midwife on call) to see if things were starting to happen.
I was hoping they were. I’ve been saying that I’m ready for awhile now, and I’m not lying.
(Although, once I perused the list of things we are supposed to bring with us to the hospital or birthing center, I realized we still don’t have newborn diapers or a baby boy outfit.)
Upshot: It was a false alarm. We monitored the baby, who is doing great, and the midwife checked what she needed to. No dilation, no effacement.
Boo. Kind of.
More time is always good, I understand that. Dan and I still have plenty to do to prepare the house for Bud’s arrival. Last weekend, we moved furniture and set up the crib. This weekend, we are buying new furniture for the girls, and (I sincerely hope) sorting through clothes — girl clothes that need to be donated or go to consignment, boy clothes we’ve been given that needs to be sorted, sized, and washed (probably).
We have dinners planned with my parents, Thanksgiving planned with my in-laws.
And, of course, I have plenty of ducks to get in a row at work.
We have midwife appointments and sonograms. I want to schedule at least one pregnancy massage (and a brow wax).
But I also want to meet my baby. More than anything else. I want him here, safe. I want our lives as a family of five to start — really start.
In other words, early would be fine with me.