Our last day together

And so, it comes to pass. I will not be pregnant for much longer. It could be a matter of just hours, or this could take all day. I guess it just depends on how our bodies work together, dear baby. Honestly, no one knows how you are still hiding in there or why. I am effaced as much as can be and dilated, too. Your head has dropped into the perfect position and you are making all the right moves to begin your beautiful exit. And, all of these people in the world are rooting for you. The whole universe is calling out for your success; we can't wait for you to shift the planet for us, baby. 
Some people think that you aren't here yet because you are strong-willed. (I may live to regret this, but I'd be delighted if you were a person of great strength and will.) I have a hunch it might be my body that wants to hold you and keep you forever. You see, there were times in my life that I wasn't sure I wanted to have children. Then there were times when I wasn't sure I could have children. And now, I am not sure I want to let you go. Logically, I know that's not possible--what? am I going to be pregnant all my life??
 If you've been reading the blog, you know that it was with great risk that we chose to have you. There were many conversations between your dad and I about what life might be like if we lost you or if you two lost me. And, we chose to try to have it all. We choose you. May all of us always remember that you are a blessing. A miracle. A wonder. (It might get hard to remember this in about 13 years...and I don't want it to go to your head before or after that time.) Know that you have been loved ever since even before the first moments of your existence--and we will love you long after you've outlived us.


Because we'll forget, and you'll probably ask...
Since we couldn't convince you to come out (contractions just wouldn't start and the doctor was afraid of a prolapse situation if the water broke), your dad, the doctor and I decided to give us both a little nudge. You would be born on Father's Day, June 17. (We didn't choose the date, though it's a good one. It was the soonest we could be induced and our doctor was delivering that day.)
The day before your arrival I spent mostly in solitude. I continued to try to avoid pitocin by carrying laundry baskets up and down the stairs, cleaning the upstairs of our townhouse, running errands, etc. I also reflected on how wonderful my time with you has been. I spent time writing thank you notes to all sorts of people who have already given you so much. It was a great day of peace, love and gratitude.
Then I went to see my grandmother, Dad, aunts and cousins who were gathered to watch a parade in Waconia. It was hard not to tell them that you would be making your appearance into the world the next day--especially when Grandma told me she was hoping to hold you when she visited. I offered to let her hold my belly, but she didn't think that was quite the same. Your dad spent the day with his friends playing paintball and celebrating the upcoming marriage of one of his closest friends, Ryan. (Yup. He was at a bachelor party. I didn't want to tell very many people that either because lots of folks think that I shouldn't let him out of my sight, just in case. I only gave him one guideline--just don't get "Frank The Tank" drunk. I'll let you look that one up!)
Though we spent the day apart, when we crawled into bed, your Dad fell asleep with his hand on my belly (and you kicking and punching, of course). And we both decended into dreamland thinking about today. Your birthday.