Duxford Girl

After the last few weeks of thinking that baby was never going to get here, I'm having a hard time believing that I'm not pregnant anymore. Don't get me wrong, it's great to be able to sleep any way I want and I enjoy having an empty bladder again.

However, with Simon out and into the world, I no longer have any excuses so in regards to fitness, weight-loss and health it's time to get back on track. I'll be posting my progress to keep me honest and motivated.

For those of you keen observers who noticed the countdown stopped you are correct in the assumption that I went into labour on my own.

It started on Wednesday at 0930 hrs. I was able to comfortably labour at home until around 2200 hrs that night at which point we headed for the hospital. In typical Calgary fashion we were somewhat delayed by traffic.

33 hours until induction. I am so grumpy, swollen and tired. It's stupid but I feel like I'm taking this overdue business personally.

Three days until induction, no baby yet.

I love marketing. I find the tricks of the trade fascinating and I'm always watching or reading ads to see what exactly the ad is trying to elicit from the watcher or reader.

For instance, Duracell (batteries) runs several commercials talking about how they are chosen for various emergency services, hospitals and NASA projects. What you need to know about that is that publicly funded agencies usually have to find the lowest bidder for everything. My guess is that Duracell deliberately bids low for these public services guaranteeing that theirs will be the battery used say in fire-fighter “man-down” alarms. It costs them initially because of their low bid but gives them great advertising potential. In my opinion, it's brilliant.

Ah, is there anything more ghetto than saying “I Have To” rather than “I Do”. As I mentioned before, Evil Scientist and I were suspected of having a shotgun wedding. Nine months pregnant has been long enough, thank you very much. I'd hate to think of what a ten year-long pregnancy would feel like.

Anyway, this is the beginning of my wedding dress project. I started with the obvious choice of my own wedding dress. There's a catch, though. As it stands now, I am nine months and two days pregnant. I didn't have to undo the zipper at the back of the dress to put it on, I just slipped it over my head.

Well, here I am, two days past my due date. Just to add insult to injury I've managed to catch a nasty cold so not only do I feel heavy, awkward and tired I get the added bonus of a runny nose and sore throat.

I swear, when I went to the doctor on my due date for my weekly check-up and he told me that I wasn't even a little bit dilated yet I wanted to sue somebody. I don't know who, but I figure that somebody should have to pay for this massive inconvenience.

I just realized that Jim Cuddy and Jesus Christ have the same initials.

Random thoughts should have a random numbering scheme.

The day is almost here. Well, that is to say the totally bunkus due date that really means nothing in the grand scheme of things. Thursday, technically, September 10th, is the date my doctor picked spinning his magic wheel. Ah pregnancy, somehow the longest and shortest nine months of my life ever.

Waiting for baby is a unique and horrible experience. Every book says the same thing “you'll know when labour really starts.” I've had a lot of false labour over the past couple of weeks but since none of it has been more painful than menstrual cramps, I haven't bothered to venture to the hospital. The last days have been irritating. I have bursts of energy but soon get exhausted after doing some work around the house. Then I begin to feel generally unwell but none of that has lead to actual labour. My Braxton Hick's contractions have become increasingly more intense, yet they seem to lead nowhere.