Yesterday, I told a bit of a porky.
I was half way through painting my nails—something I do only very occasionally—when I heard a knock at the door. It was midday. I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. Hurrumph. It must be someone trying to sell something.
I lugged my 38 week pregnant frame off the chair and waddled toward the door. Behind it stood a very friendly looking lady, holding pamphlets. As I stared at the lady through the fly wire screen, I silently willed her to leave so that I could get back to my half-done nails. As it turned out, she was from a real estate agency and was wondering if I was in the market to either sell or buy a house. Together, we quickly established that I wasn’t in the market for either of those things.
Then, just when I thought she was about to leave, she spoke again.
‘When are you due?’
It was a question that I’d heard countless times over the last two weeks, so I knew the drill. I gave her the same old smile that I’ve gotten used to dealing out. And then came the porky.
‘Next week,’ I said to her.
She smiled and gushed for a little while, and then she was off.
As I made my way back to my nail painting station, I had a good hard think about how this harmless little porky had manifested itself. Why on earth did I say that I am due next week? My actual due date is closer to two weeks away.
Then it hit me. I didn’t lie. I am due next week. I am also due tomorrow.
Oh my Goodness: I am due today.
Of course, we’ve all heard that the good old ‘due date’ is really only an estimate and that, really, a woman can expect labour to begin two weeks either side of said ‘due date’.
This is where I am. 38 weeks and two days pregnant.
Finally, when I look at all the cute little jump suits we have waiting for our precious new born, I can see little fingers poking out from each tiny arm hole. As I stand at the nursery door—peering in dreamily for the millionth time—I can see myself standing in front of the change table, holding up a tiny pair of legs, mid nappy change.
As I walk from room to room, cleaning, pottering, whatever: I wait. I wait for the first sign that our baby is on its way. A warm trickle down my thigh. A small, yet obvious contraction. For the first time in my pregnancy, I know these things could be only moments away.
By now, I thought I’d be frustrated and over the waiting. But all I am is excited. Granted, I may change my tune in two weeks, when my due date has come and gone. But for now, excitedly, I wait.
I cannot tell you how beautiful it feels to be waiting for something so, so precious.