My parents left the country this weekend. Not permanently or anything, they just went to England to attend my cousin’s wedding. My big sister went with them, and my brother has gone to Dublin for the weekend, leaving behind my other sister who has her own family and possibly an set of impending explosive ovaries. Bless her, she has spent the last month in a horrible amount of pain, going back and forth to the hospital and the GP trying to get some answers.
I had sort of hoped that this combination of circumstances (no babysitters, no transport etc) would combine to form a sort of Murphy’s Law of childbirth and the baby would decide to arrive given that the timing would be so bad.
No such luck. It’s like the baby knows and is stubbornly staying inside just to spite me. The tinker.
I suppose I should explain that my first two arrived at 38 weeks and the Squishy one made her debut at 39. The idea of actually getting to my due date is very alien to me.
10 days to go.