My doctor says I am dilated 2 cm. Last week I was at 1 cm. At this rate I should deliver some time in October. Kidding! But I am caught in that surreal place of knowing I'll have a baby in a week, two at the most, and still feeling really surprised when I realize there will actually be a new baby in a week, two at the most.
Dr. S stripped my membranes this morning, which, for those who've never had the pleasure, involves her sticking her finger up my cervix and poking at the baby to make it come out. It's not extremely painful, but it's not in any way pleasant. The baby wriggled around a little like it was annoyed, but so far not annoyed enough to vacate the premises.
I'm calling my acupuncturist tomorrow.
Thank you to my friends who commented on my last miserable entry to let me know I'm not a complete monster for having some trepidation about the new baby. I notice I added nothing last week about how excited I am to meet and hold this new little person, too. I am, I just forget that sometimes.
And even if I weren't excited, my increasing discomfort is quickly overriding my doubts. Seriously--bring on the wailing infant. It's not like I'm sleeping anyway.
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