The due date has arrived and, as suspected, doesn’t mean much. It’s been such a flurry of emotion and activity in the last couple weeks since we reached the “safe zone” in this pregnancy, being excited about the possibility of each passing day, which turned into anxiety of how much our lives would change dramatically on that day, and then finally disappointment that the day was kind of like yesterday.
I came to the realization last night that we aren’t so much overdue but that we just have a new due date of November 23rd, which is not some arbitrary date set 7 months ago when the baby was an inch long. And if the baby decides to come before then, we can still consider him a surprise. But until then, we have this bonus time where we can still do pre-baby things knowing that the uncertainty has a true end date. I can carry him around with me all the time, all without a sling, a stroller, a carseat, or a diaper bag. I get to enjoy having this baby all to myself for a little while longer, feeling him react whenever I eat and seeing if I can master whether that tiny protrusion at the top of my belly is a knee or a heel. I’ve been lucky enough to feel good and strong throughout this entire pregnancy, even at the finish line so I can still run whatever errands, get out for some exercise, and meet up with friends–and that was just this week. I even got a pedicure last night. Mike, who is awesome and brave, is going for a bike ride this morning. Our afternoon is open for whatever we feel like doing. We can enjoy another leisurely brunch out tomorrow morning. This is not a failure to meet some deadline but a change of perspective and it’s still looking pretty good to me.