One day countdown until I’m sure nothing will happen. My mother went late. My grandmother went late. I, too, will probably go late.

I’ve had no contractions in 3 days. Not one. Not even a “hey, still thinking about maybe letting this child out soon…maybe” little twitch. He has firmly planted himself in head down, engaged and ready to do nothing position just to drive me insane. There is no doubt that he is my child, he’s going to stick it out until he’s scaled and scabbed, just like I did.

I love him dearly and while I do think I’ll be a bit sad no longer having him all to myself, the pain that’s accompanying these final weeks is ridiculous. In any other situation, being unable to lift your legs because your hips pop out of place would be a bad thing that would require testing and medication to make you normal. Pregnant? “It’s normal, just try not to move so much.” If you told your doctor, “My foot’s so swollen, it feels like my skin is being ripped in two. The last two toes are the size of hot dogs. Yes, hot dogs.” He’d probably bring you in and take your blood and squish your foot around to see what the hell’s going on. Pregnant? They touch your giant ankle that is bulging out of your Crocs (the only shoes that even remotely come near to fitting you) and say, “Eh, it’s not that bad.”

Here is where you get down on your knees and scream like a whiney little girl, “It IS that bad, though! I look like the Michelin man! I’m in pain! I’m tired! I can’t roll over in bed and my brain has stopped working! HELP ME!” They look at you with that gentle know-it-all smile, and say, “Any day now,” as you waddle off trying your best not to plan their untimely death, or at least not to say it outloud.

Me: I think I may have to resort to pumping to get this kid out.
Eric (working, doesn’t turn around): Pumping, don’t know what that is…
Me: With the breast pump…
Eric: …. *flips around* YOU’RE GONNA PUMP YOUR VAGINA WITH THE BREAST PUMP?!?!

(ETA: Amelia, he totally said vagina. That’s what made me laugh for an hour.)

Yesterday was my 39 week appointment. We got the midwife that looks, sounds and acts just like Eric’s sister. Now, I like this lady, she’s sweet, but when the discussion turned to getting the kid out ASAP, it got a little weird.

MW: So, has your body been acting like it wants to get him out?
Me: On and off. Not as much as I’d hope for.
MW: Well, if he doesn’t come by your next appointment, we’ll set a date.
Me: WOOHOO!
MW: So…go home, have sex in the afternoon or morning. Have a little afternoon romp.
Me: Uh, okay…

Eric’s sister’s twin just told us to have sex. If we had been thinking about it before, I certainly wasn’t after that. As we left, Eric kept shivering, “I don’t think I liked that…It was like my sister just told us to have sex…”

The good news is that we now have a set day that we can say we’ll have a set day by – the 6th. I’ve already decided there will be no “setting a date” from there. If he hasn’t come by then, I will beg and plead and promise free work if she will admit me to the hospital, break my water and let that baby come on Saturday. I refuse to have this child hanging out for another couple of weeks. It is time to come out. Now!

I also asked her if she could give me an idea on the size. She felt around a bit and said, “7lbs…..4oz. But I could be off…” Wow. 7 pounds, FOUR ounces. Don’t get me wrong, I trust in her abilities. I trust in all the midwives abilities, but I think the addition of the four ounces was to make me feel more sure about the guess. Yeah, it didn’t work.

Still, it’s nice to know I probably don’t have a 30 pounder in there. Just maybe 29lbs, 4oz.

Take a look at it folks. It huge, it’s grotesque, and it’s actually on it’s way down in that picture. My right foot has begun swelling to insane proportions in the past week or so. It’s so large, even my Crocs no longer fit. The day we went shopping, it had actually managed to swell through the holes in the top of my Crocs. How ridiculous is that? Had I stood any longer I am convinced my foot would’ve swallowed my shoe like The Blob did to so many teenagers. As adorable as this whole marshmallow foot is, I miss being able to tell I actually have an in-step. I certainly miss not having stretching pains in the skin on my foot. Most of all, however, I will miss having cute toes. Not these pathetic, wrinkley, “I’m suddenly 107 years old” toes thanks to the dramatic gain and loss of water in them, and definitely not the little Vienna sausages that have been ruling the roost as of late.

One week to go and my main reason for wanting this kid out has become the insane swelling of my feet. You know, since the whole inability to lift my legs or sleep isn’t enough.

On a side note: The Girl rocks my socks. She’s terribly sweet, and don’t you dare let her tell you otherwise.

How your baby’s growing: Your baby’s ready to greet the world! He continues to build a layer of fat to help control his body temperature after birth, but it’s likely he already measures about 20 inches and weighs a bit over 7 pounds. (Boys tend to be slightly heavier than girls.) Your baby’s organs are fully developed and in place, and the outer layers of skin are sloughing off as new skin forms underneath.