My first baby (8 years ago) came 3 days early, which duplicitously led met to believe that this one would also arrive a few days before the June 1st day circled red on the calendar. However, here I sit 2 days away from hitting the 41-week pregnant mark and I’m not smiling too broadly.

I’m thankful for the little things that could make it much worse. I’m not on bed rest and my feet aren’t swollen beyond shoes, but I’m anxious and I’m as ready as I’ll be … and between me and the rest of the universe, I’m really done with this journey. Every pregnancy is unique, I know. Every baby is different, of course. But most mama-to-be are pretty much at the “stick a fork in me, I’m done” part when 41 weeks has come and gone on the calendar.

At the doctor’s appointment last week, they scheduled me for 3 visits next week, all including the non-stress testing where they hook me up to a monitor and check baby’s movements, fluid levels, and heart rate. Fun! Then at 42 weeks they induce. I really wanted to take a less invasive route. Why is my body slacking off on its job? There is no extra credit for this overtime.

I started all the stereotypical labor-inducing techniques right around 39 weeks … obviously to no avail. I’ve tried spicy food, eggplant, pineapple, Indian food. I’ve tried sex – a lot, believe it or not. We’ve tried acupressure points. I’ve even tried coaxing it out with promises of candy and ice cream (mommy and daddy’s favorite foods). I’ve walked and walked and walked. Yesterday under the 87-degree New York City heat, I walked about 4 miles. Then later at night we went back out and walked some more.

But alas, I wake up with a huge belly laying next to me and an unborn Baby Beluga still comfortably hanging out inside. Deep sigh. All in time. Patience. The earth’s plans are bigger than mine … and of course, good things come to those who wait. So … I clean the house again and walk again … and hope that my body knows when my baby is ready to hear its first Happy Birthday song.