The ninth month and all they say is true. The baby is due technically on the fifteenth, but according to Dr. Borders it could come “any day now.” The lil’ thing has dropped into position. Its head is engaged and we are waiting only for the signal from the gods that it’s time to proceed. All is in readiness for the baby. Oil bought, diapers ordered, basinet borrowed. Here are some bad things: legs tired; back ache; stretch marks galore in spite of liberally applying “mother’s friend.” A weird in-limbo feeling is the worst. We are saying things to each other like: “This weekend we’ll do so and so, if we’re not at the hospital.” The baby looms before us as an almost reality. The kicking is more forceful. The contractions are more assertive.
I feel that half the ease of my pregnancy has been due to my own desire to fulfill our shared ideal of a casual, pretty, working, pregnant woman. It’s almost a status thing to not fall apart in front of my friends and co-workers. I want to appear to just breeze on through. Ha! Ma called this morning on her way to Mexico. The operator said it was person to person for Frederick Douglass. I said Mr. Douglass wasn’t here yet, but was expected any day. Our code is in operation!