Timing is Everything

I'm going a little crazy. Not straight-jacket-and-padded-room crazy, just wow-I'm-really-glad-I'm-on-mood-stabilizers-for-once crazy. When you get pregnant, they tell you your EDD (estimated date of delivery). Mine is January 28 of NEXT YEAR. Two weeks ago, they told me the baby was coming, like, tonight.

Now, with all of the blood pressure drama (it's back up and down and really high and lower and normal, so no medication allowed), pre-term labour, infections and stuff, they tell me she's probably going to come early, before 36 weeks (which is around New Year's Eve). Emphasis on the word PROBABLY. The doctor and midwives keep saying "She'll probably come early and you should rest, but you never know with these naughty babies, you might make it full term (37 weeks) or until your due date."

This is the least-graphic image of an exploding head I could find.

I am NOT GOOD AT WAITING PATIENTLY. There's a saying that God answers prayers three ways: Yes, No and Wait. I'm no good with the third one. I'd like a concrete answer, preferably sooner rather than later. I know a lot of pregnant ladies start complaining and getting antsy towards their due date and just want the baby out, but I didn't plan to be like that. I know that you get fat and veiny and uncomfortable. That I could deal with. I just don't want to continue to be on this emotional rollercoaster.

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However, there are some emotional bright spots. I packed my bag for the hospital early. I know this may sound a bit dumb, but I realised something about the bag itself. I got the bag in 1999. That was 12 years ago! It is a maroon-coloured duffle bag with zip pockets on either end, and my name embroidered on it in gold. The few folks that I will tag on Facebook will know exactly why this is significant.

Yes, I'm aware it's backwards. I took it with Photo Booth, and I'm lazy/supposed to be resting.

Flashback to 1999. It was my junior year of high school. I had been the marching band playing flute for the first two years of high school. There were a lot of teenagers on power trips, sweating buckets and freezing, rainy temperatures involved. Anyone who knows me now will say "yeah, that doesn't sound like it would be high on Wendy's priority list." I thought that doing colorguard (the flag-waving girls) would mean that I could at least wear a more attractive outfit while I was alternately sweating or freezing to death at football games and competitions.

This is an online photo of my high school's band from this year.

Not much has changed except the uniforms.

(My last year of high school, I opted not to be in the marching band at all. It was, by far, the most self-aware decision that I made during high school. That, and my mom said the overall cost was getting out of control. I opted to go to Europe after graduation instead of to... Jamaica? I don't even remember where the band went on their annual trip that year. Europe was awesome, and now I live there, so I made the right decision.)

Sorry about the tangent, I promise this has a point. That fall, I remember taking that bag practically everywhere. Every week, I diligently packed my hot rollers and makeup and tights and shoes and costume and hairspray and spray-on hair glitter (that stuff was awesome) into this bag.

See all of the bags littered in our bleachers?

Also, Stacy and Amy are managing to attractively model our really uncomfortable outfits.

Since then, I've never had the heart to throw out the bag or give it to a charity shop. Mostly, because it has my name on it, and it is the perfect carry-on for airplanes (you'd be amazed how much clothing I can stuff in it due to the soft sides). I have carried some amazing stuff in it over the years. It has been my go-to overnight bag for most of that time. It was my carry-on bag when I came to England to do my master's degree. After our wedding, it carried my rolled-up wedding dress for our reception in England. Now, it's my hospital bag, filled with labour and baby things. If you had told 16-year-old me all the things that bag (and I) would go through together, I never would have believed you.

Twelve years seems like a long time to get to this point with just a bag, so I suppose I can wait a little longer for this baby's perfect timing.