“Quick, quick, like a lagomorph. Not, slow, slow, like a gastropod.” A phrase commonly employed by my high school biology teacher. He was a rare find, entertaining and educating us. And, I remember things he said, more than fifteen years later. But, I’m breaking the rule, and being a gastropod, rather than a lagomorph. I’m okay with that – the magnitude of giving birth seems like something to work up to.
At yesterday’s OB visit, we found that my cervix continues to thin. (Not too much longer until I write an entry that doesn’t contain the word cervix. I can’t say the same for breast.) Not to be too graphic, but she could fit a fingertip through it. But there’s a big difference between a fingertip and a head, even when the former belongs to an adult and the latter to an infant. Every week, as she checks my cervix, and my body tenses in discomfort, I pray that the miracle of life truly is a miracle – a miracle is the only thing I see making it possible to push a child out of what is now a very tiny space.
I’ll hit 40 weeks in the next week, so I guess the OB felt compelled to bring up the possibility of induction. Gah! At least let me hit 40 weeks, give me some evidence that Bean’s growth is out of control, that there’s not enough amniotic fluid…. Don’t tell me that, if I show up at next week’s regularly scheduled visit, you’d like to schedule an induction. For the next day! Forty weeks is a guideline, an estimate, an average. Not a cut-off. Thankfully, when I exclaimed, “The next day?!” she responded with, “Okay, we can go for another week.”
She seems like someone with whom I can bargain. I wouldn’t continue my pregnancy at the risk of Bean’s health, but, as I’ve said before, we run late in my family. If my body’s not ready and Bean’s not ready, and all is still safe inside, I’m willing to continue incubation.