39 weeks and counting

Make that 39 weeks and 2 days. Pregnant. Which is more pregnant than I have ever been. Aubrey and Lincoln were both born at 38 weeks, 6 days; and sweet Jace came right at 38 weeks.

Since I first learned I was pregnant last July, I've anticipated a mid-March delivery. I knew full well what my due date was (April 4), but there was no way I was going to go full-term. Not me. It's not how my body works. I always go early.

Surprise, surprise.

To further cloud the mystery of my still-pregnant state, my body is not showing the usual signs of being ready to boot this baby out. Our baby girl is entirely too comfy-cozy in there, despite how completely UNcomfortable I am.

I've done all kinds of stuff to try to bring on delivery. Walked, ran, jumped on my mini trampoline, eaten spicy food, eaten fresh pineapple, climbed stairs two at a time (once in the nursing tower right before my appointment), bounced on my exercise ball, and a few other unmentionables (that which was obviously a man's idea and has been perpetuated by folklore).

None of it works. I was a believer before when I actually delivered babies early, but not this time. Walgreens can keep their castor oil--I already know it wouldn't work even if I tried.

So for now I'll do the best I can to enjoy these last few days (let's hope it's only a few days). And when my sweet Hallie Ann finally decides to show her pink little face, I'll be more thrilled than ever to welcome her.