Waiting for My Baby

Disclaimer: This is not my preggo belly, but it could be. (Photo courtesy of A Dream Adoption)

There's this line in the movie Casablanca about people who are desperate to escape Nazi rule but instead get stuck in the film's eponymous, world-wearying Moroccan city. Instead of being the ones who can catch that plane to Portugal or Lisbon, they are the not-so-lucky ones. The others: "The others wait in Casablanca, and wait, and wait, and wait."

As I'm nearing the due date for my second child (it's Friday, Oct. 12), I more than ever can understand that feeling of waiting. Not that I'm in any way comparing my unborn son to say, Nazi rule, despite his seemingly complete tyranny over my once 35-pounds lighter body, but I do feel ready to move forward and get on with post-natal life ...but I can't just yet.

Honestly, I do feel a little stuck and out of the driver's seat. (Busted. Yes, I'm a total Type A.) Obviously, I want him to "cook" for as long as he needs to, but I also want to meet him, see him and get started with this whole multi-child life.

In an effort to make me feel better, yesterday Ian said something along the lines of, "If someone told me to arrive on the weekend, I wouldn't just show up on a Wednesday and say, 'Hey, I'm here.'"

But if my baby can hear my thoughts -- my typing -- in addition to my heartbeat and gurgling stomach noises, please know that it's OK to come early. I'm totally fine with that.

I guess I imagined everything would happen the same way as last time. I had stopped working on a Thursday and had CC the following Monday. Got. It. Done.

This time I stopped working last Friday. As Monday, even Tuesday, came and went, I realized that it's true. No two pregnancies are the same. (I guess that should prepare me for no two children being the same, as well.)

Of course, he could come on time. (Has any baby actually ever done that?) And that would be OK, too. I mean, it's almost Thursday now.

But, please, baby, don't come late. The thought of waiting around for another week and a half to be induced will definitely have me going as stir crazy as those desperate internationals in Casablanca -- and without the benefit of some awesome cocktail from Rick's Cafe Americain to liven up the waiting game.