Full moon fail.

Umm... Stella, maybe you didn't get the memo. Last night was a full moon, and as previously discussed, now that we've officially reached full term, you have been cordially invited to your birthday party. Yet, you were a no-show; imagine my disappointment. I was totally ready nuzzle your sweet little head, kiss your perfect little nose, and count your ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. I could still do those things today... today is good, too. No? How about tomorrow?

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Okay, okay... so I know I haven't really earned any right to be this impatient or perturbed about Stella's impending arrival. I am just 37wks and 2 days still, and lots of women go as far as 42wks. I don't think my doctor would let me go that long, but just for reference's sake, that's how premature my anxiety really is.

Still, knowing that, I can't help but feel seriously, overly anxious, impatient, and perturbed that I'm still pregnant. I don't know if it's because my mommy instinct is telling me she'll be early, thus I'm sitting around expecting it to be today... or if it's because I'm so stinking uncomfortable that I don't know how much longer I can really go. I talked to a couple of moms this weekend who confirmed what I have experienced so far: second (and subsequent) pregnancies just get harder and harder on your body. I worked a full time, high-stress job during Henry's pregnancy, and I wasn't this run-down, sore, and uncomfortable all day every day in those last weeks.

I think I'm so expectant of her coming sooner, rather than later, that I've really built myself up and find it highly disappointing every morning I wake up still pregnant. In the grand scheme of things, I can find solace in knowing that most likely it will all be over no more than three weeks from now. Yet, I'm still borderline obsessing at this point about every change in my symptoms, and every cramp or contraction. The days between doctor appointments drag on, and then when an appointment finally comes, I go in hoping against hope that some progress will be evident. Tomorrow is my next appointment, and I'm not sure whether I'm looking forward to it or dreading it. I'm certain that I will be bummed if nothing has changed from last week, considering how many nights of uncomfortable contractions I've endured. Yes, childbirth is supposed to be painful... so I'm not simply complaining about it hurting. I'm just griping about how slowly things seem to be moving, and how inconceivable it is that this discomfort and pain isn't fruitful.

I went grocery shopping on Saturday and I actually wished my water would break as I waddled my way up and down the aisles. I'd sacrifice my dignity, at this point, to get things started. I'm beyond ready to meet my little girl, and am a little bit desperate for some relief.