And here’s another post about being knocked up.
When I was pregnant with Herr Meow, one of the things that made his due date special and fun for me was the fact that it was Pearl Harbor Day. Now, on its own I would imagine it would be a rather dour date to be due; but since we were living in Hawaii it took on a special and ceremonial meaning of its own for me. For this baby, although the dates I’ve been given fluctuate between the 11th and the 14th of February, I have arbitrarily chosen February 12th as my target because it happens to be Lincoln’s birthday. It seems fitting to expect a baby whose birthday may come on the day one of the most revered and beloved Presidents of the United States was born, and in Washington D.C., no less.
I realize that with the odds of having your baby be born on its due date, you would be wise to take your whaleishly pregnant body to Vegas and have a go at the green double zero staring smugly at you from the roulette. However, during the long wait –or what seems like such a long wait but really is not– there is a small, strange, but sweet comfort in knowing that your baby will arrive around a certain date.
Naturally, the corollary to this is that the due date can become such an immovable behemoth in one’s mind, that every day past this imaginary deadline can weigh heavily on the pregnant woman’s psyche and on the well-meaning but quite obviously NOT PREGNANT people who might keep inquiring if she is, in fact, expecting an elephant (average gestation: 24 months).
No matter just how intangible such a random event as when your body will decide to expel the fetus/fetus will decide to expel itself and begin its race toward independence may be, the comfort of that “due date” is a nice if fuzzy one to break the wait time up. It’s almost in the range of reading that People magazine at the doctor– a magazine you wouldn’t be caught dead purchasing in the outside world, as it’s just not tawdry enough to warrant a money expenditure.
And so, without further ado, I would like you who read this blog on a regular basis and are feeling a little bit like being all Vegas because, hey, I mentioned it and you fancy yourself a pretty good oddsperson and why the aitch-ee-double-hockey-sticks not, to participate in a little game I’ve called MeoWagerTwo. (The original MeoWager was played when Herr Meow was waiting in the wings).
If you would like to participate, please click on the game name or RIGHT HERE, and you will be taken to a prompt which will ask you the name of my game. Once again, it’s called MeoWagerTwo.
In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you a few things:
- The winner will get a (nice, thoughtful, possibly yummy) token of my gratitude in the mail, some weeks after the baby is born.
- I expect to have a natural birth as with my first, so there will be nothing scheduled ahead of time.
- Herr Meow, my firstborn, weighed 6 lbs, 11.5 oz and measured 20 inches. (This is so you don’t get funny/hilarious! ideas about my producing a 10-lb. child who measures 5 inches. I mean, you want to win this thing, don’t you?)
- Also, he was born a week and a day early. You should know that second births tend to be a little more expedient than first births, but sometimes things can also take their time because every birth is unique. For instance, my friend and birth advocate Kat had her third child after a week-and-a-half wait –a nice curveball after her baby #2 was born two days before his due date.
Okay! I think that’s all you need to know to play this game! Once again, the game can be found HERE and the name is MeoWagerTwo.
Happy August, Internets!