For the second time in my life the calendar has turned to November when I was supposed to have a baby in October. I’m not making this up. I wrote this three years ago TODAY. You’ll see. I didn’t publish it until later. This time I’m letting it out.

It’s back. The darkness. The up-and-down fury. All of it.

That old familiar madness.

You would think I would have been prepared this time. I worked through my due date, which is better than last time when I worked up until 2 days before my due date. This week we went to the doctor on the 30th. My due date. I was so happy. We had worked so hard to get through this last month. Work was handed off, we dutifully took bags and the car seat and left them at daycare, ready for Grandma. We had a plan. The doctor would likely schedule an induction for the next day, we’d be home by Saturday for Charlotte’s birthday. Not this time.

I’m a fool. Once again, I am a victim of my expectations. I am an eternal optimist who assumed, wrongly, that it would work out this time and I would be as lucky as my friends who have already had their babies. Nope. Instead I remain panicky, weepy and dissolving into sobs on my closet floor like a damned psycho.

I had a friend tell me that when his wife went in to have their baby earlier this year a woman stood in the OB’s office and continued to scream until they agreed to admit her. She refused to go another week. I totally understand. I don’t judge her. Keep it up girl. Have that baby. Good for you. Get what you need from your medical professionals.

I know. I’ve heard it all. “You have to let nature take it’s course!” “Your baby is not ready.” “You have to let your body do what it needs to do.” “Another week isn’t that bad.” “You’re only two days past your due date!”

Shut the hell up. All of you. You have no idea the hormonal exhaustion of this. You think I don’t know all of that?!

My favorite thing I heard this week was, “You know, in Europe they don’t even consider induction until after 42 weeks.  Over there they have great methods of helping with natural childbirth.” Well, great! When I decide to move to Sweden and have a litter of little ex-pats born naturally in artisian Swedish pools, I’ll keep that in mind. Oh! Just to remind you, most European women have a year of paid maternity leave. I’m a working American mother and do not have that luxury. I chose a modern OB/GYN practice for a reason. This is about time. Time with my baby and money for my family.

Granted, I have been very blessed with great employers offering benefits far better than some other women get. I understand this. I’m very appreciative. But, the time I will actually get home with my newborn is very fleeting.

Wednesday the doctor informed me that a push in obstetrics is to not induce unless medically necessary. Okay, was anyone going to tell me that? I have done everything I was supposed to. Last week at 39 weeks the doctor said, “Okay, well, if you’re still pregnant next week, we’ll talk induction.” Great. I assumed that meant I’d be scheduled for the next day. She knew that is what we did last time. I lost my shit about 40 weeks and they agreed to induce me at 40 weeks 5 days. That alone, was maddening.  Waiting until 41 weeks, ridiculous. Two additional days is a lifetime. I know that’s crazy, but it is. Trust me.

People then say, “But, being induced can mean complications for your baby and a very hard labor!” Bull shit. Pitocin is a miracle drug and a blessing. Three years ago this week they started that stuff and I had my baby in about 4 hours and 35 minutes. I only pushed for the 35 minutes. Minimal tearing. Done. Easy. It was far preferable to another week of sobbing and counting vacation hours.

Due dates are the biggest crock of shit in the world. Obstetrics and meteorology are the two professions where you can predict what’s going to happen, be wrong most of the time  and still keep your job. News flash! The rest of the working world is on tight deadlines and demand accuracy. This was all fine 100 years ago. It is unacceptable in 2013. Maybe obstetrics should consider giving a “due range” instead of a “due date” if not for employers, but for the mental health of mothers.

I busted my ass this month to make it happen, to get it all done on time. I did. Now, I sit here like a damned fool with a laid out maternity leave plan and a packed bag that remains by the door. And for what?!

I asked to be checked today and the doctor explained it’s part of the hospital’s “Quality Matters” initiative not to induce until 41 weeks unless medically necessary to lower their c-section rate. Oh, you mean the c-section rate that I IN NO WAY CONTRIBUTED TO WITH MY SAFE, MEDICALLY INDUCED VAGINAL DELIVERY!? Yep, that one.

I was home yesterday and again today because I feel like crap and I can’t bring myself to show this crazy to the awesome people I work with. I’ll figure out over the weekend whether I’ll go back into the office.

This is the nitty-gritty stuff no one tells you about before you have a baby. If this psychotic rant helps another mother, maybe it will be worth it. I was praying wouldn’t be an issue this go-around. I was wrong. Oh, so wrong.

I’m here, once again relying on obstetrics and meteorology to decide my fate. There is a storm/low pressure system coming in that I can only hope will induce labor. I heard it might. But again, I’m a hormonal fool and clearly know nothing. I feel very sorry for my family and friends because I’m so awful. If I were them, I wouldn’t call or text me. Sorry. I’m just crazy.  I’d be seriously afraid of me and my madness right now. That old familiar 40 week madness.

We brought her home three years ago, almost to the week. We blinked and this happened.

We washed everything. We pulled out all the things we had forgotten that we couldn’t live without. We marveled at the size of the tiny clothes we folded. Our memories were jarred pulling bouncy seats and nursing covers out of closets.

I smelled her hair and held his hand, knowing that our time as three was short. 40 weeks is fast approaching and for the first time in many weeks, I stopped working and stopped allowing myself to be distracted and instead, prepared my home and my heart for another baby.

There isn’t much left to do except go through the motions of the next week. I’m not sure how ready one little family can be, but we are.

Last week we celebrated our 3-year-old before she really turned three. I made some cute invitations with Charlotte’s picture, clearly depicting the theme.

(True story. We got to the Disney store and I saw the price of the Rapunzel wig. I said, “Charlotte, put this on and let Mama take your picture!” It was robbery. No way. Maybe for Christmas. Maybe.)

We had all of her little classmates and friends at a local bounce house kiddie facility. Bounce, pizza, cake, out. Awesome. This place was a party producing machine. I didn’t have it in me to get all Pinteresty like I did last year you know, being nearly 9 months pregnant and all. (Note the message in the sun on the invitation.)

We kept asking her why we were having her party early. She said, “Because da baby’s comin at my birfday on Nobember 2nd!” True. There is a real likelihood that that our children will have the same birthday. Charlotte was due Oct. 28 and born November 2. (Thank you, Pitocin!) This kid is due Oct. 30.  So, seriously, they could have the same birthday.

People act like this is a big problem or something. They always say, “Oh! That would suck if they have same birthday!” Huh? Seriously? There are many, many siblings who share birthdays.  Want proof?

Meet my twin cousins Scott and Meagan. This is them on their 1st birthday in 1983. Cute right?

See. twins and other multiples are siblings who share birthdays. I find it hard to believe sharing a birthday with your brother or sister is as scarring as people keep telling me it is. They’re like, “Oh my God! Are you going to have SHARED birthday parties?” Um, yeah. Probably. Like next year when they’re 1 and 4. What do they care? Cake, presents, done. They’re kids.

People are then like, “But, what about when they’re older! They should have their own day!!!!” Geez, relax. If we act like it’s bad thing, it becomes a bad thing. Guess what? We’re gonna make it an awesome thing. So help the person who says anything negative to my children about shared birthdays. So, Baby #2, don’t worry. If we meet you on your sister’s birthday it will be awesome! Anyone who said it isn’t is not invited to our awesome parties. So there.

One month. Tomorrow marks one month until my due date with Baby 2.0. I’ve had an extremely uneasy feeling hanging over me in recent weeks. I can’t explain this obnoxious monkey on my back. He’s a rotten, hairy little beast whispering to me that I’m somehow failing and will never be ready for this baby. This monkey enjoys making sure I feel overwhelmed and unprepared to leave work and be home. He’s the reason my husband has been putting his arm around me in the kitchen and reminding me it will all be okay.

Every moment of my October is planned and scheduled out so I can fit everything in I need and want to do before my October 30 due date. Charlotte’s Halloween costume is bought, her birthday party is scheduled a few weeks early. I’m sending out invitations this week. I’m adding to my work list and taking time to develop a plan for my departure.

I got an welcome and much needed reprieve from my worries this weekend. My sister came to town and threw a brunch in honor of Baby 2.0. Just family and close girlfriends. I felt like the luckiest person on the planet to have my mom and sister plan a lovely party for me. I couldn’t stop smiling, chatting, sipping coffee and eating fresh made doughnuts at one of my favorite coffee/lunch spots.

The best part of the weekend? Taking pictures with my sister, knowing that Saturday was likely the only day in our lives we will ever be together in person with round bellies to bump and pregnancy symptoms to share. We won’t be back together until after my baby is born. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime chance to snap these pictures. I look at these and my heart swells up. It knocks the monkey off my back like it had never been there.

Me at 35.5 weeks. Julie at 24.5 weeks.

This weekend and these pictures are the reminder I need not to be stressed or dread this month. Instead, they are the reminder that this October is the last month of my life as the mother of one child. The last month as a family of three. I’m choosing to embrace all the excitement, good or bad. Let’s go October. It’s gonna be a good one. Take that, monkey!

From the profound to the ridiculous, here is a list of worries that have crossed my mind in the last week:

• That I will not be ready for maternity leave in time to get everything done that I need to do at work or home.
• That I will be more than ready for maternity leave and have time to kill.
• That someone will mistakenly think that Sen. Lindsey Graham is from North Carolina and not South Carolina. I prefer we keep that crazy beneath us where it belongs.

• That someone will say that I am somehow swollen in any way at all. I did not swell with my first pregnancy. I don’t plan on swelling this time. I pity the person who says that I look the least bit swollen. I will lose it. 
• That someone will now open fire in a Starbucks, specifically my Starbucks, simply to prove a point. Come on, Mr. Schultz, we could get shot in any public place. Why highlight one of your fine stores?

Courtesy: Caracas Chronicles

• That when I get into Starbucks, they will be out of Pumpkin Spice Lattes.
• That my kid has a cavity.
• That I will have a moment of pregnancy brain like I did last time. You may recall this $600 mistake.
• That I might get hemorrhoids.
• That this baby will resent me because I didn’t spend $250 to get 3D ultrasound pictures of him/her like I did their sister.
• That I might hear “Blurred Lines” on the radio again any time, ever. Remember earlier in the summer when that was “my jam?” Shoot me.  (But, not at Starbucks, please.)