‘Twas the Night Before the Sixth of July

We never thought we’d be saying this, but it’s the eve of Baby Italiano’s due date and he’s still in the womb. I guess each pregnancy and delivery is unique (Eliana was 10 days early).

So many people have commented on ways to induce labor. Almost as many people as have asked Vickey if she’s having twins.

It’s amazing how most of the women who comment you’d think would know better having carried and born children themselves. I’ve noticed men usually don’t say much except to ask when the due date is.

If Vickey’s still in this state on Sunday, I’m making a sign for her to wear around her neck that says, “It was July 6. It’s not twins. Don’t ask!”

During yesterday’s two walkathons I was intrigued by how many people stopped to size Vickey up then stare her down with either wonder or empathy for her low-hanging belly.

Through this experience I’ve determined, just like mothers teach their children, if you don’t have anything good to say, just say nothing.

The next time someone confides in me that they or their spouse is due to deliver a baby, I’ll just smile and say congratulations. None of this: you should walk around the block, eat spicy food, have lots of sex, clean the house, or go horseback/bull riding. Seriously, horseback riding at nine months pregnant?

Perhaps those things work for some but just as each child is unique, and in my observation comes with his or her own pre-developed characteristics, each delivery is unique.

Why can’t we all just be supportive and offer loving encouragement? I guess that would be too easy. And I guess that’s why we come to expect and learn to grow from opposition in all things. And as Grandpa Snow has said, ‘nothing worthwhile ever comes easy.’

With that said…it’s the night before Baby Italiano’s due date and there’s still no sign of him showing himself in the near future. Can anyone say stubborn? Certainly that’s a trait he has inherited from his mother. :)

The only thing we have left to try is for Vickey to down a large Jamba Juice. That was the last thing she ate before her water broke with Eliana. Perhaps a trip to Jamba Juice will make it on tomorrow’s docket, depending on the doctor’s prognosis at her 1:30 p.m. appointment.

Good night.