I love October. It marks the true start of fall—a crisp, lush season—and brings with it the extra fantasy of pumpkin patches, over-the-top dress-up and daily candy-or-chocolate-anything indulgences.
Coincidentally, I’ll also be birthing a baby, which makes this month exponentially special.
My obstetrician is overly excited to deliver our baby. When I saw him just yesterday he exclaimed that he was ready for me to start laboring today. (I’m full-term so the baby would be fine if she was born two weeks early, he reasoned.)
“Uh, no! I have TWO more weeks to go!” I snapped.
“I need these next couple of weeks to hang tiny clothes, figure out how to swaddle, and receive everything ordered from Amazon, like our Boppy cover and those breast pad thingies.”
Cool your jets, I told him. Then I bolted out of his office, before he got the chance to induce me.
“You’re my only patient who wants to stay pregnant!” I heard my doctor holler.
My hizzy is anxiously excited for me to deliver too. He says he’s eager to meet our squirmy little lady who he has been strumming and prodding for the last several months. He’s also hoping for an early birth!
These men… they’re in such a rush.