While most people would have us believe that time marches forward at a steady pace, infertiles know otherwise.
The cyclical ebb and flow of time associated with each cycle of trying to conceive "the old-fashioned way" are familiar to us all, as the days speed by in the exciting peri-ovulatory period (if ovulation occurs at all), and then slow to a glacial pace during the dreaded two-week wait.
For those of us who have upped the ante by adding medications or other interventions to our attempts, time crawls by as we wait to start a cycle, rushes by at the speed of light during the early days of the cycle, and then once again slows to something approaching unbearable as we stare down the barrel of the beta gun, which we know is capable of delivering both unbelievable joy and crushing despair.
When one of us is lucky enough to "win" one of those rounds of Russian roulette, time starts acting up again. The first few days feel like years, as we wait for repeat betas to either confirm our joy or dash our hopes, and then for that first ultrasound, and then for a date, in some cases arbitrarily chosen, and in other cases cruelly established by a history of loss, at which we have promised ourselves to believe that the pregnancy will actually stick.
When that date finally arrives for us lucky ones, most of us still don't really believe, yet time nonetheless speeds up a bit. Several weeks pass in the blink of an eye. All of a sudden you're in the 3rd trimester. Almost there...
Then time stops completely.
And that's where I sit right now. It's not a bad place. It's actually pretty wonderful. I can no longer deny that there is a real live baby inside of me, and that there's every appearance that this baby will be arriving in the next few weeks. I'm not on bed rest. I don't have hyperemesis, gestational diabetes, pre-eclampsia, or any other known pregnancy complications. Eggbert has finally admitted that he/she was just being a drama queen, and doesn't have Down Syndrome OR IUGR. On the whole, all is well. Yet for some reason, days pass like years.
I saw the doctor today, and thus far, my cervix is neither dilated nor effaced at all, and Eggbert is "definitely not engaged". So, I'm on standby. I could go into labor tomorrow, but it could also be another three weeks.
I'm not complaining. I always wanted to carry a child to term. Now I have. It's a glorious thing that I celebrate every day. It's just that now that we're at term, I'm kind of ready to move on to the next life goal, which is the birth itself, and then being a mother. However, my body clearly has its own plans once again. And so once again, I wait.