Back from the midwife. I know they need to check the baby's heartrate and my pee and all that on a weekly basis, but at this point it's a bit of a pain going all the way there and back for a five minute visit. The complex where the midwife's office is just opened a little sandwich/coffee shop with a deck, so I bought a juice and Spencer pushed his train around, just trying to delay going home.
While we were waiting for Mary to come into the exam room, I spied one of those little due date wheel thingies on the counter. Gary handed it to me, and I checked my due date using the date of conception. Sure enough, it pointed right at the September 8-10 time slot. Since we started talking about it yesterday, Gary was of the mind that we should bring up the discrepancy now, while I thought it might be better to wait until next week because if I did happen to go into labor, it would be a moot point. Before Mary came in, he prodded me once again to ask her about it. I did, and she said, "Yep, it's just a week off." [Just a week? I think anyone who's ever been pregnant can attest to how long a week feels at this stage of the game!] I expressed our concerns about the two-week post-due-date period, and she assured me that they would be very patient with me and the baby as far as not rushing into anything during that first week of September. Which is good to know, but I'd still like to know how they came up with August 31st in the first place. I don't care who you are or how much patience you have, finding out this late in your pregnancy that your "due date" (however rough it is to begin with) is most likely a week later than what you've had in mind for nine months, well, it's not easy. It's not what you want to hear. I'm very glad we looked into it because I don't want anyone rushing Ginger before she's ready, but it's a difficult mental adjustment to make. September baby, anyone?
Other tidbits: I lost half a pound since last week, Mary said this is common at the end of a pregnancy, although no one is sure why---one theory is that my metabolism is so revved up trying to keep both myself and the baby going that there's no way my body can take in enough calories, so it starts using up some of its fat reserves. Sounds good to me! Makes me feel less guilty about that Klondike bar I had last night. I'm still measuring 37 weeks. She said that girl babies tend to be born earlier than boy babies, and no one knows why that is, either.
I've been begging Gary to do something---anything---to get my mind off of everything. I was hoping that we could go to the zoo this weekend; Spencer would like the animals and the outdoors and I could get in some walking. Of course, now that I want to do some serious walking, the temperatures, which have been oddly mild all summer, have skyrocketed, along with the humidity, and it's going to be 87 this weekend (which feels like 97 to gigantic me). For some reason my sciatica has returned with a vengeance, and now I have the pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel I've heard tell about. Isn't pregnancy fun?