So I'm still here, and still pregnant.
I'm not dialated, and my son has the same gestational condition his sister had. It's called, I'm not leaving till I'm 30 and you can't make me.
No, he's not breech. But he's not exactly ready to come out, either. In the words of my doctor mid-check yesterday, "Wow! That boy is really high up there!" (Emphasis not mine, by the way.)
It was immediately followed by more exciting news: "It could just be that he's quite robust."
Oh, super! Two pieces of good news in one visit: my gigantic son is no where close to making his way down the canal so he can be born. Good times. Have I mentioned that no one likes to hear the word "Wow!" in the doctor's office?
It's not a big deal exactly, just one more layer of anxiety. It means his 14 day eviction notice has arrived, because if he's not in better position at this time next week, we'll have to schedule a c-section.
Schedule and use are still two different things, but it's one more ticking clock that makes me a little nervous. I know that a c-section isn't the worst thing in the world, but I'd sure like to get to do it a different way this time around. It's completely secondary to a healthy, happy baby boy, but it's not exactly preferable, either.
So, fingers crossed and legs uncrossed, and we'll hope that this baby decides to head on down (too many puns in one sentence? Nah.).
And, as a blanket statement to all medical professionals: please leave your wow!s out of the exam room, kay?