Csíkszereda Musings

My life in and around Csíkszereda, also known as Miercurea Ciuc.

The Waiting Game

Posted by Andy Hockley on 18 December, 2005

Today (Sunday December 18th) is supposed to be Paula’s birthday. Well, that was the theory given to us by the nice gynacologist. The obnoxious gynacologist told us December 13th, and the serious and unfriendly gynacologist plumped for the 23rd. We selected the middle one because (a) the nice one said it, and you always like to believe nice people; and (b) because it seemed like the statistically logical way to go about choosing between three dates (it being not only the median, but the mean).

At the moment, though, she shows no signs of showing up. It feels like we’ve been waiting for ever, when actually we’ve been kind of semi-anticipating her arrival since about Monday. Frankly, it’s getting a little bit tiring being in this constant state of more-or-less alertness (those who know me will know that alertness is not exactly my natural state and, well, y’know it’s an effort and stuff). I constantly watch the weather, I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in about three weeks (this may actually be a healthy side effect), and I’m constantly thinking about whether the car will start.

For Erika, of course, this feeling is magnified. She can’t get comfortable, she wants to lie down, or sit or stand or something all the time. Plus I think she’s just tired of carrying Paula around everywhere. In some ways I think all this would have been easier if the doctors had told us that the due date was January 10th and we could have been taken by surprise when she turned up a couple of weeks early.

We have a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday, so I think if Paula’s not made her mind up to come out by then, Erika might get admitted to the hospital anyway. I mean it is pretty cold out, so you can’t really blame her for hanging round in what must be this very comfortable and warm womb, but that doesn’t make it any easier for those of us outside waiting impatiently with our nails bitten down to the quick (the quick? why?). I’ve tried talking to her, remonstrating with her, cajoling her, being stern with her, but nothing works. She’s already testing the limits of my paternal authority despite not even being born yet. Kids, eh.

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