We had our weekly appointment this morning. It was bumped up a day because the office will be closed on Friday for New Year's. And, though I had certainly hoped that all those twinges and practice contractions were actually a sign of progress, I remain at 2 cm dilated with a lot of thinning out left to do. Darn.
The good news -- baby is fine as frog hair, there's no rush because I'm "low risk" (I still can't believe that's how they classify me) and though my doctor said I look like I'm carrying a giant baby because I'm so big up front -- he's actually just an average size. So we wait.
We go back on Monday and my doctor hinted that if I want to be induced next week, he would consider it but only if my cervix is "ideal." If not, being induced can lead to the dreaded C-section, so if the choice is mine, I will certainly choose to wait.
My parents and my sister and my niece all have their plane tickets now. I had hoped to have some time with just me, Greg and the baby before they get here to sort of figure some things out and try to get some breastfeeding experience. But, that might not happen and I have to be OK with whatever happens. This is something that's simply out of my control.
I am slightly more uncomfortable each passing day, but this baby seems utterly content in his home (small as it might be right now). So, we are hoping he will come sooner rather than later, but we are trying to be patient at the same time.
As for the great name debate -- we are still stuck. Today, I offered a compromise -- Daniel Carter. And Greg said -- I'll give you Carter Daniel. And I said, I'll think about it.
Obviously, I am weary and I feel myself inching closer to waving the white flag -- or sock or whatever else I can find within arms reach -- in surrender. Who would have imagined that Greg would have a stronger will than me? Him with his laidback, easy come easy go personality and me with my opinionated, stuborn, have to be right all the time personality. Odd.