This is the longest I’ve ever been pregnant.

For the first time ever, in 6 pregnancies, I am still pregnant on my due date. I am so not thrilled about this. It’s hot here, and the 5 things that I brought that are most comfortable in this heat are getting very boring to wear. Plus I miss my toes. And my feet keep retaining water. I waddle everywhere, the baby stretches and it pinches a nerve to my legs, which is really not comfortable, and I’m really super tired.

Did I mention the heat?

I keep telling myself exactly what I would tell another mom in my situation when I was a doula. Baby will come when baby is ready. Don’t worry about it. Keep busy. Rest as much as you can. Enjoy these last days with your family this size before you add another person. I know these things. But really I feel a little crazy with the waiting.

Totally thought I was near labor a week and a half ago and got everything ready.		False alarm.

This week we rented a car, (we’re also waiting for the vehicles we just purchased to get back from the mechanics from the various tuning up and repairs we wanted done on them before driving them around), and drove to Pai. It was a bit crazy, but I needed to get out and do something besides wait.

Pai is a 3 hour drive away through the mountains on bumpy, extremely windy roads that go high enough that pine trees can grow, and I figured that if anything would send me into labor, the extreme altitude changes plus the hair pin turns would do it. We had an excuse to go. The lovely Rae has been scouting for houses for us up there, since that is where we want to live once we have this baby, and there were houses for rent for us to look at.

So we drove. It’s a beautiful, gorgeous drive, and now we know for certain that BamBam is prone to motion sickness, and spent the night with her family. She’s amazingly hospitable. “Sure you can come and crash at my house with less than 24 hours notice, shall I cook for you?” I love her.

We looked at houses. We’re pretty sure one of them will be just what we need. Then we drove back to Chiang Mai to get the rental car back in time to not have to pay for another day.

You would think that would bring on labor. But nothing. Not a single contraction. The baby was very excited about the driving though, kicked all over the place.

At least now I know what our house is going to look like, and I can start to furnish it in my head, and figure out what we need to get to make it home.

(In most places here you actually have to provide your whole kitchen. As in, the kitchen is a room, it might have a sink in it already, and you have to get your own stove and counters and storage, etc. Ours has a little fridge though and a rickety looking sink on a metal cart, so you can tell it’s the kitchen.)

Today I missed my scheduled C-section appointment. I tried to call yesterday and ask to talk to the doctor, but no one understood me and they said someone would call back who spoke English. Today someone with better English called and asked why I missed my appointment and if I wanted to reschedule and I told her I wanted to talk to the doctor first, who is now supposed to be calling me sometime.

I was going to tell her I wasn’t going to come in. I was going to tell her that I had done some research and found that in 2010, 3 out of every 1000 C-sections performed in Thailand ended as fatalities. That’s an insanely high number, and I’m not comfortable with that. Especially compared to the fact that the number of women who died in a VBAC the same year, out of 100,000 was 3.8. So basically, I’m 100 times more likely to die if I go under the knife here than if I have this baby naturally. (For all those who think I’m being reckless, just think about those numbers for a minute. Three in every 1000 women died. That’s just plain terrifying.)

I’ve been having fun thinking about my own mortality and stuff. Can’t you tell?

I realized we don’t have many pregnant photos with the kids in them this time. I feel as tired as I look in this.

 I was going to ask her if the hospital even had any of my blood type on hand in case I needed it, since hospitals here don’t stock RH negative blood types. Less than 0.5% of the population here is RH negative so anyone who needs a negative blood type usually needs to get people to donate it for them in advance. I have learned that there is an expat donor list, and you can call them to get blood donated if you need it and have an unusual blood type. I was going to ask her if she had blood on hand in case of emergency, or if I should ask for donations. I was going to tell her that given all these things I was afraid to come in for surgery, and that my husband is against it. (Which he is, it’s just an easy line to use in a male dominated culture.) I was going to stall, in other words. It turns out the language barrier has saved me most of that problem. Until she actually calls me that is. Then we will have whatever conversation we will have.

Goofiness. Look we’re still pregnant.

It would be nice to just have the baby already and then have a conversation when I go in with short person number 5, (or 6 if you count Shiloh, but I don’t usually, since I only actually HAVE 4, please let it be 5 very soon.)

So we wait again. And I waddle, and nap a lot, an try to make myself take an interest in projects that I should do, but that I just don’t want to do. I want to push a baby out, and paint my toenails, and move on to the hundred other things we’ve pushed off doing but need to get done this coming month, because we didn’t want to schedule an appointment when I would most likely be having a baby that week. Only I haven’t, so it’s time to make some appointments and just let the chips fall where they will. Things like consulate visits and immigration check ins don’t wait for babies to be born. They have to be done when they have to be done. Which, of course, will probably be when I finally go into labor. C’est la vie.