Imminence

Along the lines of the plane-landing analogy comes the creeping panic of landing. Am I ready for this? Will we land smoothly? Will the labor take hours? Will I have to have a c-section again? The doctor is hinting that by next Wednesday, after she checks my cervix for ripening (whatever that means), that she may recommend a tad of pitosin and breaking of my water. This was such a shocking discovery since they wouldn’t let me go near pitosin to start out labor when I was pregnant with Esther; I guess I was far too big of an unknown, a risk for possible uterine rupture. Now that I’ve proven I can actually push these gargantuan creatures out of my body successfully, they are more willing to toy with fringe labor tactics. I’m not altogether willing, of course, but it’s good to know that they are more confident in what my body can do.

I’m still looking out the plane’s window, though, anticipating that first touchdown on terra firma; it’s imminent, no more than 14 days away, literally, as my doctor won’t let me go past the 21st, yet it feels more like 14 months away. Why is that?