My OB looked at the blue sticky note dangling from my file this afternoon and remarked, “so, I guess we’ve got an appointment tomorrow, you and me.”

We do?

For what?

“For induction.”

Wh-a-a?

“You didn’t know?”

No, no one told me. I thought it was next week. Monday. Maybe Tuesday. But nope…tomorrow it is.

5/11/07

Weird to know the birthday in advance, isn’t it?

(On a side note, Nate was cute this morning. He said, “so, I know you’re a little worried about dealing with pitocin…would it be easier just to schedule a C-section instead? I mean, don’t people just do that?” My OB got a kick out of that one.)

So unless the cramping from today’s membrane stripping (not nearly as burlesque as it sounds) turns into contractions tonight, I will be induced tomorrow early morning in a sunny hospital room overlooking New York’s East River. Sorry to disappoint you but there will be no frantic rush to the hospital story. No water breaking in the middle of Haagen Daaz story. No pacing the Brooklyn Promenade at midnight in labor story.

Just a scheduled car trip across the Brooklyn Bridge and up the FDR drive in the traffic-light wee hours (5:30 is pretty wee to me) of the morning.

I’m grateful for the time to plan, actually. As my friend Hally says, it suits my anal Virgo ways.

What this plan-ahead Virgo hadn’t planned for however is just how hard it was to send Thalia off to Grandma’s for the night. Saying goodbye to her was unexpectedly heart crushing, knowing that the next time I see her, everything will have changed; she’s trading in her only child status for good. For better. For sisterhood and solidarity and all that good stuff. But I admit I’m mourning the end of this part of my journey with her. I will always remember this last week we had together, just the two of us–singing to videos, playing picnic with her animals (PARTY! she would scream, hands raised in the air, with every “cupcake” she served), knocking down towers of blocks, cuddling on the couch.

Above all, I’ll remember the moment that she pulled up my shirt, looked at my belly and said, “baby’s coming. Open the door.”

Indeed.

“Remember, no eating after midnight,” the nurse reminded me as I tried to contain my emotion and anxiety behind my sunglasses.

Which immediately made me think of what to have for my last meal. I was thinking pancakes. My friend Danielle suggested waffles. Either way, I know what I’ll be having tomorrow night.