So my TimeHop app reminded me this morning that today two years ago was my due date.
The 12th August 2013.

That was the target date, the get-to date. Lord knows I obsessed about this date and I believed in it.
But that date came and went and the final week was pretty shitty.

The date had moved and I didn’t know when to. It could be after lunch, it could be on Saturday or it could be two Mother-effing weeks away.
I started to hibernate, I deliberately avoided everyone. I didn’t answer my phone and I didn’t text back.

‘Could I  go to a BBQ next week?’ – well I didn’t  know did I? Because I went past my due date and everything was spinning out of control.
For the first time I felt helpless and incredibly pissed off.

I’d done my time, I got to the date – so WTF man? Why was I still pregnant and why didn’t I have my baby yet? Was the date wrong? Did those idiots get the wrong date?  

My baby came 8 days later, when I least expected it. On a Sunday night just before bed, when I had all but given up and started to believe I would be pregnant forever. Within one minute all that due date anxiety vanished and the actual date started to reveal itself.

So if you know a pregnant lady who is coming up to or is past her due date – she’s probably feeling a bit desperate, maybe a little hysterical and definitely homicidal.

Don’t call her asking if she’s “had the baby yet?”
Don’t text her every day or pester her on Facebook.
Leave her the fuck alone.
Seriously, fuck right off. You insensitive little shit.

 

The only thing keeping her going right now is Netflix, washing and re-washing teeny tiny baby clothes and eating baking massivetriple chocolate loaf cakes.
Your well-wishing is interrupting Grey’s Anatomy, you bastard.

 

You’ll know when they choose to tell you and not a moment before.

 

You’ll know, when we know.

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