The Waiting Game

Something I have learned about myself recently is that I like to be in control. Not necessarily in an I-have-to-be-the-boss, leader of the pack kind of way. Just that when I find myself in situations where I have no control, I start to go a little crazy.
Usually, when I feel like something is out of my control, I start to clean. When I'm frustrated with something, when I feel like my patience is running thin,  I do the dishes. Then I vacuum, reorganize some closets, and maybe scrub the baseboards. (Although that last one has been solved due to the fact I can no longer lean over.) There are a million things going on around me that I have no control over, but I can make sure there are no dirty dishes in the sink, and you better bet I do.
Which brings us to my current conundrum: my very large, very overdue, making-me-very-uncomfortable, unborn child.
In the last month, I can't count the number of times I thought I was in labor. It's scary, exciting, then scary some more. And then nothing happens. I can sniff essential oils, eat spicy food, and bounce on my yoga ball until the cows come home, but this baby is not coming out.
The other day, after a long sleepless night that ended in (surprise) no baby, I sort of lost it. I suddenly noticed the overgrown grass in the backyard, and I'm sure my eye started doing that creepy twitch reminiscent of the insane, and suddenly I could think of nothing else besides getting that lawn mowed.
Of course, Caleb was willing to do it. Because what man is going to make his 40+ week pregnant wife go mow the lawn? But I was adamant. I begged, I pleaded, I bargained. I had to mow the lawn, or I was going to lose my mind. Cue another eye twitch. Mowing is just walking behind a lawnmower, and walking is good for you. I need the fresh air. What's the worst that could happen, it would put me into labor? HA!
I think I made a pretty convincing argument until I won, then had to ask Caleb to tie my shoes for me.
But anyway.
I can't tell you how great I thought I was out there mowing the lawn like some sort of superhero. I bet I'm the only pregnant woman ever who has mowed the lawn. With each blade of grass that had to bow to my whims, I felt more and more victorious. I distinctly remember thinking, "Yeah, we'll see if you make a fool out of me, labor!" I think I thought if I just pretended I wasn't pregnant, then maybe it wouldn't be so hard to deal with the fact that I'M STILL PREGNANT.
There also may have been a brief moment of true insanity where I walked through a swarm of bees and, rather than running for my life in what would be typical-Anndee fashion, I thought, "I wonder if bee stings could induce labor...?"
Turns out mowing actually is a little more than just "walking behind the mower", especially when it's been raining for weeks and the grass had started to resemble a small, overgrown jungle. Every few steps, the mower would clog and stop and I'd have to pull-start it again. During one of these silent lulls, I heard my neighbor frantically shouting my name from her backyard. "Do you need some help?" she asked in what I'm sure was a nice way. I told her no, I was fine, then almost burst into an explanation about how Caleb was inside (probably watching me through a window, waiting for me to pass out or drop dead or just have the baby right there in the back yard) and how I was insisting on mowing the lawn, this wasn't some desperate plea for help, and how I wasn't a control freak or anything, the yard wasn't really a top priority right now, and that this small act of mowing the lawn was making me feel pretty awesome and strong and that I was only clinging to my last shred of sanity.
But I didn't say any of that, because the whole neighborhood would have heard and probably come over to start weeding or something, and I might have to save those weeds to make it through this next week.
Then I looked over to the other side and saw the little neighbor boy watching me through the fence. Just before the lawnmower roared back to life, I heard him yell to his grandma, "That girl? She pregnant...and she doin stuff!"
That's right little boy. I might have a possibly-15 pound baby strapped to my stomach 24/7, but I'm doin stuff!!! (Eye twitch.)
The point of this story is not to get anyone's sympathy or words of encouragement. I tell you this because, for some reason, going past my due date is the one thing I truly was not prepared for. I read every baby book I could get my hands on. I can tell you anything you want to know about labor, or the 9 months leading up to it. I can tell you what to do about morning sickness, or insomnia, what you should and shouldn't eat and what wives tales will help you induce labor. (Or the fact that none of them actually work.) But I had no idea what to do when I hit and then passed my due date, and just kept sailing along. I wasn't expecting it to be such an emotional blow. I figured I could keep smiling, keep waiting, because all babies are born eventually, right? (RIGHT? I'm really asking.) and I am in the home stretch. It's almost over.
But in the mean time, I wake up every morning and think, "You are SERIOUSLY still in there???" As much as I wish I could do something, anything about it, it's out of my control. As silly as it sounds, I have to trust my baby that he will get here when he's ready. I think the problem is that he is already just like his dad... mellow, easygoing, and he will get here when he wants to. My only hope at this point is that someday I will have a daughter as high strung as me, and you can bet she will be here ON TIME.