baby deuce: eviction notice

I noticed on Sunday night that I had four new stretch marks, two on each side. This filled me with instant dread - not a thing to do about vanity, since my stomach is already covered in stretch marks of pregnancy past, but dread that this baby is now bigger than my 8 pound, 4 ounce last one.  I had an ultrasound on Tuesday and the baby is measuring 9 pounds, 3 ounces. 

The doctor stripped my membranes, and nothing has happened.  I went on walks, I stepped on curbs, I got on all fours and swayed my hips - really anything that the internet said would move things along.  Eating seven pineapples is out because I don't want to end up in a diabetic coma.  I can't stomach the idea of spicy food, since I get heartburn from water now. 

My doctor won't induce before 39 weeks, which for me happens to fall on a Saturday. My doctor also won't schedule an induction for the weekend, since it cuts into their weekend plans and all.  So the soonest I could get in was Monday.  Just yesterday, my Monday induction got bumped to Tuesday to make room for an elective c-section.  If they move me from 5:00 am Tuesday morning, I will lose my mind because I'm already having blinding fear attacks of delivering a 9 pound, 3 ounce baby, let alone a baby who A WEEK AGO was 9 pounds, 3 ounces and now could weigh significantly more. The nurse suggests that I go into labor on my own, as if it's as easy as pushing my belly button.  I'm right on top of that, Rose!

Today is my last day of work, since I normally work 9 hour days and get every other Friday off.  Tomorrow happens to be my Friday off.  And you know what I plan on doing?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I'm going to lay in my empty-for-now house and do a whole lot of nothing and enjoy the calm before the storm and eat McDonald's and not check my blood sugar because I am a rebel like that.  Maybe I'll eat a spicy chicken sandwich or go on a long walk, or maybe I'll just give up on trying to induce this stubborn and lazy baby boy and wait it out until Tuesday!  Please, God, just don't be 9 pounds, 3 ounces!