Due Date, Schmue Date

Bridget's due date was this past Thursday. Or it was Saturday, depending on whom you ask. Originally, her due date was August 24, but after our first ultrasound, it became August 22.

Either way, one thing is for certain: It really doesn't matter.

As a first-timer to this pregnancy experience, I assumed that a due date was pretty concrete. If not etched in stone, it was at least written in permanent marker somewhere. Underlined. In all capital letters. But as it turns out, I was dead wrong. In fact, only about 5 percent of babies are born on their designated day.

This statistic stinks. And it stinks for three reasons:

1. Due dates are a big tease. Think about the last big thing for which you prepared. Maybe it was a speech or a presentation. Maybe it was a wedding, a birthday, or an anniversary. Perhaps it was a vacation. Whatever it was, you set a date, said thing occurred on that date, and then you moved on with your life. That's not so in baby world. August 22 (or August 24) came and went for us. We had marked the date on our calendars, made sure our hospital bag was packed, and had our hands on the doorknob. (I've even been working on my sprinting, just in case.) But the hours, minutes, and seconds slipped by. And we waited. How are you feeling now?, I asked. How about NOW?

2. I like deadlines. As a journalist by trade, I'm accustomed to looking at the clock. You need 400 words in 25 minutes? You got it. Need a quote by 2 PM? I'm your man. Not surprisingly, this thinking crept into my daily life and I have a great respect for time. If I'm supposed to be somewhere at 6 AM, you know damn well that I'm going to be there. My daughter? She'll come when she's good and ready, thank you very much.

3. Poor Bridget. Bridget is a champ. She's a great sport and a tough cookie. In other words, she's not one to complain. But good God. This poor thing has endured 40 weeks of back-breaking, ankle-swelling, acne-inducing pregnancy. When I ask her if she's comfortable on the couch, she contorts her body into a pretzel and sheepishly nods her head. And yes, I know that millions and millions of women have gone through pregnancy and given birth, but the experience is different when it's in your living room and it's your wife. Yes, she'll make it and yes, she's had a fairly easy pregnancy. But, again, good God.

So, what's next? Well, we wait. Eighty percent of women deliver between weeks 37 - 42, so there's a good chance we'll fall in there somewhere. After that, if everyone stays healthy and we're still watching the clock, they'll induce Bridget when she hits 42 weeks. That means, like it or not, our daughter will meet the world by September 6.

Until then, I'll be singing along with Tom Petty, one of the greatest songwriters of our time:

Every day you see one more card 
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart 
The waiting is the hardest part ...