Not comin' out, nuh-uh

Dear Lord a'mighty, this kid is taking its own sweet time. Two weeks ago, the doc estimated the fetal weight at 8 lbs 3 oz. Kids, babies gain half a pound a week. That means we're looking at 9lbs+ right now. And nothing's going on down south, if you get my drift...ain't nobody in a big hurry. Meanwhile, I can't breathe, I can't sit comfortably anymore, and I'm getting a bit stir crazy with the waiting. PLUS, my doc goes on vacation for a week starting this Friday afternoon... The kid actually moved back UP this week. What what what?? That's not allowed is it? If the kid doesn't drop into the pelvis, we're talking C-section, and that's less sassy than it seems when it's possibly going to happen to you. (Britney, I'm talking to you, ho-bag.) If the kid is just too huge, we're talking possible induction and then STILL a possible C-section... Holy cats, I'm sick of being pregnant. My TOES, people! They turned purple with the bad circulation and the swelling today, while I sat on the stupid exam table sweating through the sexy-sexy paper drape. And my belly looks like I swallowed a medium-sized watermelon. The baby weighs as much, if not more, than Coco the Wonder Pup at this point, and gaining on Roosvelt the Devil Kitty. (Hey, at least it'll be able to hold its own against the menagerie.) In less than 2 weeks I'll be 37, and perhaps STILL pregnant. Sexy!