The Day After The Day That The Baby Did Not Arrive

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Baby Hu is late. I blame Mr Oh who is generally late for everything and has a peculiar relationship with time. He has little regard for temporal strictures and the sanctity of scheduling. In contrast, I am paralyzed by anxiety at the very notion of not being unnecessarily early for everything. I wonder if this baby has any of my genes at all.

Even though I’m only one day overdue, the midwife asked me to come back into the hospital this morning for another assessment. She’s scheduled me to see the doctor later this week “on account of the baby’s size”. She chuckles quietly in a way that reminds me of Santa as she wraps measuring tape around my bump and announces “well, it’s a good size baby anyway”. I ask her if she thinks the baby is likely to be over 10lbs. I have to ask twice because she pretends not to hear me the first time and stares blankly at the wall as if singing internally to herself. When I ask again she looks away and busies herself fiddling with folders and pens while muttering ‘oh, I wouldn’t necessarily think so’ in a way that suggests she is evaluating how convincing she sounds and then spins back round to announce ‘but you’re very tall so I’m sure it’ll be no problem’. I’m not sure how being tall is going to help me birth a baby sumo wrestler. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten so much peanut butter ice-cream - this is all Mr Oh’s fault (although I’m not sure how).

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