Home stretch?

This week brought puffy feet and ankles. And joint pain in my fingers. All normal, says my OB, who is apparently so unconvinced this baby is making any movement toward arrival that she hasn't bothered to check me.

This I am grateful for, since I hear internal exams can be really uncomfortable. And I'm uncomfortable enough right now. I really don't need anyone messing around down there only to tell me that nothing. is. happening.

But it's still a little depressing.

The good news is that I'm two weeks away from my due date, and my OB said they would probably induce around 41 weeks. So, either way, I'm meeting this baby in about three weeks. Woo-hoo!

That's good news for work, too. (The part where they might be stuck with me for another three weeks.) If you recall, I already had a leave plan drafted when I dropped the preggo bomb on my boss. And for the past six months, I've been focused on getting everything in place so the plan would run smoothly. Basically getting other folks used to doing things without me. I wasn't worried at all about heading out.

Then yesterday, the person who was my primary back-up turned in her three-week notice. (Insert entire vocabulary of four-letter words here.) I'm devastated for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is how much I enjoyed working with her, but I completely understand and empathize with the personal reasons driving her departure.

Still, six months of planning flew out the window, and I am scrambling to cobble together a Plan C. Today, that meant me making calls to clients to tell them they're SOL because my department is SOL. Tomorrow, I will make a few more of those calls, I will reassure my boss that this will all work out, and I will be one more day closer to meeting this baby.