They don’t tell you when the start is. Not exactly. They give you a range, of course. About nine months. You have nine months to get yourself ready. And then . . . well, it’s up to you to figure out when the race actually begins.
You start to see the signs that it might be soon, so you get everything ready. Clothes picked out, food arranged, child care managed. And then . . . well, you wait. You’re at the start line, and you’re ready to go. But . . . nothing. Was that the signal to go? Hmmm. Maybe not?
And then . . . well, you wait some more. And you obsess over the signs they told you to look for. Was that contraction more intense? Are they getting closer together? This is the same thing that happened the last time, but . . . nothing. Nothing more.
And so you keep waiting. And you wonder: how long can this go on? The race is actually going to start sometime, isn’t it? At times you feel resigned that all your preparation will go unused: you will be pregnant forever. At other times you are hopeful. The closer it gets to that mythical date, the more likely it is that the signs are real.
But still. You wait. And you wait. And you wait. And you wonder: is that contraction more intense than the last one? Were those two closer together?
It’s enough to drive a lady crazy.