Not sure if this means anything...

... but, according to the midwife, I'm fifty percent effaced. "Do you feel as if you have a baseball sitting on your bladder?" she wanted to know. Actually, yes. Yes, I do.

Cervix is only about a centimeter, though. And I completely forgot to ask anything about the baby's station in the uterus. Guess I was too shocked by the midwife's shock at how very low he is. "I'm touching his head," she said.

Midwife is wise, and necessarily circumspect. In her musings after the exam, she was a confounding oracle: "All can I predict for certain is that your baby will get here sometime in the next six weeks. [Six?!] If he wanted to come this week [week 36], we wouldn't stop him. But it would be extra nice if he could wait just one more week before making his appearance. One day soon, you won't make it to your weekly appointment, because you'll have delivered."

Must...resist...urge...to think birth is imminent. All my mom's pregnancies went slightly late. And, if this kid is anything like me—and, to a lesser extent, like Adam—he's bound to be a major procrastinator.

Either way, I'd best get this body off to work.