The contractions began, radiating heat and throbbing in my lower back, as I was discussing an insurance claim with our Geico agent on a blustery January morning. They were 3 minutes apart and lasting over a minute–and I was 32 weeks pregnant.

My midwife asked me to come in for a NST after I adamantly insisted it wasn’t necessary for me to go straight to the hospital and the second I sat down on her sofa the contractions I’d been timing for hours halted. Adrenaline, perhaps. Our bodies can be very curious that way.

That was the first time.

There have been many, many others since. My contraction timer app is full of hours of recorded contractions only a few minutes apart and lasting over 60 seconds, but there’s no baby, or even any significant changes, to show for all of these very labor-like contractions. Nope, there’s just me–emotionally and mentally burnt out from the false starts, more pregnant than I have ever been before.

My midwife has called it “irritable uterus.” Irritable is right, but I would perhaps rename it “ridiculously irritating uterus.” The waiting in my last two pregnancies, the last few weeks and especially days, have always been hard, but I’ve never had my irritable uterus play emotional games with me before.

Today I’m 39 weeks pregnant. This was the day in my pregnancy my son was delivered almost four years ago and my daughter came even earlier at 37 + 6 days. Yes, I know I’m not even full term yet, but after two early babies and so very many false labor starts, I honestly feel a little shocked little man is still cooking.

Every time the contractions pick up and I feel them coming like a wave, starting in my lower back, consistent and long, I get excited! I want to meet this baby!

And then eventually it peters out and I am reminded that my irritating uterus is playing games with me and I had better get comfortable because it could potentially be weeks more yet.

Thankfully, my midwife has given me a good idea of the cause–a posterior baby–and she’s also given us a solution, affectionately referred to by my husband as baby sifting. It’s a spinning babies technique using a long cloth and involving a partner who basically uses the cloth to take the weight off the mom’s belly, moving it back and forth in sifting motions, to help move baby into the right position. That’s followed by more or less being upside down and then on my knees for alternating regular intervals and then lying on the dining room table doing a strange but effective hip stretch for 20 minutes. It’s all very odd and acutely uncomfortable, yet the silliness of it and the hour it takes where my husband and I are focused on each other and the baby has actually become a pretty special, albeit loathed, part of our daily routine. I think we’re making progress moving baby into position and yet…the endless contractions come and go and baby stays where he’s comfy.

I feel this way at the end of every pregnancy but this time I mean it–this has been the longest nine months of my life. 8,436 months seems a lot more like it, and I’m probably doomed to be pregnant for the rest of eternity.

When my raging pregnancy hormones calm down enough for me to think clearly, I know the truth:

My irritating uterus is not playing emotional games with me.

I won’t be pregnant until Jesus returns.

Life (and the eating for two stage, especially) is too short to consume less than a full bar of chocolate daily.

God’s timing is perfect and He knows exactly the moment we’ll meet our son.

My husband has been my rock through this entire emotional roller coaster of a pregnancy, between the moving twice, preparing to move again, instability, lack of rooted relationships, and generally insane children. He reminds me daily that God is in control and even though he has a heck of a lot on his plate to feel anxious about too, he’s not anxious.

Impatient…yes–he wants desperately to meet his son!

But not anxious, and definitely not worried.

Our tiny human is going to come eventually, and tonight when the contractions pick up again and I contemplate calling the midwife and I prep for labor and then it all just stops, I will surely be disappointed, but still I will trust.

Trust in God’s timing–because it will be perfect. God has quite the sense of humor too, so I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if I end up with a leap year baby.

Yes, I’ve been pregnant for like 8436 months and I can’t help but groan every time I stand up and I’m pretty sure my pelvis is going to collapse in on itself at some point…

BUT–

Ultimately, there will be a tiny baby in my arms, a reflection of Jesus’s perfect love, and all this will be forgotten.

Any time now, my littlest love. We can’t wait to meet you.