Prayers

Dear Baby Byington,

Let me start off by saying that it's been nothing but a bucket of fun housing and nourishing you over the past nine (ten) months. When we first found out you were underway, both your father and I were shocked, scared, and thrilled to death. I found ways to express my joy through daily spouts of vomiting, bloating, sobbing, and dry heaving, and fatigue - some of the many gems of first-trimester pregnancy. In all seriousness, though, I was so overwhelmed with anticipation and love that those seemed like mere inconveniences when compared to what was happening inside of my tummy! From the first day I knew you were coming, I couldn't wait to meet you.

So here's the deal. Time's up. You, probably better than anyone, realize that your mother is by no means a large individual (hence your ever-decreasing lack of space). She's what our good friend Nephi would call "small in stature", and is not meant to carry the 8-pound infant that the doctor has estimated you already are. You might want to think long and hard about staying in there much longer, because I can guarantee that the keyhole of a cervix you're required to exit through is exponentially smaller than your current residence, causing some major discomfort for the both of us come show time.

I know what you're thinking. You're comfortable, you're warm, you're happy, and you're undisturbed. I understand your hesitance to make your appearance right now, especially with our political and economic situation as it is. I can't say that I'd by blazing the trail to leave such a soothing environment, but I can promise you that the world outside isn't really all that bad. There are lots of soft blankets, cute outfits, stuffed animals, and overpriced baby furniture and gear just waiting to be used by YOU!

So, with all due respect, get out. This is no longer humorous. The fact that I've been dilated to a 2 for a month now proves to me that you must think this is funny. I'm getting tired of peeing a teaspoon every 20 minutes. I'm done with rolling from one destination to another. I'm sick of the funny looks I get from people asking, "No baby yet?" I'm sure you understand. Lots of people are waiting to greet you, and one very sore, swollen mommy of yours has been filled to capacity with your darling little self. I have NO MORE ROOM, NO MORE ENERGY (not even to clean), and one one beastly case of acid reflux. You should know that many people are suffering because of your refusal to come out. Late babies equal very cranky mommies. I'm willing to beg, bribe, lie, cheat, or steal - name your price. I'll do anything.

So, tomorrow when we go into the doctor and they do all sorts of damage to the inside of my poor little body (otherwise known as stripping of the membranes), you, sir, are going to cooperate. I just can't take one more day of this. I just know that we can come to some sort of compromise. The doctors don't seem to have a merciful bone in their bodies (induction isn't a favorite among doctors up here in Utah), so I'm counting on you. I just know you're healthy, I know you're adorable, and more recently, I know that you're stubborn. All things considered, you're just like Daddy.

Please don't confuse my frustration with anger. I am just so anxious to hold you and kiss you and see if you have hair. Baby Byington, please come out!

Love, Mommy