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After another disappointing doctor’s appointment where I was told that I would probably have to be induced, the doctor told me that if I wanted to try caster oil, I could. She said to take no more than 3 or 4 tablespoons worth to see if that would get things going.

This, she said, after her “examination” which indicated I was barely a centimeter dilated. I put the term in parenthesis because although it probably gave her information, it was really an exercise in complete and total agony without warning. Before it was over, I could tell that she was overdue for a manicure and there’s nothing fun or funny about that.

I left the appointment feeling defeated. Television and movies lied to me. There was no magic point in my pregnancy when my water would break and the contractions would kick in and 20 minutes later, I’d have a baby. The gestation felt stalled, and considering how high the baby still was in my belly, it seemed like he was holding on for dear life, not ready to come out.

By now, I was well past my due date. I was incredibly uncomfortable, and the crankiness was getting harder and harder to conceal. I lashed out at people, and was frankly no fun to be around. The fact that I’d have to wait nearly another week to be induced was not something I took lightly.

I had all kinds of fears about whether that would even work once we got started, or if they’d have to drug me. Even after all that, what if I still couldn’t deliver, and I’d have to have a c-section? All these thoughts raced through my mind, and I felt the weight of every inappropriate comment overheard or directly said to me resting in my already exhausted mind.

I realize that becoming a parent is an exercise in patience, and that nothing will happen on my schedule ever again. I appreciate every snide parent who’s had the opportunity to remind me of that fact as my pregnancy progressed and I expressed my frustrations which included a fair share of impatience. However, I’m still entitled to my feelings, and as much patience as anyone can have, the tenth month of complete and utter discomfort is perfectly appropriate to feel even the slightest bit miffed that things aren’t moving forward. Beyond the excitement of meeting my son for the first time, I’m ready to get this show on the road.