Welcome to week #42. My pregnancy will be officially considered post term as of tomorrow, which is why I am booked in for the ‘Post Dates Clinic’. And I am getting very tense about it. Only reading about the tests they usually run makes me feel sick and scared stiff.

To add insult to injury, the online pregnancy calendar I have been following sends me congratulations on my newborn baby.

Being left alone during 99% of my pregnancy, I got used to and found comfort in the ‘don’t fix it if it ain’t broken’ attitude of my midwife. But with my midwife on vacation and little L running late, I feel like I am being pushed towards a more medicalised approach of childbirth.

All of a sudden, I have to check into a clinic, without being sick. Some more than 150 year-old rule is classifying my baby as being late, without knowing anything about me, my baby, my cycle, etc. For a natural birth without medical intervention – something I still feel I have the right to take on – it is so important to trust in your own abilities, stay relaxed and positive in a calm and dignified environment.

But how can I do that, if I feel like being an inconvenience in an obstetrician’s diary? If bright lights and the sounds of monitors surround me, with nurses and doctors popping in and out, showing more interest in what is happening on the screen than on my face, let alone my mind.

I would rather enjoy little L’s and my last very close days together than working on my string of arguments, why I don’t think I should be induced yet (given that both of us are well, of course). In contrary, I am studying statistics about how many percent of suspected post term babies that have been induced turn out as actually being post term (about a third, thanks to errors in calculating gestational dates), and where the disadvantages of induction outweigh the benefits.

I am not at all afraid of giving birth. Call me nuts, but I always thought of it as a potentially powerful and – in its own sense – beautiful experience.

What really upsets me is the prospect of being robbed of the chance to let my body do what it needs to do, at its own pace, be it at week 42 or 44.