There are only 25 days remaining in my sister’s pregnancy…or so she says. Today I asked her, “So what exactly happens when you wake up the morning of your due date? Do you open your eyes and poof…labor begins?” She didn’t really see the humor.

She’s ready to meet this child, the little girl she’s been carrying around everywhere for 36.5 weeks (Yes, she wants us to count half-weeks now), but the whole idea of a “due date” is quite bothersome. You plan and plan, anticipate and look forward to a day on the calendar, but the reality is less than half of babies are actually born on their due dates (sorry for the news little sis). Being the anal-compulsive, control freak that I am (those are my mother’s words, not mine), I’m not sure I could have handled this pie-in-the-sky kind of planning.

In fact when we were planning Aaron’s birth, the doctor working with us completely pegged me for the pain-in-the-ass intended mother (term used to describe infertile women having a child through surrogacy), and he suggested inducing labor. In his words…”Tricia will have have a car accident trying to get to the hospital in time for the birth.” It was winter, lots of snow, and I’m so glad he took pity on me.

Aaron’s surrogate mom (Aunt Amy) has a history of really, really quick deliverys and since Aaron was pregnancy number four for her, we all figured she’d be the one not to make it to the hospital and Aaron would be born on-route. Amy was as worried about me missing the birth as I was. Induction it was, and I was happy as any mom-to-be that we could put this on the calendar, plan around it…our due date was really a delivery date. (Funny side note here…the doctor was the one who missed the delivery by minutes. He couldn’t get to the hospital in time…hah! He was rather disappointed considering this was a rather special circumstance.)

For the fertile masses out there who have to live with this illusionary date on their calendar for 40 weeks…hoping and planning for a gushing of water and the onset of labor within a prescribed 24 hours…well, I’m just so glad I didn’t have to do that part. And because my little sis also inherited the anal gene from our father, she’s putting lots of chips on this checked-off calendar box and hoping with all her strength that this baby comes on-time.

As for my part in developing a relationship with this soon-to-be-born baby, how the heck am I supposed to book a plane ticket around an imaginary due date?  Seriously…there’s a contest about to begin for the title of “Favorite Aunt,” but since the other two contenders live within 20 minutes of my sister, and I’m 1200 miles away, they have an unfair advantage. I’m calling a foul before the games begin. Actually, my plan is to send more presents…who doesn’t love the aunt who sends presents?

If little sis doesn’t have the baby on May 19th (or earlier) I suppose the real consolation is that this is simply the most appropriate training for motherhood and the eventual realization that all the planning you’ll do over the next several years will be completely trashed because your child will have other, more pressing plans for you. And that, truly, is just the way it’s supposed to be.