Ready to pop

(Based on diary extract from 22/01/2011). 

It's my official due date today. I don't expect he or she to turn up on time. In fact, I half expect the baby to never turn up at all because this whole thing seems very surreal. Me, a mother? What a joke, I can barely fend for myself.
I have my hospital bag packed which, to be honest, is more of a bag of snacks than anything practical. Admittedly, I don't think I'll be screaming out for a double decker in the final pangs of labour but you never know, I might be one of those women who gives birth in ten pushes with just a paracetamol whilst managing to knit a matching hat and gloves in time for the delivery. Maybe that's where all those knitted boobs came from in my antenatal class.
I tell people I don't care if I have an epidural, that I'll take anything I can get but I secretly hope I'm one of the lucky ones. Maybe it's not even about that, maybe I just have something to prove - as though it makes me a more valuable member of society to have gone through childbirth without medical intervention. Why is that? It's not like I'd put it on my CV.
My midwife asked me to write a birthing plan, and I told her I didn't want one because I wanted to take it as it comes. So she decided to write one for me by spontaneously firing at me a series of multiple choice questions 'vitamin k injection for the baby on delivery...or not, and risk the baby having blood clots?' Erm, can I come back to you on that?! How ridiculous. So I've somehow signed up for a water birth. God help me.