The idea hit me yesterday when I was laid up in bed (excruciating back and rib pain): I'm probably going to have to be induced. My body didn't recognize that Robin had died and it needed to let go. Why should we assume it's going to know how or when to release this baby? I had been worried that I wasn't going to recognize the beginning of labor, now I'm thinking that might not be a necessary fear. I'll just have to hang on a couple weeks past the due date until they decide it's time to make the baby move out. I just hope there's not a whole lot more growth. It's a superficial hope, I just don't want to see all the clothes we bought go unused. I've been doing a lot of complaining lately too, and I've been making a conscious effort to stop. It's like a subconscious need for humans to complain. But what do I really have to complain about? I said I'd put up with any discomfort and give up whatever needed to be given up in order to bring our baby into the world. So I shouldn't really complain. And if I am induced, maybe that will be better because I'll have more monitoring? I don't know, I'm trying to hold on to any positivity I can.