That was the date marked in my diary. On our calendar. On my phone. A few rings scribbled around it. Underlined for emphasis. Exclamation marks for good measure, as if it wasn't exciting enough already.
By my due date, my main form of transport was the waddle. I'd worn a track in the local canal path as I plodded up and down, trying to walk this baby out. My body was now 30% baby, 40% toast, 10% pineapple and 20% tonic water. (I'd read that the quinine in tonic water could bring on labour so drank nigh on a whole bottle in a day. And then, unsurprisingly, felt really sick. But then wondered if the nausea was the start of labour. It wasn't. Moral of the story: only drink tonic water when you can have it with a good measure of gin). I was rapidly growing out of my maternity gear (see previous comment about toast. All makes sense now...) and was getting very, VERY impatient!
But as everyone had told me, babies come when they're ready. I just had a little while yet to wait...