As I wrap this up, I keep meaning to move the weekly updates closer to Thursdays, which is when the week number actually shifts over. When a post goes up on Monday, I'm actually however many weeks and four days. I usually find talking about pregnancy in weeks and days a little crazy-making and unnecessary, but now that we're so close to the end, those days start to matter.
My due date is five days from now.
One of my favorite memories from my pregnancy with Westley was taking Rob shopping for a new winter coat. (The words "winter coat" looked so repellent just now, as I sit here in my sweaty underwear, drinking an icy beverage. Remembering that it was November doesn't help much.) It was Tuesday night. The salesguy asked when I was due.
His eyes got as big as pasta bowls. He couldn't run our credit card through the machine fast enough.
I'm almost looking forward to going somewhere this coming Thursday so if anyone asks when I'm due, I can say, "Today!"
Getting the heck out of the house has been the most important item on the agenda every day this week. Especially now that the freezer is full and the birth kit is organized, there is nothing to do at home but wait. And while the temptation to sit around and wait for labor to start is huge, doing so is excruciating—and unproductive. I get some fantastic Braxton Hicks contractions just from walking, and I figure they must be good for something. If nothing else, I can practice ignoring them.
Also in the totally excruciating camp is the mostly involuntary thought-process that tacks "this could be the last time before the baby is born" around everything. This could be the last time I take Westley to the Children's Museum before the baby is born. This could be the last trip to the beach, the last chiropractic adjustment, the last library visit. This could be the last time I go to the grocery store before the baby is born...so I should probably buy six months' worth of laundry detergent while I'm here! Aaahhh!
Not only does this type of thinking not make the time pass more quickly, but I inevitably feel like a chump when we end up back at the library the next week and I've still got the giant belly.
Every week I go back and forth about whether to talk about my weight and size. Body image, especially during pregnancy, can be such a difficult topic, and it's incredibly subjective. What feels like a tremendous amount of weight (mentally and physically) to one person might not seem like much at all to someone else. Embracing the weight gain has been one of the hardest parts of this pregnancy for me, and I'm still torn as to whether I think the additional 32 lbs. I'm carrying represent a huge gain or a relatively small one. I'll admit to being very curious to see how the weight comes off. (I will also admit to fantasizing about being back in my skinny jeans by my birthday in January—but the key word there is "fantasizing.")
Rob's mom called this morning hoping for baby news. My mom called this afternoon. Rob's coworkers regularly say things like, "No baby yet?" when he shows up at work. I don't know what people are hoping to hear when they ask for baby news at this point. "Oh, that's right. I went into labor and totally forgot to mention it to anyone!"
I wish I had some inside information on when this child will grace us with her presence. But I have absolutely no idea. It could be tomorrow for all I know, or it could be two weeks from tomorrow! I've been talking to her about it, but she hasn't told me her plans.