Monday, December 9, 2013

The Longest Month

So I am now 3 days from my due date. The time has come to get out, baby. The month that should be known as "The Longest Month of a Woman's Life" is drawing to a close. A month of sympathetic looks, rude questions by those that should know better, and waddling through daily life worried that at any second your pubic bone will actually split in half or someone might ask you to bend over and pick something up. When one is in the final stretch of pregnancy, things need to be ignored. And forgiven. Like when you won't help me fix the covers and just jump in bed and I tell you "I hope you freeze to death in your sleep." I didn't really mean that. And when you ask me what's for dinner and I say, "whatever you can find in the pantry," its not that I want you to go hungry. I am just really tired. And you and Toodles can survive for one month on Princess fruit snacks and pretzels. 

I don't like to complain (I have been told I complain a lot). But. Imagine this. Ripley from Alien going about her daily life while that alien grew in her stomach. This month has been a lot like that. Everyday baby is getting bigger and jabbing away and doing what feels to be the cha-cha slide into my ribs. I told my OB I thought he may punch his way out. She assured me that was not possible. I am certain she lies. 
Don't let that face fool you, she is excited to meet her baby.
The last month of pregnancy is spent wondering and waiting. Thinking about what is left to be done. And what you have already done that maybe you should do differently. And what you will probably never get around to doing. Every day I wake up and think, "this could be it, today could be the day." The doctor visits get closer and the belly gets even bigger and you start hearing words like "dilating" and "effacing" and people start commenting on how much the baby has dropped. (By the way, saying 2 centimeters is not a lot to a person who grasping for every centimeter possible might get you slapped. Please remember that.) Anything is possible in these last few days and you know it, and that is scary and exciting and terrifying and a relief. And a lot of emotion at one time. And why woman in their weeks should be treated with kid gloves. Much like a grenade that has had the pin pulled out that no one is sure what to do with, so they pass it around and hope no one drops it while they wait for the bomb squad.

The tiny clothes are washed, the room is ready. The sheets are on the crib, the diapers are in the drawer. I even remembered to buy wipes. And now...we wait. And I enjoy these last few days of having one child. And eating whatever I want. And laying on the couch because moving is exhausting, and I can't be bothered unless it is absolutely necessary. Because sooner rather than later the Baby Alien will arrive and we will be a family of 4. And then I will find new things to complain about, and my beached whale status will be but a memory. Stay tuned. It could be any second now. 


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