We are currently at 39 weeks and 4 days of pregnancy. Or: 3 days left till D Day.
I judge no one at this point.
Two weeks ago at In&Out Rich pointed out that I had dropped ketchup on my arm. I wiped it up with a fry … and ate it. Problem solved.
I see posts about “leggings not being real pants”. Yea….okay. Tell that to my body with a baby due in the middle of winter while you keep wearing your skinny jeans.
39 weeks ago I may have read a post like this and thought “Oh gee, another rant from a mom, relating to other mom’s, of which I cannot yet relate to”. To anyone thinking the same I say, please, just save this post. From it you will gain so much self confidence and hopefully feel better about yourself as you realize you’re not alone as you also eventually enter your last week of pregnancy.
To the other mom’s who have already been there. You’re beautiful. Thank you for tolerating me when I wasn’t pregnant, as you watched me do Pilates whenever I wanted to, ate Taco Bell without getting heartburn, pee only when I chose to, and go on a run “just for fun”.
Last night I hit an emotional (or was it hormonal?) breaking point. I wanted to punch a wall. Just felt “done being pregnant”. For weeks Rich and I have been talking about how we just can’t wait to meet our girl. Can’t wait to introduce her name for the first time to the world. To study her face, knees, back of her neck, toes, lips, eyelids, hair. And to yes, even hear her cry. Even if it doesn’t stop when we want it to. (I learned from a National Geographic DVD that the cry of a baby often mimics the cadence of their mother’s speech! Miraculous! But also, kind of terrifying. I talk.).
Dreaming of meeting her every day for the last couple months and still not knowing her had almost brought me to the edge. We went to bed, made sure the hospital bag had all it’s contents, scoping out where my medical card was, debriefing our plan of action with each other should I wake up with contractions (Something like, call doula, turn on music, make coffee and keep the house warm), and trying not to think once again that “This could be the night!”
As Rich promptly fell asleep, I huffed to myself, maybe carrying a little self pity. Then I decided that instead of loathing my current state, it was time to give a formal farewell to my bump. Perhaps, I thought, maybe my body needed to know that it was okay to let go and get this thing going.
And besides, how could I be so rude!? For months my bump has opened doors for me. People have bought us food, done our laundry (thanks mom), strangers have smiled at me for no reason, helped me out to my car with groceries, told me to “just rest” and “sleep” as much as I could. How could I be so disrespectful!
Instead of being anxious to lose my tummy I started to think about how miraculous it’s been to go from washboard (hahahahahahahaha!) to watermelon. How, I was unknowingly 5 weeks pregnant at Disneyland wondering why in the world I felt so tired and feeling very un-magical! How I lost my breath on the ride home from Disneyland realizing that I was pregnant but had not yet told Rich, and how I had eaten loads of hot cheetos and oreos and coffee on that trip. What kind of a mother was I!?
And how for the next couple months I would make Rich take inconvenient progress pictures, feeling SO cute and then seeing the pictures and request, “Retake!”. (Which by the way, virtually stopped after 37 weeks, cause really, who wants to get dressed up for that!?)
How I progressively became a much more emotional, empathetic, straight up, CRIER.
And most importantly, remembering and savoring the feeling of the little babe inside of me. Remembering when I first saw and felt her at the same time and texted my friends “I didn’t just feel it, I SAW it!!”. How the little flutters turned to punches and punches turned to kicks and kicks turned to shoulder rolls. How in the middle of church, or the grocery store, or a work day I would just smile to myself like a crazy person because I could feel my girl when no one else knew she was moving. How in the middle of the night, I soon discovered that she will be just like her pre-preggo mother and want to party.. all…night…long.. And when her Daddy was asleep it was just me and her. Rolling, and kicking, and turning,and pushing, and shifting, and adjusting, and dancing together (Cause Dad just can’t keep up with us ;-).
And after remembering all this, I realized that these last few days of waddling are not so bad after all. I will savor them and cherish them because I will never be “pregnant for the first time” ever again. I will soon never feel her from the inside again. She will only get stronger. Her punches will turn to finger gripping and her kicks will turn to steps and hiccups will turn to cries and soon requests and soon opinions, and I’ll just LONG to feel those flutters again as I watch her run around the house.
I can’t wait to meet our girl, but I am so thankful for the season of the bump. It truly has been beautiful.