I’m told I’m in the home stretch. I’m battling the feeling that almost every pregnant woman battles: the idea that this may never end and I might just be pregnant for the rest of my life. The fact that I’ve experienced this before and it resulted in a real, live baby doesn’t do anything to shake the feeling. What do I know, really? The fact that my midwives have assured me that I will not be allowed to go overdue this time doesn’t do anything to shake the feeling. What do they know, really? It’s just par for the course.
The other overwhelming issue over the past week is the sharp increase in frequency, duration, and discomfort of my Braxton Hicks contractions. I’m trying to tell myself that this is my body preparing itself for labor, but based on previous experiences, I can’t be sure that it’s not just my body putting me through hell for absolutely no reason. I’m still not convinced that my body actually knows how to go into labor on its own. For that matter, I’m not convinced that my body knows that milk production is important to the survival of the species. It’s abundantly clear that my body never got the memo that a pregnant woman doesn’t need to match the weight of your average linebacker in order to create a baby. My body knows nothing.
In addition to feeling like I’ll be pregnant forever and the almost constant contractions for no good reason, exhaustion is my only other major issue. I can’t be sure if that’s related to carrying around all this extra weight, doing so while caring for a toddler, traveling far too many miles in far too short a time span, waking up 25 times per night to turn over, or if it’s hormonally based. I guess it doesn’t matter, it just is.
Alright, enough with the kvetching, here are the pictures:
Week 36 in my pregnancy with Liam (These were taken after an unexpected trip to L&D after my blood pressure wasn’t where my doctor wanted it to be, so I’m going to refrain from making negative comments about the state of my being except to say: Wow. That was getting really impressive.)


This last shot was taken to commemorate the beginning of my doctor-ordered bedrest. Ugh.

Week 36 in this pregnancy with Baby Girl (This is what it looks like when I’ve reached the point that drying my hair is too exhausting an endeavor to undertake. One day I’ll stop being amazed by what a difference it makes to take those 5 minutes to blow it dry. For now I’m just too hot and too tired to care. I’m also still in awe of the comparison between my belly last time, when I thought there was no way for it to ever be any bigger, and this time. There’s a reason that my skin goes numb from being stretched to its absolute limit. At least this time I know I’ll never be this big again. Because after this is over? No. More. Children.)


That’s all she wrote (literally).