Yeah, it's been a while.
My little girl is officially "full-term" and can come at any time. Although, we know that if history is any indicator, she'll be a week or two late. I don't even have a bag packed yet. My official guess for her arrival is January 4. My hope is December 28 (my actual due date).
Everything about this pregnancy has been different. Her movement is different than the boys' was. I'm carrying her differently. I've gained more weight than I did with Ben, but less than I did with Jack (although give me three weeks and we'll see if that's still true).
I haven't been to triage once. With both boys, there were days when I wouldn't feel movement or would have some other issue. I've had those issues this time around, but I wait it out . . . mainly because I'm home alone with the boys or am in the middle of something and have to wait. And by the time I could call, everything's back to normal. I'm still having lots of contractions. I had three late last night that made me wonder if I needed to start timing them.
I was thinking this week (given that it's the most wonderful time of the year) that if she were to come now, I'd be in trouble. I'm NOT ready.
My emotions have hit a peak, and everything makes me cry. A rude email from a customer, a sideways glance from a stranger, a holiday commercial depicting a relative from overseas arriving home . . . it gets me all choked up. Every holiday card I've done for a family with three boys has made me cry over the disappointment of not having three boys. And every holiday card I've done for a family with two boys and a girl has made me cry over how excited I am to have a daughter for my boys to have a little sister.
Anyone who knows me understands that I don't like being pregnant. I don't like the discomfort and the stress and the toll it takes on my body. I really hate the aftermath of childbirth. I don't like it, but I don't want to complain either. After the time, money and struggle it took to get pregnant with Jack, I don't take a pregnancy for granted and I'm grateful. But it doesn't mean that I like it. I just love the outcome enough to outweigh the discomfort.
Anyway, the day after Thanksgiving, I ran up to the store (It was 60 degrees and I was looking for ANYTHING that would get me out of the house) and on the way home, Claire was kicking and I could see my belly wiggling. I started thinking about how this would be my last time to experience this and how I'd never know a baby wiggling in my belly again. I thought about how this is the last time I'd share my body with a little one and how precious it is. And I just lost it. I cried all the way home and walked in the house looking like I'd just lost my best friend.
Ben asked, "Mama sad?" And I replied, "No, Mama's pregnant."
I've been very sentimental about the whole thing over the last week. I'm in a lot of pain and I'm super uncomfortable, but I know that it's for the last time. I know that after this, I'll never do it again. It's a little bit like high school graduation . . . you can't wait for it to be over, but it's a little bit sad that you'll never be back.
These photos from 36 weeks. The boys are going to stay with my parents this weekend and I'm hoping Kyle will take a few while we're totally undistracted by the boys. You know . . . ones where you can actually see my face.