Today, I am 38 weeks and one day pregnant. I have never been more than 38 weeks pregnant before. Zachary came along at 37 weeks, and his brother was delivered by planned c-section at 38 weeks. I always feel a little guilty, like I have cheated and gotten out of several of the most hideous weeks of pregnancy, but I couldn’t do much about the first kid. And the second? Well, I could not walk for over a month at the end of that pregnancy due to back pain, so we had to move the delivery up.
This week, the doctor did her little exam and informed me that the baby is crushing my bladder, not to mention other, more intimate parts of my anatomy. No shit. Like I couldn’t tell. Given that I have continual and painful contractions, she offered to move things up to… today.
Let me tell you, it was tempting.
But, my reasons remain. If we are going to schedule this thing, we are going to do it for when it makes the most sense for everyone. Of course, the baby may come earlier, but if she doesn’t, I am going to hold off on major abdominal surgery till I am safely past my 35th birthday. And, it is better for the boys to get as settled into school as possible before their sister comes along. Not to mention that it is better for the baby to stay in their a little longer, fat and happy, pressing down on my woman parts.
And so, I remain ginormously pregnant, with a pancake for a bladder and a foot in my rib. Not much clothing fits me anymore, but a very kind mother from school gave me a few of her old things that are getting me by. Every day, the other parents and the teachers at the preschool seem a little surprised to see me.
Just, really, are this many Braxton Hicks contractions necessary?