The Longest Week For Real

I think that at a certain point in pregnancy, every week must feel like it lasts forever. I blamed last week on the exam. But here I am still pregnant and feeling like time is going by so slowly. On Monday I thought it was Thursday, on Tuesday I thought it was Wednesday, today I mentioned something about someone dropping by who isn't coming until tomorrow. It must be wishful thinking because time has apparently stopped.

Throughout the pregnancy I questioned how I would handle having two under 2. I don't question that anymore. I don't care. Anything sounds better than being pregnant. Even the husband, usually extremely patient with my pregnancy emotions, broke down and yelled at my belly, "Give me back my wife!!" I think I was in the middle of one of my recent outbursts of..um...feedback.

People with two warned me the last month is the worst. I didn't believe them because I figured that with the whole pre-term labor issue, I would just be so happy to make it to term that I couldn't feel badly at the end. It’s true that I am happy and grateful to be here. And the other is true, too. In some ways it IS the hardest month. Why? My moodiness, the exhaustion, the hips, oh the hips, the back, the apparent brain damage (I know that one doesn’t actually go away, my inability to form coherent sentences is just beginning) and the lack of sleep are all aspects of month 9 that I can no longer abide.

If I make it to Friday, it will be 39 weeks. Q was born at 39 weeks and 4 days. Despite my efforts at trying to encourage labor--like lifting Q a hundred times a day, a practice I suspect is giving me permanent back damage while not seemingly increasing contractions--I think this little girl may give him a run for his money and try to make it to her due date, a week from Friday.

I'll keep you posted.