During the summer, we were actively trying to conceive. I found out I was pregnant at all of three days in. Thankfully, unlike my first pregnancy, this time we’ve reached “full term” or 37 weeks. Bookended by those two facts, it feels like I’ve been pregnant my entire life.People I haven’t seen in awhile are like, “You’re still pregnant?” Sometimes it’s fun to mess with those people and tell them I delivered two months ago and watch the horror crawl across their faces. But mostly I just smile, say that I have three weeks until my due date, and waddle away muttering obscenities.
Did I willingly sign up to be pregnant again? Yes. Was I aware of the gestational period length of our species? Yes. Was I prepared for the discomfort and inelegance of the last month? Most definitely no.All manner of surprises have been waiting for me this time around. Weekly pelvic exams! More blood tests! More time for weight gain! Swelling! Yahoo! I’m beginning to think that delivering my first child at 35 weeks was a present, not the worst thing to ever happen to me. We’ve agreed that this will be our last child, so assuming that everything goes smoothly, this is the last time I’ll be pregnant. I try to remember this as I struggle for breath after walking across the room.
Kudos to all women who have gone the distance of a 40 week pregnancy. I never knew what an effort this last leg was. Hopefully my next post will be about how I went into labor at 37.5 weeks.Thank you to my sister in law for taking the only belly picture of this entire pregnancy. I know I’ll enjoy looking at this at some point.