I’m well into my 38th week of pregnancy and losing momentum on keeping up with these weekly posts. No worries here, though. Sooner rather than later, it’ll be a wrap on this pregnancy and I’ll be a zombified shell of my already zombified self whose priorities will be miles away from blogging.
In the meantime, here’s a taste of what Week 37 was like.
I’m continuing to gain mass somehow, even though I’m full all the time. Every meal feels like the last few forced bites of Thanksgiving dinner, but I’ve found plenty of reasons to stress eat nonetheless. Stepping on the scale at my midwife appointment each week feels like kneeling at the guillotine (even though I haven’t really gotten any shit for it. It’s just baffling to see the numbers continue to climb).
My hips hurt and I can’t roll over in bed without my knees glued together unless I want to hear and feel the unsettling popping of SPD. I cling to the dreaded Snoogle every night like a life raft, drooling and snoring and waffling over whether to get up to pee again.
I’ve been having tons of Braxton Hicks still, sometimes through the night despite drinking lots of water and changing positions and all that. This remains an unsettling pattern, because I had none the last time around and the onset of labor was obvious. I’m a little worried I’m either going to not notice when labor starts because of the BH, or spend lots of time driving back and forth the 45 minutes to the hospital for false alarms.
Anyway, the big theme of Week 37, now that I’m officially safe to go into labor at any point, was playing the miserable late-pregnancy game, “Would You Rather?” As in:
- Would you rather wrestle yourself and your two-year-old into snow gear to go outside and play, or go into labor?
- Would you rather find something other than sweatpants to wear to the store and risk having your bare belly hang out for the world to see, or go into labor?
- Would you rather crawl under the porch to refill the chickens’ water, or go into labor?
- Would you rather water the Christmas tree, or go into labor?
You get the idea. Labor sounds better than just about anything involving me existing in this giant, cumbersome, uncomfortable body anymore. Obviously, this is nature’s way of making what is an intense and painful experience seem enticing. Yes, I know this is a frying pan-fire situation. I’ve done this before. I know what I’m in for (for the most part). And still, I’m ready to be done.
The Husband has had to pick up a lot of my slack, including most of the goat and chicken care and all night time potty checks with The Toddler. I try to ease my guilt by reminding myself I’ll be nursing a new baby 24/7 in no time, and no matter how much we work to split the workload, I’m going to bear the unique burdens of new motherhood again very soon. It’s what we signed up for. So I’ll try to put my feet up in the meantime when he insists.