So, uh. Those last few weeks of pregnancy are really the gift that keeps on giving, huh? I haven’t been posting lately, mainly because sometimes if you don’t have anything nice to say you’re just not supposed to say anything at all. I don’t want to be a whiner. I don’t. But at this point its hard to focus on anything other than, “God, I’m so ‘effing pregnant.”
As you get closer to your due date, the ligaments in your hips naturally start to loosen (you need to make room to deliver the baby). However, as a result of a lifetime of dance and yoga, my hips are apparently already pretty loose. Further loosening means they actually pop in and out of place. Not good. It makes it painful just to walk around.
You can also start experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions. These “practice” contractions aren’t as intense or regular as “real” contractions. But I’ve had so many over the last 48 hours that my abs hurt. It’s as though I did all-day intensive ab work out yesterday, and today I can’t take a full breath without my abs hurting. But, hey, I think I’ll do another ab workout today. Why not. Braxton Hicks are a nuisance; after two days of contractions, that nuisance makes you want to cry, “Please! Just give me a break!”
Another perk that comes with the end of pregnancy: swelling. Particularly when I get hot (and did I mention that I’m pregnant? In July? In Kansas City? Where the heat index today is 110?), my hands and feet will swell rapidly. One minute I’m fine. The next I look down and I have Shrek feet which are trying to expand into their own zip code and I can’t feel my toes because my sandal strap is cutting off circulation.
The list of complaints could go on and on. My back hurts. I’m exhausted, but an insomniac. I’m going crazy (I woke up at 4am this morning with the overwhelming desire to clean Ms. B’s bathroom. I’m just rational enough to recognize this is insane. So instead I lay in bed until the alarm goes off, trying to remember if I called my brothers on their birthdays in January and May. I’m also just rational enough to recognize that this, too, is an insane reason to be awake at 4am).
I don’t remember any of this with Ms. B. I walked up the hill to classes twice a day with no problems with my back or hips. I don’t remember ever having a single Braxton Hicks or any issues with my feet swelling. Perhaps it was because I was so much younger, my body was better able to handle being pregnant. I was stressed out about actually having the baby, about being responsible for another human being. But I also distinctly remember wondering what the big deal was about being pregnant. At 35 weeks pregnant with Ms. B., I went to a birthday party. Someone asked how long until the baby was born and, when I said 5 weeks, they said “Wow! That’s really close!” And I thought, “Huh, yeah, I guess that is kind of close.” With the Peanut, if someone tells me 5 weeks is really close, I think “Not close enough, damnit.”
Everything seems to be the opposite from Ms. B. with the Peanut, but in some ways it’s a good thing. Being pregnant, yes, it sucks this time around. But, unlike with Ms. B., I’m already confident in my ability to be a good mother for her once she (finally!) arrives. This time around, there’s no fear that I will fail as a parent after delivery. More than anything, I’m looking forward to that moment when, right after she is born, they place the Peanut on my chest. To bringing her home and rocking her. To seeing her little frog legs kick when she is happy. To the first smile. The first laugh.
I’m soooo close. Only a few more weeks to go now. (I think I can, I think I can, I think I can).