On Saturday I reached 35 weeks. We’re in the home stretch now.
Yesterday I saw the friendly guy walking his dog at the park (I now have a name for him as I heard one of his buddies call him Rick) and as usual he gave me a hearty greeting and asked how I was doing. To my usual assertion that I am doing well, he responded: not long now. To which I replied: Not soon enough!
I feel huge. And when I say that Dom hastens to reassure me that I look beautiful. But I’m not so worried about body image as mobility. I run into things. I can’t bend over easily. He has to help me up when I squat down to get a pot from the lower cabinet. I am frequently short of breath. Sunday morning I felt like I could hardly get enough air, standing for the long gospel was a real challenge. Going for a walk now feels like a major undertaking. My joints ache, my boots feel too tight, and there’s that whole breathing thing.
Though people, including the doctors, tell me that the baby, being bigger, should be less forceful I don’t find that to be the case. I wake up in the middle of the night to her squirmings and turnings and sometimes I double over in pain when she decides to reposition herself. And getting out of bed is a real challenge sometimes. I have to think about it and strategize, I can’t just roll out like I used to.
In short, I’m ready. Kristin, Theresa’s former roommate and my long-distance pregnancy sympathy pal, had her baby week before last. I had a brief chat and she gushed about how wonderful it all is. I’m not jealous. Well, maybe a little.