I tell ya. I hesitated to write this post today.
1. I was afraid of being that pregnant mom. You know, the one who only talks about babies. I can talk teenagers but then I would scare ALL THE PEOPLE from ever having another baby. So. Quandry.
2. I was afraid that there might be a mom reading who has suffered a loss and this post would just make her heart hurt in ways that I can’t possibly imagine.
And then I remembered. Life is to be celebrated. Revered. Shared. Talked about. Everyone has their hell, their cross to bear. I don’t know what my next one will be, but the prematurity cross the last time we bore was mighty heavy. This time, our “boring pregnancy” has become a huge source of gratitude for our entire family. Please know I share all this with you because of one little, but mighty powerful, word: LOVE.
32 weeks. This was another biggie of a milestone. On Monday, we had our final visit with maternal fetal medicine. Just four years ago, I saw Dr. H weekly. This time around, I’ve seen him three times. Three. That’s just crazy. When he asked how the pregnancy was going, I said, “Boring!” To which he replied, “That’s the way we like them.” Sing it Sam. He did the usual probe of brain, heart and amniotic fluid levels. I even saw that wand skip over hands and feet, femurs and bowels. Yes, that’s when you know you’ve seen a billion and one ultrasounds when you can identify body parts with the doctor! Don’t worry, nothing was seen (or not seen) that would reveal the gender. Whew. We didn’t make it 32 weeks to blow the surprise now!
At the end of the visit, we asked Dr. H if we could take a photo of him with Luke. “You sure you want this ugly face in the photo?” he said. “Of course, it’s a face we’ll never forget,” I replied. And then there was this.
For as long as my heart beats, I will never forget this man.
And then he held out his arms wide and gave Scott and I a hug. He even busted out with a “God bless you.” And I barely held it together as we walked out the door. Luke waved, we headed to the car and drove home. But, not before waving and praying for those sweet babies in the NICU as we drove past my delivering hospital. It was a surreal, but gratitude-filled morning indeed.
So here we are. 32 weeks. I chatted delivery options with my OB/GYN yesterday. We’re going with the “let’s see what the baby does” birth plan, praying for self-induced labor rather than a c-section. Come on uterus. Don’t let me down! My blood pressure continues to be good, weight gain was nil this week (a miracle with all that Blue Bell I’ve been eating) and the baby’s heartbeat was strong. Can’t ask for more than that.
The ick is the heartburn. Oh well. There are worse things. I’ve been told I look small, but I surely don’t feel that way.
Scott just laughed, though, when I told him that I wished I could be pregnant longer. Who even says that? Me, evidently. I think for many months, years even, I thought I might never carry another baby to term again. Now that I’m so close, all I can think of is to live in the moment. To embrace the waddle. Love the big clothes. Cherish the pregnancy hair. Tuck away each memory of the baby kicks.
Here’s to the most boring pregnancy ever.