Pregnancy Journal: Weeks 38-39

July 28, 2012 (38 weeks, 3 days):

Matthew ran in an 8k race this afternoon.   He’s on a fitness kick, and enthusiastically tells me he wants to run the Seattle Marathon in November.  I’m sprawled on the couch, eating Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked FroYo straight from the carton and plotting ways to get an order of Gordon Biersch garlic fries delivered to me as he says this.  Genuinely I ask, “Why?”

There was a time when the quest for a flat stomach and toned shoulders was all I could think about.  Those days are gone.  Long, long gone.  At this stage in the game, I see the appeal in watching Sister Wives while eating buttered cinnamon toast. This is my true enlightenment.

He gives a 30-second speech on health and energy and vitality.

“Eh,” is all I can say in between bites.  I am the definition of indifference.

It’s like that James Bond song.  It’s just another way to die.

July 30, 2012 (38 weeks, 5 days):

Sneaking in a cleaning at the dentist.  I’m cramming in a lot of things in these last days; carefully prioritizing the most important tasks to assure they are checked off before I send this child an eviction notice.

My dentist is very keen to discuss the pregnancy.  He tells me that his daughter just gave birth to his first grandchild last Wednesday.  “Congratulations,” I splatter, as he inspects my gum line.  I’m hoping to leave it at that when he tells me, in excruciating detail, about the resulting complications from her very long and difficult labor.  “But good luck to you!” he says.

On my way out, he looks me up and down and says, “I don’t even have to ask.  I can tell you’re having a girl.”

I just smile.  Keep your day job, doc.

August 2, 2012 (39 weeks, 1 day):

Today we are interviewing a pediatrician for Flip.  Since we’re still undecided on his real name, during these final days we are opting to use the nickname all the nurses use when we go in for our appointments now.  “Flipper,” is what they call him.  He has a reputation, you see.

Something about being at the pediatrician’s office, hearing babies cry, and talking about the imminent care of OUR baby makes this all suddenly very real.  I have a nagging feeling all day and, sure enough, before bed I have what Matthew calls a “first-degree freak out.”

Apparently he has a rating system for my dramatic outcries.

“We’re over prepared for birth and under prepared for parenting,” I tell him.  “Do you realize we’re actually going to have a BABY here in a matter of days?”

“What if he doesn’t like us?  What if we don’t know what he needs?  Our lives are never going to be the same!  You and me, lying here right now, this might be the LAST night that things will be like this!”

Matthew looks at me as if to say, I don’t know what you’ve been doing for the past nine months, but I’ve been preparing for a baby. 

Sure, I’ve been preparing for a baby.  I’ve been standing in a very long line to ride a roller coaster, and now, right now, our little cart is clicking slowly up the gigantic hill.

And we’re about to go down.

August 7, 2012 (39 weeks, 6 days):

40 weeks is far, far too long to be pregnant.

Short of taking a toothbrush to our baseboards, the house is immaculate.  The car has been cleaned and filled with a full tank of gas.  The kitchen is stocked with homemade freezer meals, three dozen eggs, four cartons of milk (cow and almond), two loaves of bread, and several pounds of fresh and frozen fruit.  We are in no immediate danger of running out of toilet paper, paper towels, wet wipes, or toothpaste.  I have two ladies on standby to watch the dogs as soon as I say the word.

C’mon, Flip.  It’s time to ride the roller coaster.  I’ll be brave if you will.

Scratch that.  I’ll be brave enough for both of us.

Just hold my hand and let me show you the way outta there.

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Read previous Pregnancy Journal entries here.