If you were me, this is what you would see if you wanted to look at your freshly painted toenails.
Yup. I'm enormous.
This stage of pregnancy is kind of like holding a rock in front of my eyeball, and the up-close-and-personal image distorts the rest of my views. Most of the time it's a good kind of distortion and my mind is filled with thoughts of a sweet baby girl, pink and healthy and perfect, all set to join our family. I dream constantly about various labor and delivery scenarios. The latest iteration involves me delivering in the Costco food court. I'm sure that dream came because I'm planning to shop for groceries today. And probably because I have a mortal fear of delivering anywhere except a hospital.
I've had my share of discomforts over the last eight months. When that positive pregnancy test came on Christmas Day, I really had no idea what was in store; I was just excited for another child to join our family. Even when I started throwing up on the third of January I didn't have glimpse of the journey ahead. There have been many (many) days when I was certain I couldn't survive another 24 hours. But here I am -- here we are -- in the last few days before our sweet daughter's birth. We've almost made it. The marathon is coming to an end.
Yesterday I had my last doctor appointment. Dr. Bianco, bless his heart, is willing to induce my labor on Saturday morning if it doesn't start spontaneously this week. In the wee hours of this morning I had three hours of false labor -- one-minute contractions coming three to six minutes apart -- so I hope I won't need weekend pitocin. We have a childcare plan in place for induction and friends waiting in the wings to help if needed before then. My mom flies in Sunday morning to help for ten days.
No matter what, we'll have a baby by Saturday.
Wow. The thought of holding that precious girl trumps seeing my toes any day.