9w2d for the last time

Damn you, Whirlpool commercial.



So I have to remind myself that crying over dumb commercials and being so sick that I can't lift my head off the desk is OKAY because it's temporary. In fact, it's too temporary.

I will never be nine weeks and two days pregnant again.

I will never be this sick from growing a baby again.

I will never outgrow my clothes for legitimate reasons again.

After January, I will never anticipate holding my newborn for the first time again.

I already feel the void of the end of all this beauty. So I must remember to endure, and close my eyes, and listen to life as it slowly grows. Because it will all be over too fast.

9 weeks not a secret anymore

Happy Father's Day to one awesome daddy.


You're going to love him, little one. And he will love you.

Obligatory bump pic. Everyone is surprised and excited that you're joining the world!

8 weeks first view

This was my first view of Surprise Schultz.

One healthy baby due January 25, 2016.

There isn't much to see at 8 weeks old. Baby is the size of a raspberry with a rapidly beating heart (the white dot in the middle of the body). Mostly it looks like a tadpole.

On Monday, July 13, I'll hear the heartbeat. On Friday, July 17, I'll get a serious ultrasound -- the same screening that predicted Truman was a boy. So I have a new milestone to obsess over look forward to!

5w 2d surprise

Dear Surprise Baby,

On Sunday, May 17, 2015, I found out that you exist. Barely. I was only four weeks along. But the night before, your daddy kept asking me why I was standing funny and rubbing my torso, and I said, "I feel like I'm pregnant." So that next morning I took a pregnancy test just to be funny, and there was that immortal second line on the test in a nice dark blue. I took another test to make sure. Another positive.

I couldn't really breathe right for the next couple hours. In the shower, I kept cycling through the emotions: incredulity, joy, anxiety, eagerness, denial. I giggled. I tried to catch my breath. I texted my friend because I had to scream HOLY SHIT at someone.

When I told your daddy, I'm pretty sure he said, "Are you kidding me?" (He was barely awake.)

It's been more than a week now, and I think about you constantly.

There are a million difficult decisions to be made. (Ahem, now accepting donations for minivans and daycare.) But I promise you, we'll figure it out. We'll find a way. Whatever we have to do to bring you safely and soundly into the world and into our lives, we'll do it. We'll take care of you.

You're going to love your big brothers. I can't wait to tell them the news.

I can't wait to know you.

We're all going to love you.

7w4d? lima bean

Andy said our jelly bean looks more like a lima bean. I'm not even sure if lima beans are bigger than jelly beans, but let's just decide that they are.

Once again this time around, I'm confused by the doctor's timing, but I'll just go with it. She says baby is due September 28, and that today I'm 7 weeks and 4 days pregnant. Baby measures 7 weeks and 6 days, though, which is what I thought I was...

So whatever. I'll count Saturdays as the first day of every new week from here on out.

Next appointment will be a month from now, though I may be doing the early screening at the hospital in a few weeks if I feel like it.

Right now I don't feel like doing much of anything. Even eating, my one joy lately, has taken a wrong turn into vomit-land. Too much work, painful nausea, and a night-owl toddler mean I don't nap and barely sleep at night. I feel like a zombie, if zombies were prone to throwing up.

Hello, bean.

7w2d Jelly Bean

What was a tiny sesame seed last week is a big jelly bean this week. Baby measured two days ahead of where she actually is. The doctor decided on a due date of September 28. And on Tuesday I decided, for no particular reason, that I think it's a girl, though I'm kind of hoping for a boy because I've really loved being a boy's mom so far.

The bright white dot in the center of my jelly bean is the beating heart.

Time has brought your heart to me

6 weeks 1 day

Today I saw your tiny heart beating, and it felt like I was meeting you for the first time. It was like shaking your hand, and learning that all the time I waited for you, you were waiting too—two stars moving toward each other across galaxies and finally getting our chance to collide.

Yes, just one baby in there.

Facts:

• This week, arms and legs are budding, the organs are forming, the umbilical cord has formed, and the facial features are becoming more defined. The little heart beats more than 100 times per minute.
• March 22 is the start of the second trimester (or March 15, depending on who you ask)
• May 10 is the middle of the pregnancy, when we would most likely learn blue or pink
• June 28 is the start of the third trimester (or June 21)
• September 27 baby is due (as of right now)

I had a number of songs while pregnant with Fletcher that felt like they belonged to us—Innocence by Avril Lavigne, These Are The Days by Van Morrison, In My Arms by Plumb, Sea Of Love by Cat Power, The Very Thought of You by Billie Holiday, Stay Awake from Mary Poppins, and I'm With You by Avril Lavigne (which I sang to him on the day he was born).

And now this is my song with you, tiny one.

A Thousand Years by Christina Perri

Heart beats fast
Colors and promises
How to be brave
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall
But watching you stand alone
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow

One step closer

I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid
I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more

Time stands still
Beauty in all she is
I will be brave
I will not let anything take away
What's standing in front of me

Every breath, every hour has come to this

One step closer

I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more

And all along I believed I would find you 
Time has brought your heart to me 
I have loved you for a thousand years 
I'll love you for a thousand more 

5 weeks pyrotechnics

Can you freak out from happiness? I feel so completely pregnant, and it's the happiest I've felt to the core in a long time. I'm a perpetually exploding firework, and I'm sure everyone must see my pyrotechnics.

With this kind of happiness comes complete vulnerability to the universe and what it could do. I'm at the mercy of a baby that's the size of a sesame seed, whose miniature heart is just beginning to beat. I'm at the mercy of my body, and my environment, and everything in my world. Just let me be happy, please, just let me have this.


Under your spell again.
I can't say no to you.
Crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand.
I can't say no to you.

Shouldn't let you torture me so sweetly.
Now I can't let go of this dream.
I can't breathe but I feel...

Good enough,
I feel good enough for you.

Drink up sweet decadence.
I can't say no to you,
And I've completely lost myself,
and I don't mind.
I can't say no to you.

Shouldn't let you conquer me completely.
Now I can't let go of this dream.
Can't believe that I feel...

Good enough,
I feel good enough.
It's been such a long time coming,
but I feel good.

And I'm still waiting for the rain to fall.
Pour real life down on me.
'Cause I can't hold on to anything this good enough.

Am I good enough for you to love me too?

So take care what you ask of me, 'cause I can't say no.

Good Enough by Evanescence

4w5d (18dpo) symptoms

It would appear that I am four weeks and five days pregnant, 18 days post ovulation. Backing this up are a number of strong symptoms. I've already begun unbuttoning my pants (ahhhhhh) to accommodate the bloating. There's round ligament pain all over, breast tenderness, exhaustion, and the nausea is strong enough to make functioning a little difficult, but not so bad that I'm throwing up. (I haven't done that since 12dpo during the cyst rupture adventure.)

Probably the funniest thing to me, though, was last night about 30 seconds after polishing off a plate of pancakes, when I thought to myself how good a big bowl of spaghetti would be. Knowing I'd feel awful afterward, I exercised a little self-control. But I did torture myself by simmering some spaghetti sauce for use at breakfast lunch today. I better stick with my crackers for breakfast. And cookies. And cheez-its. And maybe a Snickers.

On today's pregnancy test, the test line is dark enough to match the control line, which is right on schedule. Getting my first fairly dark positive on 10dpo was kind of early and had me worrying about twins. (Other strikes against me are obviously having Clomid in my system and being 30 years old.) Fletcher is my first priority, and it's going to be hard enough for him to adjust to one more person in our family, let alone two. Hopefully the beta on Friday will show a normal, average increase in hCG.

The doc is taking things one blood test at a time. Currently, my first glimpse of the baby is scheduled for February 13, unless the doc decides to take a peek sooner. As a crazy, anxious pregnant woman who's had more miscarriages than babies, I hope it's sooner.

What a way to start a pregnancy

3 weeks 6 days pregnant

I started the new year by giving up on fertility drugs and letting my bonfire of hope fizzle down to a tiny flame of light, like a candle in an already lit room, easily ignored. Hope was there, but not really. I'd said my goodbyes to the possibility.

Monday, January 14 was 10 DPO. I took a pregnancy test on autopilot, knowing that even if I were pregnant, it would probably be too early for it to show on a test, especially one of these cheapies that I bought 25 for $8. I didn't even look at the test, just carried it back to my desk at work and went about my business.

Five minutes later I remembered that I needed to throw away that test. I glanced down at it and saw two lines. A very obvious positive. I don't think I smiled. I think I was confused.

When the confusion finally turned to acceptance, that little candle of hope set the room on fire. My first month off fertility drugs, and we finally did it! Twenty-two cycles. Twenty-two failures. And we finally did it.

Tuesday, January 15. 11 DPO. Nausea, hunger, and cramping. The cramps covered my entire abdomen, twisting and squeezing my stomach. (Hooray, pregnancy symptoms!) It gradually got worse. And worse.

And worse.

There was no bleeding, so for the time being I ruled out miscarriage. This was something entirely other, destroying me from the inside out, an alien planted near my stomach readying itself to burst out of my body and tear me apart.

By 7:00 pm I was scared. I was alone with Fletcher and crying and vomiting and not sure what to do. By 8:00 pm I was in the ER in the worst pain of my life, wondering if I were dying.

Part of me was scared of leaving Fletcher without his mother. Part of me was worrying about project deadlines at work. Make it stop make it stop make it stop.

The morphine brought me back to sanity. Then they ran a hundred tests, I had a hundred pelvic exams, and the results came back inconclusive. Story of my life.

The ER doctor guessed that an ovarian cyst had filled with nasty fluid and burst, the fluid inflaming everything inside me. The possibility of an ectopic pregnancy was suggested, but it's too early to see where the baby is. There's no bleeding so, for the time being, I'm still pregnant.

But once again, I find myself saying my goodbyes to the possibility. If the little one can survive all of this, I will be impressed. Baby Deuce will have to be Iron Man.

Today I tried eating and vomited again. The Vicodin has made me shaky and probably even more nauseated. There will be several follow up appointments with my doctor, monitoring my hormone levels and searching for the tiny ball of cells that would change everything.

Iridescent by Linkin Park. It is a song that grows, building up and building up, until we hover at the top wondering how it's all going to end.

You were standing in the wake of devastation
And you were waiting on the edge of the unknown
And with the cataclysm raining down
Insides crying "Save me now"
You were there, impossibly alone

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known
Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go. Let it go

And in a burst of light that blinded every angel
As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars
You felt the gravity of tempered grace
Falling into empty space
No one there to catch you in their arms

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known
Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go. Let it go.

4w2d train coming

October 4, 2011

I was feeling really good about this pregnancy today. Lots of nausea and fatigue. A nice high temperature. Oddly, though, the pregnancy test was still faint and I thought it should be a good dark line by now. I decided I would test again tomorrow, and I put it out of my mind.

I pulled out my old pregnancy books and paged through the first two months. I imagined the future. How we would announce the pregnancy. How we would prepare a nursery. What it would be like next June, when I'm the mother of two.

I have no cramps. Nothing menstrual. No warning.

But now I'm spotting.

I had deluded myself into safety, forgetting that I have no control, that believing in a dream doesn't make it last. Today, the reality I'm waking up to caught me completely off guard.

Tied to the train tracks, all I can do is wait and watch the train that's coming to destroy me.

4w1d scared

October 3, 2011

My temperature dropped almost an entire degree. If history is any indication, this means miscarriage. Today.

Today I could lose a baby I barely had.

I saw the warning in Andy's eyes all weekend: Don't get too confident. Don't be too sure. It's too early.

As usual, he was right, but I'm not built for heeding this warning. You are my baby, you are here, you exist. You, the one inside of me, will always be the person I cannot keep at a distance, no matter how smart it would be, no matter how many times I tell myself that you may not survive. That chances are you won't.


Please. I'll beg you. I'll beg the universe. I'll beg God. But it feels like I'm talking in an empty room, standing alone here, with you.

Please don't leave. We only just found each other.

3w6d pregnant

October 1, 2011

I am pregnant.

I am pregnant!

Fletcher Andrew Schultz

Fletcher Andrew Schultz was born at 5:05 p.m. on Sunday, May 23, 2010. He weighed 8 pounds 2 ounces and was 21 inches long.



At 10:44 a.m. Sunday morning, after the "brilliant" idea to try yoga and while I was relaxing with the first Harry Potter book, I felt a contraction that was different from all the other contractions I'd had so far. It had me falling from the couch to the living room floor and lasted a good 30 seconds before I could focus and wonder, "What was that?"

It wasn't until 50 minutes later that I felt a repeat. Contraction No. 3 was ten minutes later. Contraction No. 4 was seven minutes later. And from noon until 3:30, they continued at between five and six minutes apart.

Around noon I knew we were in labor. But you know what they say... especially with first labors, it's supposed to take hours and hours. So should I sit at home and focus on the pain, or go to Andy's cousin's son's birthday party and focus on hiding the pain from everyone there?

So we went to the party and arrived a little before 1:00. We hung around for two hours at most, me hiding labor contractions by digging my nails into my thighs, making bathroom trips that were a little more frequent than usual, and just generally hiding my face every five to six minutes.

Andy's grandpa did wonder why I was on my cell phone so much. Using the "memo" option was my easiest way to time the contractions.

On the way home, I wasn't sure if the pain was escalating or if I was just able to focus on it now. I called the hospital to find out when it's time to come in. They said to come if I felt I was ready for drugs or if my water broke. If I felt the need to push, I should definitely come in. Mainly, it was up to me.

Five minutes later, we were home, deciding to spend the next few hours getting the house and ourselves ready. I went upstairs to change into something less binding but, halfway through, found myself panting on the bedroom floor. This was not just the effect of me "focusing on the pain." Things were escalating.

Fast.

I called for Andy but he was busy in another room and didn't hear me. I looked at Bella, who lay on the floor next to me, looking at me as if the world wasn't suddenly spiraling into an alternate galaxy of pain and panic. "Andy?"

In between contractions was no longer a pleasant time of relief -- now it was sore muscles and leftover pain and wondering when the next wave would hit. I got dressed quickly and got downstairs, gripping the railing like it was my lifeline.

In the kitchen, I hit the floor again. "Andy, we're going." "Now?" "We're going now." But there were still things that needed to get done, so I held on. A trip to the bathroom confirmed for me that I was leaking fluid.

Hurry hurry hurry.

I was back in the impossibly hot car, as Andy tossed a few things into the backseat. "I'll be right back," he said.

Oh God, not again.

I got out of the car and leaned on the frame, moaning. A young girl across the street was at her lemonade stand. I don't know if she understood what was happening, but I'll never forget seeing her there.

Andy came back and asked if I wanted a lemonade. He kept talking to take my mind off things. I kept babbling for the same reason. Metallica's "Hero of the Day" was on the radio as we drove to the hospital, and it's been stuck in my head ever since.

Andy said he was convinced this was definitely labor when I yelled at him to stop hitting all the bumps in the road. And there were no bumps in the road.

I practically ran to admittance when we got to the hospital, weaving around everyone in the waiting area, feeling their stares on me. The woman at the desk could see that this was serious. "Just sign here. Just sign here. We'll get you right up to your room."

They sat me in a wheelchair, which struck me as a horrible horrible idea, but I wasn't in a position to argue. Not when I was panting. A woman sitting in the waiting room with a baby said, "It feels like just yesterday..." A number of rude comments entered and left my brain. I'm glad they didn't leave my mouth.

I got to my room and they told me to put the gown on and said I could use the toilet if I wanted. That's when my water broke... really broke. The thoughts and sensations were entering and leaving my brain so fast it was hard to comprehend anything, but I do remember thinking, "Thank God we left that party when we did."

I got on the bed, Andy was brought back into the room, and the screaming began. We were already dilated to eight centimeters plus. "Does that mean this is going to happen soon?" Andy asked. The answer was affirmative, and he had that "really?" look on his face.

"Did you hear that, Lindsay?" Andy asked. To me, he seemed focused on making sure I knew what was going on and what the doctor was saying at all times.

The room of women told me to turn on my side. This time, I was the one with the "really?" look on my face. But I did as they asked and found that if I wrapped my arms around the bed railing, I could pull and grip with all the strength in my body each time a contraction came.

"Where is my husband?" He came around to the side so I could see him. "Can Andy have a chair?" Andy pointed out that he didn't need one, but I wasn't asking for his sake. I needed to see his face. I could not be strong enough to survive this if I couldn't see his face.

When the contraction comes, you feel it build like a wave, and then you scream. At least, that's how it was in my case. The nurse will coach you on taking deep breaths, and while they do help, there is nothing that can be done for this pain. Nothing natural, anyway.

We had entered the hospital around 4:00 p.m. One hour later, I had my son. The pain of the contractions during that hour was, in a word, bewildering. It was impossible to comprehend. While the three hours of early labor contractions were about the same as my terrible menstrual cramps (thank you, primary dysmenorrhea, for preparing me for this experience), this last hour was beyond words.

Screw it. "Is it too late for drugs?" I asked. Anyone who would willingly go through this is mad. There was no way I could get an epidural this late in the game, but they gave me a half dose of the analgesics, saying, "She's a lightweight."

After the next contraction, I was pissed. "Seriously? *pant* I am not impressed *pant* with these drugs." So I got the second dose and didn't notice a change at all, though Andy said my screaming was a little less.

Meanwhile, I'm gripping the bed railing with all I've got, and the song "I'm Henry the Eighth, I am" starts playing through my head. Delirious, I start singing to get through some of the residual pain. Andy laughs. The nurses think I've lost it.

Almost immediately after being told I was eight centimeters, it seemed, they checked again and we were nine plus and ready to push. Again, Andy had his "really?" face on. "Did you hear that, Lindsay?"

There are two layers of shocking, bewildering pain during Delivery. The Contraction and The Pushing. You push, and you don't feel the contraction anymore -- you just feel the terrible, ripping pressure of the push, and it consumes the entire "female" area, all the way down to the butt.

I'm forced to listen to the nurse counting to ten while I push with all I've got, essentially causing myself the worst pain I've felt. But I'm not going to half-ass this one. The more pain I cause myself now, the quicker this will all be over. And I'm no lightweight, no matter what that nurse said. By the time the nurse reaches "ten," I'm so thankful I can stop pushing and take another breath.

Until I realize that that breath brings back The Contraction, which is just as bad if not worse than The Pushing. Three times I would push during each contraction, then "rest." Rest is in quotation marks because this kind of bewildering pain doesn't disappear in between contractions, and the anticipation that there's more to come doesn't comfort.

Over and over and over again. Pushing, breathing, pushing. I've got an oxygen mask on. I'm grunting. I'm lost in how fast all of this has happened.

When they said they saw the head -- and asked Andy if he wanted to see -- I could only think, Thank God and How Long Until It's Out?

It could've been a lot worse, I know, so I was surprised when there was a relative cheer in the room that the head was out. I kept pushing to get this over with, and someone told me to stop pushing. "Stop pushing? Seriously? I can't push? What's happening? Why can't I push?"

"Let the professional," I think I heard someone say, as the doctor maneuvered out the rest of the body.

RELIEF. Such relief I've never felt in my entire life. I saw my son. There was pain, but no more PAIN. It was over. It was the beginning. My son. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my entire life.

I lay on my side as someone else took care of pushing the placenta out, and then the stitching began. Nothing on my body mattered at the moment. I thought being torn would be awful, but in that moment, I didn't care that I had been torn in every direction to bring that big head into the world. I just wanted to see him, and never stop looking at him.

Andy was able to watch up close as they cleaned him up and checked him out. It wasn't too long before I was able to hold him and a helpful nurse took our first family photo.


All that waiting for our baby... and within six hours he was here. It was the greatest trauma of my life. It was the biggest miracle of my life.

"Look at all the hair," is something we've heard non-stop since the moment his head became visible. But all I keep thinking is, "Look at how perfect."

Love.

Let's go home.

38w 4d wait

Last night was a milestone of sorts, if you can count such things as milestones. It was the first time I felt I've reached the stage that (dictated by common sense) every pregnant woman must reach – the stage of major discomfort.

I am really, mercilessly, exhaustively uncomfortable. Whether sitting, standing, walking, doing stairs, carrying something, trying to sleep, bending down, using the restroom, cooking, petting the cats, attempting to get out of bed... I'm just plain uncomfortable and tired.

And it's not merely physical. I'm tired of my brain, of thinking about labor and wishing for labor and being scared of labor. My dad asked me last night if I was starting to get scared, and I didn't bother sugarcoating the truth when I blurted, "Yes." So many aspects of this moment and the next moment and the moment after that are bone-deep scary.

Still, I want it – I want to be in the throes of the main event and the euphoria that comes after. Of all the things to be scared of, and there are many, the biggest fear is something will go wrong with the baby. The second biggest? The wait.

I can't stand the suspense, and I can't stop the thoughts that swirl around and through every nuance of this situation. Why does it matter whether the baby comes tonight or in three weeks? Why does it matter if my body does what it's supposed to do or if I have to be induced?

I'm stunned by the similarities between the very beginning of pregnancy and the very end. Could I be pregnant? vs. Could I be in labor? ... When will I get a positive test? vs. When will I hold our baby? ... What can I do to make pregnancy happen? vs. What can I do to make labor happen? ... What if I can't get pregnant naturally? vs. What if I can't go into labor naturally? Both processes are long long long and exhausting. This one just has the added fun of the physically uncomfortable stage.

A month before we began trying to conceive, I wrote something about my frustration, wishing we could get things started. I didn't imagine, at the time, how much it would apply to me 18 or so months later.

In the Wait

In the wait
as if perched on a branch
wings trapped to my sides
wishing one swift wind
would carry me
into my life
unnaturally

On the upside... Hello, single digits countdown!

38w 2d jinx

Things are progressing. I thought.

Braxton Hicks? Check. Drop? Check. Pelvic Pressure and Back Pain? Check. Effaced? Check. Dilated? A full 3 cm Check. Discharge and Mucous Plug? Check. No More Constipation? Check. Bloody Show? Check, and Andy's favorite pregnancy medical term, methinks. This "show" started after a longer-than-usual walk around Germantown last night before catching an episode of Parenthood and going to bed, where I lay awake thinking, This could be it.

The only things missing are labor contractions and water breaking. MIA. AWOL. Not happening.

I've done the biggest jinx you can do when you're anxious for labor to start. I've put the finishing touches on the overnight bags and stashed them in my trunk, where they will, undoubtedly, melt from the unseasonably high temperatures during the next, oh, Rest. Of. My. Life.

"I'm really surprised you made it this long," says the perky, suddenly cruel-seeming doctor. "Okay, I feel the baby's head. You've definitely had your bloody show, and you're at least 3 centimeters. I really don't think you'll make it much longer. Just keep doing what you're doing."

Cruel. Cruel. Cruel.

From "Impossible" by Kelly Clarkson:

Just woke up and thought I'd try
Try to step across the line
You know that I've been thinking
About it for a while
Starting to think it's time I leave
Does me good to know I finally feel
Feel this pain, it's real, it's possible

You say
Can't change the winds to say,
Won't matter anyway
Can't reach that far 'cause it's impossible
Can't rise above this place
Won't change your mind so I pray
Breaking down the walls to the impossible

Walking by myself I know
This lonely road's becoming my new home
But I don't stop
I just keep moving on, and on

38 weeks bomb

They say that the average (healthy) birth takes place between 38 weeks and 42 weeks of pregnancy, and the (meaningless) due date is merely the day in the middle of those four weeks.

So we've officially entered our due... month. Ah, the agony of unpredictability. As I was telling the family yesterday, I am no masochist -- I'm not interested in spending a large chunk of time anticipating a great deal of pain. It would be nice to get started on the good stuff. But there's no avoiding the fact that this is my first pregnancy and statistics are not on my side.

From 8 weeks to 38 weeks.

A message from outer space. Or Alyssa.

We received all the photos from our maternity photo shoot, and I couldn't be happier. Thanks again, Jenna!

Andy: "Are we really ready for this?" Me: "This is awesome!"

In an effort to straighten out our priorities and get the cats ready for the changes ahead, we've started locking the cats out of the bedroom at night. This is difficult for everyone. Nighttime has been the biggest bonding time for Bella and me. And now, not only is she being blocked by a big door, but if she dares to meow she gets sprayed with water courtesy of Andy, who only has my best interest at heart.

It all makes me sad. But as Andy reminds me, we don't want the cats near the baby when we aren't there (awake) to supervise. So I'm telling myself to suck it up.

Practice contractions haven't changed in frequency or strength. Probably the only thing that has changed physically is that I'm actually in better shape than I was a few weeks ago, thanks to all this walking and exercising. My only hope that labor could be coming (and I never thought I'd put hope in something like this) is a comical amount of gas bubbles that suddenly made an appearance today. Just gas? Or the work of prostaglandins, meaning labor is hours or days away? It isn't a good idea to hope when statistics say I've got AT LEAST two weeks of nothing to go.

I think anyone who's ever been in this position knows what I'm talking about when I say, I'm getting that "look" from everyone now. Like I'm a time bomb and, "Oh, are you at work again today? I bet you wish you'd gone into labor by now." Yes, thank you, helpful.

37w 3d notes

All these sticky notes posted randomly around my work desk, in the pockets and lining of my purse, and in the nightstand drawer? That's me timing every contraction that flows my way. "It'll feel like the baby is balling up," the doctor said yesterday. But that's what non-labor contractions feel like, too.

These sticky notes? They are symbols. Hope. Disappointment. Annoyance. Forced Patience. Hope. Disappointment...

The doctor said I'm about 80 percent effaced and somewhere between 2 and 3 centimeters. It felt like very little progress to me, since I've finally convinced myself that these measurements mean nothing in terms of when labor will start.

No matter how many contractions there are, no matter how much hope, the subtext of all my thoughts is that I'm never going to go into labor. I'm going to have to be induced, just like every other first time mother on the face of the planet, and I don't want to be induced. I want to do all of this as naturally as possible.

I don't know why, really. Only recently have my feelings on this matter formed into conviction. I want it all to be natural, no drugs, no intervention. Just me, Andy, baby, doctor, and the screaming bloody horror show.

Am I going to ask to go past my due date, then?

Am I going to decline when they offer to induce?

Am I going to be pregnant for the rest of my life?

Am I going to get lucky, and all of this decision-making will never have to happen?

Is my conviction going to go down the toilet at the first serious contraction and make all this pumped up, kicking-ass-and-taking-names, au naturel determination moot?

On the off chance that I'll want or care about music in the delivery room, I've made an extensive playlist of mellow songs on my iPod and packed up the iPod speaker in my overnight bag. One song on the list is "Witness" by Sarah McLachlan:

Make me a witness, take me out
Out of darkness, out of doubt
I won't weigh you down with good intentions
Won't make fire out of clay or other inventions

Will we burn in heaven, like we do down here?
Will the change come while we're waiting?
Everyone is waiting

And when we're done soul searching
As we carried the weight and died for a cause
Is misery made beautiful right before our eyes
Will mercy be revealed or blind us where we stand?

Will we burn in heaven, like we do down here?
Will the change come while we're waiting?
Everyone is waiting

37 weeks term

Today, Baby Schultz is officially full term. And, according to my husband, the equivalent of a basketball.




He or she is expected to be about 19 or 20 inches long and 6.5 pounds now, and gaining half an ounce per day. He or she spends the day "simulating breathing by inhaling and exhaling amniotic fluid, sucking on his or her thumb, blinking, and pivoting from side to side." Around now, the baby also probably has a full head of hair.

According to the chiropractor, I've had an influx of the Relaxin hormone, making my ligaments quite loose. It seems my sense of balance is more affected than ever... After several months, I took a chance on the Wii Fit the other night. It was quite a sight, I'm sure, when I stumbled off the board.

I continue to exercise, though -- everything from walking to bouncing on the exercise ball to Denise Austin's "Fit and Firm Pregnancy." Her breathy, perky voice makes me want to punch something.

Braxton Hicks contractions continue on, and only once did I consider there was a chance I could be in labor (obviously, it was a false alarm). After two hours of painful contractions that extended to my back, I fell asleep and woke up feeling fine.

It took me a little while to realize what has changed for me in the last few days. That feeling of deja vu? It's because my preoccupation with finding labor signs is just like my old preoccupation with finding ovulation and pregnancy signs back in 2009. Continuously analyzing bodily fluids and cramps, counting days, Google searching obscure medical terminology...

Sometimes I pause just to "reconnect" with the baby and remember to slow down and stop obsessing, if that's possible.

Walker says, "Mine."

36w 4d bound

In my eagerness, I may have given the wrong impression lately.

I love being pregnant, especially now that the baby is just about full-term. I wouldn't mind staying pregnant another four weeks.

All the negatives are nothing compared to the positives. While it's true that I'm uncomfortable, fatigued, sleeping poorly, have dragon-esque heartburn, haven't felt sexy in months, and can barely stand waiting to see our baby, I do want to stay pregnant a little while longer.

I've never been this connected, this bound to another person before. That isn't (or isn't just) a metaphor. I am physically (and emotionally and spiritually and every other -ally) wrapped around and completely responsible for this person. Me, just me.

And what's going to happen when I reach that stage of labor? A nurse, a stranger, will hold my baby in his or her hands. Someone else is going to cut the umbilical cord. And my baby is going to be out here -- out there -- in the world, separated.

Suddenly, it will only be a metaphor. The baby will not be bound to me.

Is this belly going to feel empty? It probably won't matter much; there will be a million sensations, moments, and memories taking place in those first hours and days of our baby's life.

But it doesn't change the fact that giving birth is going to be the first of many instances in my life as a mother that I will have to come to terms with distance and separation from someone to whom I have been irreversibly bound in my soul.

So, yes, I will stay pregnant a little longer, and smile through it, because every stretch and kick and hiccup that belongs solely to me is numbered.

From the haunting a cappella song "Mercy," by Sarah McLachlan:

With sweet breath you'd come to warm me
But I held on too hard to only a memory
You lie there on the swollen ground
Deserted in your heart
Still longing for what yesterdays lost
And for all that tomorrow might bring