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."