37 Weeks and Mending

We’re getting better from this dumb cold. Sort of. It’s a slow, circular process. Added to the don’t-dare-make-me-move fatigue I’m already feeling, this sickness has totally sapped the better of my superhero tendencies – what was left of them, anyway.

I try to push through nonetheless. Sort of. I mean, I climbed up stairs last night just to spite those who said I should take the elevator. And I felt particularly tired the other night while helping M with his paper, so I took a break and snapped our stroller frame together. Then, I went back to the paper and added another page or two. I’m kind of defiant that way, I guess. I refuse to slow down. (If this kid’s anything like me, I’ll never sleep again – I swear.)

But even in my refusal, Things are not getting done. Things like doing the dishes, cooking freezer meals, dusting and vacuuming my house, bathing the dogs, packing a hospital bag (!), top-stitching the last seam on both of my nursing covers and sewing peepee teepees. These are the Things I fantasize I’ll get done should I decide to take leave from work before I go into labor. (The hot question of the week: “so are you going to work through your due date?” Seriously – what does that even mean?) Quitting early is not likely to happen, though (see above about refusing to slow down – plus I’m SO afraid of being bored out of my mind), so I’m given to squeezing these things in at other times. You know, around helping with homework and cooking a half-hearted dinner once a week and the utter fatigue. Which is why Things aren’t getting done.

Meanwhile, at 37 weeks, the clock is officially ticking down. Doc said yesterday – after a good chuckle over a Freudian slip from my tired brain (something about shots and his nurse “doing me in the bottom” on several occasions) – that I’m “softening, but not really opening. Which is good because it’ll give the (H1N1) flu shot time to take effect” before I deliver. It makes sense that I’m not dilating yet, because other than occasional period-like crampyness in my low back, I’m not having much of anything happen. No Braxton-Hicks. Nada. (And we all remember when I was all freaked out about my cervix opening too early? UmmmHmmmmm…..)

On Monday, we’ll get to see this boy one more time – and make sure he’s a boy – before he’s born. They’re supposed to let us know how big he is (or isn’t) and whether my due date is still correct.

We’re getting more excited. At this point, M is more effusive with his excitement than I. He’s always like “I can’t wait to hold him. I can’t wait to see him. I can’t wait to kiss him. . . ” (which makes me can’t wait to see them together). . . and I’m starting to “can’t wait” all those things too – it’s just that when I’m not exhausted, I’m trying not to think about the elephant in the room (ahem: labor?) and when I do think about it, I try to talk myself through it. So, I’m always like “Yes, it’s going to be hard. That’s why they call it labor. Yes, you’re going to hit a wall. But, it’s just one day of your life. You can do this. . .”

~Nichole