If one more person asks me if I am still pregnant…

I’m going to cry.

Or polish off a quart of Breyers mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Every time I’m asked.

Anyway, the past couple of days have been a bit rough.

I went from having contractions every 10-15 minutes, to every 5 minutes. Many of them quite strong and painful.  This has happened everyday since Friday, lasting for a few hours on and off.

By the end of each day I feel like I’ve run a marathon because of the constant contractions and breathlessness.

This is definitely not how things unfolded with Babisodes four years ago.  With her, I had mild contractions for a few days, my water broke, and once I couldn’t bear the pain any longer, we swung by Panda Express on the way to the hospital so I could grab a bite to eat (since I knew they wouldn’t feed me until after she was born).

This time around, my body wants me to suffer.

I finally called my doctor today to get myself checked out, and I am a whopping two centimeters dilated.

If you are unfamiliar with the stages of labor, 2 cm’s is not a big deal. At least not for the activity that I’ve had recently.  Most hospitals admit woman when they are about 4 cm’s or if their water has broken.  A baby is delivered at 10 cm’s.

By this time during my last pregnancy, I had already been 3 cm’s for over a week (with little to no pain), and it took another week and a half before my daughter was born.

If this kid wants to cook inside for another week or so, fine.

But enough with the bluffing already.

37.5 weeks

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Another shift is happening.

Drops of water sit firmly, hanging onto the windshield. Little beads squeezed from the clouds, each barely missing the chance to remain a snowflake due to the 35F degree temperatures outside.

A gentle right turn sends them swaying to one side.

Despite their wobbling, they remain standing, tiny prisms refracting my life.

But they rarely last. Just as the soft tapping of the raindrops lulls me into a heavy-eyed trance, I reach a Stop sign.  My foot hits the brakes and everything lurches forward.  In one fell swoop, a crashing wave from the roof washes every last bead of water away.

Lately, by 5pm, I always stumble upon a Stop sign. Every fiber of my body responsible for keeping me vertical collapses, and I fall into a pile of goo.

Apparently lugging around an extra two dozen pounds all day while chasing a 4-year old, running errands, and climbing the house stairs, is finally taking it’s toll.

I have been mentally writing this post since Sunday, but not until today have I been able to muster the energy to string two sentences together.

So in these final weeks, while I struggle to stay awake, please know that I am still here, only slower, more cautious.

I’m just carrying a heavy load.

(35 weeks)

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