What can I really say about this week, other than that it’s been fabulous?  This was my first week of maternity leave, and the luxury of being home and relaxing has been astounding.  I feel so much more prepared, mentally and emotionally, to handle the waiting for and prospect of a newborn.

Physically, I’m doing great.  I have more energy now that it’s my job to rest (go figure) and I’m taking at least one walk a day in an effort to get labor started.  It’s working more or less, I suppose.  I’ve had a whole bunch of contractions this week, though with no pattern or discernible increase in intensity.

The baby’s head is still exceedingly low, and I’m starting to really feel this in the bones of my pelvis.  I’ve become inured to the pressure on the soft tissues of my pelvis, but my bones starting aching this week from what I can only assume is the constant pressure of a giant baby skull.

My midwife checked me out this week and she still says everything looks great.  I’m dilated to 1 cm, but that really doesn’t mean much because some people walk around for weeks dilated to 3 cm and still nothing happens.  My blood pressure is completely normal, I still have no swelling anywhere, and the baby sounds hearty and healthy.

We’re in all-systems-go, any-day-now territory, and we’re all just being held subject to the whims of a 7 lb (give or take a few ounces) baby boy.

Wes finalized the music for the birth this week, and that was a huge accomplishment.  He’s made three CD’s of pretty and serene classical music for me to listen to during early labor, when the contractions aren’t too intense and the most important thing for me to do is relax.

He also made two CD’s featuring my favorite repetitive and rhythmic song selections from a variety of different rock musicians.  These CD’s will be for active labor, when my brain will be consumed with dealing with the contractions but I’ll need a good strong rhythm to get me through them.

We’ll see if I end up liking the music we’ve picked out.  I’ve never been in labor before, so I’m unsure what I’ll want.  Still, it’ll be nice to have these around in case I do need them.

The one exciting thing that happened this week, but it turned out to be not very exciting at all, is that I thought my water broke.  But it didn’t.  Truly the last weeks of pregnancy are nonstop mystery, friends.  With strange aches, sensations, pains, and fluids, I think that if you’re not confused at least half the time when you’re in the final weeks, you probably aren’t paying attention.

Oh man, we’re really getting close now, aren’t we?  On Sunday my sister in law came up to me and reminded me that I have mere days left.  Days!  I’ve been so stuck thinking of pregnancy in terms of weeks that it never even occurred to me that we’re so close to the end now that our time remaining can be counted in terms of days!

This was a very vibrant week.  Squishy was in rare form, gamboling and kicking and punching.  He’s gotten rather fond of his newfound leg room (having dropped deep into my pelvis) and celebrates with surprisingly hard kicks that come out of nowhere.  His favorite time to do this is right when I’m drifting off to sleep.  It’s like he knows I’m trying to sleep.  Silly sabotaging baby.

He’s also refined his stretching techniques to point where they’re exquisite in a painful sort of way.  He stretches his legs straight up, and his head, of course, goes straight down, while I squirm and make strange faces and attempt to behave normally while all the while shouting in my head, “So weird so weird so weeeeeeeird!”

We had our last natural childbirthing class this week, and it was a bittersweet moment.  We’re glad to have Tuesday evenings back to ourselves, but will miss the camaraderie and learning opportunities.

At our class this week, our instructor had us practice pain coping techniques by holding tightly onto ice cubes.  We held the ice cubes to different body parts for at least a minute, and tried a variety of coping techniques to see which ones worked for us and which didn’t.

Wes uses music composition in his head to manage pain.  He writes music in his spare time, and it didn’t surprise me at all to learn that he coped with the pain of holding the ice cube by re-orchestrating a Bach fugue in his head.

I, on the other hand, favor the “zoning out” approach.  I fixate on a small spot of dirt on the floor, and my eyes unfocus and my mind drifts and whatever pain I’m experiencing simply ceases to exist.  We had to hold our hands submerged in a bowl of ice water for two minutes (to practice for coping with pain for the length of a transition contraction) and, thanks to a spot of dirt on the floor, Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb”, and Wes’ foot rubbing, I barely even felt the cold.

We’ll see if I’m nearly so lucky in my ability to tune out pain when it’s contractions I’m feeling and not my hand freezing.

I’m still feeling pretty good, though I get more tired by the day.  Pregnancy insomnia was particularly brutal this week and, whereas I normally fall back asleep easily and quickly, I’ve spent more and more time laying awake after nocturnal bathroom breaks.  Naps are no longer luxuries but are necessities, though sometimes the insomnia prevents me from taking those as well.

Wes is so supportive of my naps, and belittles me not at all for sleeping when I could be folding laundry or helping with dinner.  I truly believe my pregnancy has brought out the best in him, and I’m so grateful for how he treats me that sometimes it hurts a little.  I would fall apart without him.

I’m also feeling more twinges and cramps and pains of mystery than I ever have before.  None of them are contractions (though the Braxton Hicks contractions are starting to feel slightly more uncomfortable than they used to) but they’re definitely curious.  I never really know what’s sending out pain signals or why, all I can do is shrug and consign the pains to the mystery file.

We packed our birth bag together this week, and when it was done we just kind of stared at it sitting in the living room.  It was done, packed, ready for a midnight dash to the birth center.  We’d crossed the final line, and we were really and truly ready.

Our days and nights are characterized by a kind of excited anticipation.  We’re so very close to the end of this pregnancy, and it makes the time we have remaining as a family of two special, sweet and fleeting.

Full term.  Full term full term full term!  When I think of what this week of pregnancy was like for me, that’s what comes to mind.  Just an overwhelming feeling of relief that we made it to full term, and that Squishy is welcome to make his debut any time he likes.

This is also the week Wes got himself a job offer, so maybe the relief is bleeding over from that too.  Either way, I’m feeling good.  The nursery is done, the baby clothes and cloth diapers are washed, the carseat is installed, and we’re officially ready.

Of course, I’d still like Squishy to stay put until after Valentine’s Day.  I’ll have all my work wrapped up, he’ll have had time to chub up, and we’ll have finished our birthing classes.  We’ll see if he decides to cooperate.

Squishy is doing really well this week.  I think he was having a growth spurt last week, because he was pretty mellow, but he’s back to his usual antics this week.  Lots of lovely kicks and knees to the ribs, still more pummeling from his tiny hands as I’m drifting off to sleep.

My midwife, during my weekly check-up, remarked that he still feels really long to her.  Even though his head is very far down in my pelvis his little butt is still tucked up firmly by my ribs.  I’m not growing out, I’m growing up!  My uterus has grown so far up into my ribcage, in fact, that she can no longer properly measure the top of it because it’s stuck under my ribs.

This is exactly as comfortable as it sounds.

Things I can no longer do:

• Check my blind spots while driving without pinching an important organ with my ribs
• Laugh without pain (apparently you can actually tear the muscle that holds your diaphragm against your ribs. Who knew?)
• Sit up straight (must have back arched at all times or face the wrath of my organs)
• Sleep the night through (after the second bathroom break I can’t fall back asleep)
• Wear my largest maternity jeans (they’re too tight across the top of my uterus!)

I had a dream about Squishy this week.  I dreamed that he was here, and had long blond hair and the brightest blue eyes ever.  I handed him off to someone to hold, and the guy returned my baby to me, only my baby was a fried egg.  I wrapped the fried egg in a blanket and then I woke up.

Not sure what that means.  I severely doubt that our baby will be blond, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility thanks to a great many members of my family on my mother’s side being blond.  I’ve prepared Wes for the fact that it’s entirely possible for two dark-haired parents to produce blond offspring, lest he start getting ideas about me and the mailman.

I suppose the thing I’m feeling most right now is peace.  I’m at peace.  Wes has an excellent job, our nursery is ready for this little man to come home, my body is doing a fabulous job taking care of my baby (seriously, this has been the model pregnancy. My blood pressure is low, no swelling, iron levels look good, no diabetes.  Believe me, I know exactly how lucky I am) and I’m almost ready to give Squishy the all clear to come out.

Almost.  He just needs to give me a few more days and then we’ll be home free.  Of course, it’s entirely possible that I’ll start my maternity leave on the 15th, thinking the baby could come any time, and then not go into labor until March.  We’ll see how peaceful I’m feeling then.

It’s kind of funny how quickly my outlook on this whole “We’re having a baby in a month” situation can change.  Earlier this week I was having a major meltdown, convinced that nothing was going to get done in time.  My feelings regarding the imminent birth of my child were closer to dread than delight.

Last night, however, I had a chance to do a load of baby clothes.  Just one load.  But that’s all it took to change my outlook.  I feel much better now.  I still have two other loads to do, and we still need to go shopping for cloth diapers, but we’re getting both of those taken care of tomorrow.

It’s a good thing too, because even though I feel like I have the preparations fairly well in hand (thanks to one measly load of laundry being done. I never claimed to be rational, folks) I feel like things have taken a turn toward getting down to some serious business.  By this I mean I’m starting to wonder whether we’ll be making it to my due date of February 24 after all.

At my midwife appointment on Wednesday, she mentioned that his head was down really low.  I can definitely tell.  The bones in my pelvis are shifting, and I can tell this because when I walk my hips move a lot differently than they used to.  I’m not waddling at all, but whereas I used to walk with my feet in a straight line, now my feet pursue separate, albeit parallel, paths.

There are times when his head scrunches really far down and the pressure on my bladder is simply incredible.  I haven’t had any incontinence issues (thank you, Kegel exercises!) but the sensation definitely takes my breath away.  The Braxton Hicks contractions have also started picking up, and whereas before I couldn’t actually feel them unless I poked my belly, now they feel like tightness around my whole middle.

I also have far less endurance than I have ever had.  Before pregnancy I could clean the whole house single handedly from top to bottom, wash and fold three loads of laundry, change the sheets on the bed, and go grocery shopping all before coming home and making dinner.

Now, I have to break up my tasks into sitting tasks and standing tasks.  If I do too many standing tasks in a row, I get winded and my belly starts getting really tight from Braxton Hicks contractions.  I have to sprinkle sitting tasks in between my standing tasks, which means I can get approximately .08% as much done in a day as I used to be able to accomplish.

Wes doesn’t mind, and in truth has been the consummate perfect husband this entire pregnancy.  He helps out without asking, volunteers to do things around the house that he knows I have trouble with, and lets me nap on his shoulder even when he really has to go use the restroom or needs more water to drink.  He’s made pregnancy as easy on me as it could possibly be, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

As for darling Squishy, we’re both running out of room.  His movements are much less grandiose, though not at all less painful.  The top of my uterus now comes to the very bottom of my ribcage, so his little body parts of mystery make frequent bizarre contact with my ribs.  Needless to say, I’m doing a lot of sitting bolt upright in an effort to keep his preciousness away from important parts of my physiology.

He’s started doing this adorable thing right at bedtime though, and I have to document it for posterity.  Right after I lay down with my pillow armada, he starts punching me.  It doesn’t hurt, but I can tell it’s his tiny little baby hands and they make these rapid, tiny little punches to whatever side is lowest.  It’s like he’s using me like a speed bag at a gym, and he does it every night.

My favorite part of our 32 week ultrasound was seeing his tiny little baby hands up close to his face.  Every time I get stressed, I think of those precious little fingers that I can’t wait to kiss and it makes everything better.  The fact that he reminds me of those hands every night before I go to sleep is a definite plus and makes waking up a few times a night totally bearable.

Oh my gosh, I’m so excited to share next week’s belly pic.  I obviously can’t share it yet, because it hasn’t been taken yet, but please allow me to assure you that I’m huge.  This little baby’s hit a growth spurt and my belly is riding that wave like Patrick Swayze in Point Break.

A lot has happened this week.  Wes and I started putting the decorative touches on the nursery (he’s so busy with his job search, he initially told me he didn’t think he would get any painting done. Then he committed the cardinal sin of telling me the nursery didn’t have to be done before the baby arrived. I lovingly assured him this was a lie.) and we bought and installed our carseat.

I started feeling twinges of what may be that crazy nesting hormone surge that enables gigantic pregnant women to accomplish great feats of cleaning despite seeming exhaustion and great difficulty reaching the floor.  I’ve been spending my spare time in the evenings organizing the nursery, which for me is more stressful than blissful.

You see, I love living in a clean house.  A place for everything and everything in its place.  However, organizing and assimilating new things into my pre-existing matrix of order is very difficult.  Once the system is in place I am a happy little camper and can keep that system running with very little effort.  Establishing the system, however, is hard work.

For example, the diaper bag.  How to organize it?  This endeavor feels very similar to packing my backpack for the first day of school.  Trying things in different places until it feels right.  It’s not quite right yet, but it’s close.

As for Wes, he’s shared with me an adorable anxiety of his that I’m 99% sure is a completely common fear that dads-to-be to have.  Namely, that this will happen but in reverse:

I’m fairly certain that this is not because he thinks I’m a floozy, but rather just a subconscious fear of the unknown.  I feel like I know this baby really well.  Squishy’s likes, dislikes, his favorite time of day, and his favorite position of mine to sleep in.  We’re good buddies, partners in the road to running out of room in Erika’s torso.

For Wes, however, Squishy is a bit of a mystery.  He never knows what body part he feels moving around beneath my skin, and by virtue of not being pregnant misses out on most of what makes me feel like I know our child.  Now we’ve got this big, momentous moment in our lives coming up in just five weeks, and the mystery and fear of the unknown manifests itself as anxiety that I’m going to have a baby whose father is clearly not Wes.

It’s silliness, but no more so than the anxiety dreams I have wherein I don’t know how often to change the baby’s diaper or what temperature to make his baths.

The only thing I can do is assure Wes that the baby is very definitely his and wait patiently for the day Wes gets to meet and fall in love with our son.

As for Squishy, he’s perfected this new stretch guaranteed to make me cringe.  He stretches straight up and down, so that I feel it simultaneously in both my ribs and my cervix.  I pay him back for this by gently poking his little bottom every time he sticks it straight out of my stomach.  I can spend a few minutes just chasing him around my belly.  He doesn’t care for this at all and gets very thrashy to show me how he feels about my childish behavior.

He is also getting hiccups several times a day, and these, too, make him very thrashy.  I think he gets annoyed because he doesn’t know how to make them stop, so he just starts flailing until they go away.  In this way, we’re very similar in our approaches to problem solving.