As of today, this pregnancy is officially full term.  I would just like to take this opportunity to give my uterus a round of applause.

Ok, thank you.

So, at 37 rotund weeks of pregnancy, this baby is, medically speaking, fully cooked (when I first typed that word, I mis-spelled it “cookied” which, I suppose, is true too).  If I go into labor right now?  I can have this baby at the birth center and he will be just fine (assuming he doesn’t have any covert medical issues he’s been hiding from me).

This is a very good feeling.  A really super stupendous feeling.  I of course want him to stay in there for longer, as I feel like I have so much more fat I can give his chubby little cheeks, but no matter what he’s safe.  His only job now is to accumulate fat, and my only job is to avoid jumping too much when one of his wayward feet makes it way into my ribcage.

This brings me to my other job.  The one I actually get paid for.  I’ve been putting a lot of thought into when I want to start my maternity leave.  It’s a tough proposition.  On the one hand, most first babies are born an average of five days past their due date, so if Squishy holds true to that I still have oodles of time (I’m due February 24).

On the other hand, if he comes early I could be in quite the predicament.  My midwives advised me that I should put some serious thought into stopping work soon.  My midwife explained it to me this way: Imagine working a full day and coming home tired as usual.  Then you go into labor that night.

With the average first labor taking 20 hours, the odds of me making it through close to 48 hours of intense physical work and pain without any sleep and after a full day of work are not good.  The #1 reason first-time moms get transferred from the birth center to the hospital is because of exhaustion, and I really, really do not want to get transferred.

I keep telling the baby that he needs to stay in there until at least Valentine’s Day, and then after that he can come out whenever he wants to.  That said, I’ve decided to make Friday the 12th my last day of working in the office.  After that, it’s sweatpants and no makeup and afternoon naps time to build up my sleep reserves in preparation for bringing a human being into the world.

Sleeping at night is getting more and more difficult to do.  I’ve never had trouble with insomnia my whole life, and yet falling back to sleep has turned into a no-win proposition.  I just lay there thinking about how tired I am.  I’m not even wide awake and thinking, I’m just a puddle of fatigue with no sleep.

So now I have a finish line in sight.  So long as Squishy listens to his mother and stays put until after Valentine’s Day I reckon we’ll all make it through this in one piece.  If he decides to come on the evening of February 11, however, he and I will have some words as soon as I’m capable of stern speech again.