Tomorrow I will be officially 38 weeks.
Last week, my doctor decided I needed to get the baby weighed (via ultrasound) because my measurements were a little conflicted. The external measurement -- which, btw, seems very un-scientific to me, seeing as it's just a tape measure on the belly -- suggested I/the baby was a bit big or could be early. The previous ultrasound, however, suggested she was perhaps behind schedule.
I love so much how there's a four week window.
What we learned as a result of last week's ultrasound is that, as of last Friday, she weighed about six-and-a-half pounds. Which would put her on track to be exactly average sized at her due date: about seven-and-a-half pounds on June 25.
But there was a but.
Oh, she's in a great position and has good fluid and the placenta is where it should be and all that stuff is fine.
My cervix, however, shows absolutely no signs of wanting to be birth-ready. It's a great cervix for keeping a baby in, apparently. Not so much for letting baby out.
Will this be an issue? Who's to say? The doctor gave us tips for how to help the cervix along, and to be honest with you, I don't know which of the three suggestions sounds most uncomfortable. I guess in the meantime, I will try and will my cervix to chill out.
In the grand scheme of things, I don't care when or how the baby is born as long as she's healthy. That's the official story.
The unofficial story is that I am really, really tired. Not just physically -- although I am, and my body's new "let's wake mommy up in the middle of the night and not let her back to sleep just to prepare her for having a newborn" thing is SO FUN -- but emotionally. I feel like I've been doing nothing but preparing myself, my head, my heart, my home for this child. I can't get more ready without crossing over into Crazy.
Crazy. Like, practicing how to wrap the baby sling properly and then actively considering using a cat as a substitute baby. (I came dangerously close to trying this.) Like, having a total meltdown at the idea of mis-organizing the onesies and burp cloths, resulting in a tear-soaked email to my friends asking BUT WHERE DO THEY ALL GOOOOOO? Like, ordering JUST ONE MORE THING that we probably don't even need and won't remember getting from some online store, just to feel like I'm doing something productive.
Like, having every single thing that comes out of my mouth (or blog) be about how pregnant I am.
I need to stop this madness, before I say TO HELL WITH IT and crack open the bottle of Hendrick's in the freezer and help myself to a martini or seven. Let it be noted: it is really a flaw in nature that ingesting gin is not one of the preferred methods for ripening one's cervix.