Full Term

So, this is what 37 weeks and three days looks like. I'm- we're- technically full term now, though it is likely that she'll stay in there another week or two, continuing to grow. She is bigger, I think, than Caetlin was. I feel like the belly part of me is bigger (though the rest of me has mercifully not grown much, as I've somehow managed to keep my weight gain to a healthy 30 pounds or so right now), and sometimes when she's stretching, I feel her moving both at the top of my belly and down on my pelvic floor (yeah, that's a treat). I don't remember feeling that with Caetlin. And Segunda actually hurts me when she moves sometimes, stretching my muscles and uterus and skin beyond where I think it ought to be able to be stretched.

I'm ready for her. Actually, no, I'm not. I have no bag packed for the hospital; her clothes are washed, at least, but in a tangled mess in a laundry bag in her room; her car seat is installed, but needs an experienced hand and eye to look at it. I finally finished my labor prep book last night, and don't feel much more prepared for a drug-free birth, which I hope to attempt, than I did before I started reading it. I am overwhelmed by the amount of stuff it feels like there is still to do.

And yet...you see these pictures below? There is nothing comfortable about that. Not a thing. I've had diarrhea for the last few nights, which I read is a fairly normal late pregnancy thing, and I can't sleep because of the heartburn, and also because I need a crane to turn over. I'm having many contractions per day, which are annoying and uncomfortable, and I fully expect any day now to see my mucous plug in the bowl during one of my many trips to the toilet. None of my maternity clothes fit (hence the pajama pants in the pics). We aren't really ready, but I feel like we could wing it if we have to. This isn't our first rodeo, so to speak.

So, for selfish reasons, I'm ready (even if I'm not, even if I desperately want to make it to my scheduled breastfeeding class on the 28th, even if I worry about her coming out at this time, even if I worry about how to be mentally ready to have a second baby in the house).

Bring it, baby.