In need of two eggs for dinner, I ran over to our neighbors’ house the other night. Jenny and I chatted for a while inside her door as she pulled the eggs from the fridge. “How are you feeling?” she asked, nodding to my stomach. “And how far along are you now?”I stumbled and stuttered through an answer that went something like, “oh…well…um…er…I’m due the first week in April, so…(frantically counting the months and weeks in my head, remembering that a pregnancy is actually, technically, 10 months then trailing off)…not long now. But, boy, time sure has flown by hasn’t it?!” I sounded crazy. I felt crazy. Because the truth is that I really have no idea. I know when I’m due. I know that early April is really freakin’ soon. I know that I completed the glucose tolerance test at my last visit which means that I’m at least 28 weeks, but was that appointment one or two weeks ago? I seem to have lost all sense of time.
When I was pregnant with Eleanor I knew, to the day, when my “week” changed. I knew what was happening with hear each week – when she was developing eyelashes or could trace light if it traveled across my belly. I even sent weekly updates to my family and friends (who probably hated me, but tolerated them anyway) with updates on what was happening with her and with me. Seriously. I dug one up. Here’s a little sampling of the kind of
crap information I was sending on a regular basis. This one from week 28:
As for me, I’m said to weigh 140 pounds and measure 68.4 inches from the top of my head to my heels. I can blink my eyes (I can even blink one at a time) and can definitely see light when it filters from the outside world into my “womb” (read bed-womb) in the morning. I too am putting on body fat but, unfortunately, am not developing ANY neurons, and in fact am probably loosing them (whether that’s age or dissertation related— who can say for sure).
Sick, right? Occasionally I over shared (wait, wasn’t that over sharing up there?) about my favorite sleeping position or a strange dream I found myself having:
More seriously, my dreams have grown increasingly strange and complex. In my latest dream I gave birth (in an hour!) in a park, decided it would be a good idea to go to a tennis court with an other new mom, realized (after getting to the park) that I hadn’t delivered the placenta, and began plotting places that I might go to deliver it since (and I said this to myself in my dream) “it’s probably going to be bloody and I shouldn’t get her car all messy.” In the midst of all that, I was also trying to fasten my newborn (who was about the size of the palm of my hand…or a large tomatillo for those of you accustomed to the vegetable references) into her car seat properly by first putting her clothes in the car seat and then putting her into the clothes. Who’s going to be a great mom?!
As I near the end of this pregnancy, I am a saddened by how little time I’ve spent documenting (either physically or mentally) it. Especially because this will likely be my last and each pregnancy is special, is different from any other pregnancy before it. Tim and I have often wondered if not knowing the gender of the baby has made it more difficult to connect. Maybe. but maybe not. Maybe it’s just an inevitability when one has two young ones at home, and you’re adjusting to two new jobs, a new home, and a new community. What I do know is that the day this little one is born time will stop – even if just for a minute – before our lives start anew. And I can’t wait.