34 Weeks

Greetings, greetings, from 33 weeks and 7 days worth of baby George-ness.

The clock is ticking, people!  At 30 weeks, it was all novelty.  It was the beginning of the "hey stranger, you're really really pregnant aren't you?" stage so it was pretty novel and fun to do things like pick up and go to Florida or leave the kid for a weekend and take Dada on a whirlwind tour of Kentucky's Bourbon Trail.  Sure, there needed to be a body pillow involved, plus continuous guaranteed bathroom access, but poo... 10 weeks to go?  Party time!  Excellent!

But now, with 34 weeks just a day away, let me quote from that fine Pixar film, Monsters Inc., and say that:

"now is the time to PANIC!"

34 weeks.  34 weeks means 6 weeks til baby's due date.  Six weeks.  42 days.  

(Yes.  I realize that the due date is an estimate.  Baby will come when baby is ready, especially considering baby came into being rather unexpectedly anyway.  I've had friends go to upwards of 43 weeks in their pregnancies, all resulting in healthy bouncing babes.  My panic may look pretty silly six weeks from now when I start 2+ weeks of uncomfortable waiting, praying to not have a Christmas baby.  Baby could also come a few days early [see: baby came into being rather unexpectedly] as well, since we don't know exactly what was going on in my lady parts at the time of, err... the stork's deposit.  I've had other friends pop kids out a month, two weeks, three weeks early.  But w.t.f. does it matter what your friends have done, you ask?  Ha! Good question.  The only experience that really should matter is my own.  My prior pregnancy was due on July 20th and boom - July 22nd evening, we had a kid.  So going by the 100% success rate we've had before [and ignoring that oft stated adage that "each pregnancy is different"] I'm saying that between December 5th [2nd in a pinch] and 8th, we will pop this kid out.  But preferably the 6th, because that's a Tuesday and Tuesdays are nice.)

I wouldn't be in such a panic if it weren't for our super mega awesome track record of getting things done, as correlated to the amount of things needing to get done.  As we neared "100 days til baby's due" I aspired to write a 100 point list of things we would/should/wanted to get done or do before the little bugger's arrival.  That list topped about 34 items at it's peak, and I think we've checked about 7 off to date.  Each weekend comes with great fanfare and enthusiasm and ends with, typically, guilty high fives all around for the completion of?   The most awesome-est naps evah.  Some epic cooking and eating binge.  A successful fantasy football week.  *sigh*

Meanwhile, midwife-wise we're up to the point of having check ups every two weeks versus every month, which adds another sense of urgency and finality.  We need to re-tour the hospital (planned with friends who are also expecting, because after touring four bourbon distilleries with them last weekend, we just cannot imagine doing it any differently), investigate whether there's a "refresher" course for the birth center (because birthing classes are fun, if just for the conversation fodder later, i.e. "can you believe the valley girl accent on that Mennonite chick?" and "did that one couple really not know what a fundus is?!"), and then do logistical things varying in importance like HOLY SHIT GET THE FREAKING BABY'S ROOM FINISHED and, ahem, rather more calmly, settle on a revised car seat layout in the car.  

But we're not entirely unprepared.  The bouncy seats have been moved to the furnished part of the basement, as phase one of their three-step reintroduction to full functionality.  (much like immigrants arriving at Ellis Island, they must first be quarantined to make sure that are free of any diseases or bugs acquired in the musky, cobwebby third world, er... unfinished basement.)  There are three meatloaves in the freezer.  I have been sitting in straight backed chairs and doing pelvic tilts in order to encourage this burgeoning baby to flip into anterior position, versus the jolting posterior position that it appears to have taken.  We are researching flights so that my mother can come and do her thang to help out in early December - namely fold endless piles of laundry and spread peanut butter on apples for Elena.  (just her mere presence will guarantee that Elena does not play with matches or run with sharp sticks and therefore be a huge help)   

Chicken is $0.99 a pound at Kroger this week, too... I think we'll give that frozen meatloaf some company.