Wow. The end of 37 effing weeks! I can’t believe it. I’m “full term”…whatever that means. It’s actually kind of cruel to tell a woman she is “full term”. It makes it seem like there is some sort of concrete finality to everything in the very near future, but, in reality, I still don’t know if I’ll be pregnant for another day or another 4 weeks. Trust me. I’m not ready. I may be physically ready, but I am not ready ready. That nesting thing that I thought was happening to me….well, apparently that only applied to my odd desire to paint our room a pretty color 2 months before we move out. I still don’t have my bag packed, need to take a breastfeeding class (and yes, I NEED a class. I have no idea how to shoot milk out of my breasts into an infant’s mouth in an efficient enough manner to sustain life), and I have tons of stuff to buy still. I have a feeling we will live at Babies R Us the first couple weeks.
However, despite my hesitations, there is no denying that this kid is making his debut sooner rather than later. I have to hope that he breaks free from the cord before he gets to 10 lbs. We’ve been told at our last few appointments and ultrasounds that he’s “really big”. Great. I’ve grown a ogre. I blame you, Chick Fil A! If I find out there are unapproved growth hormones in your chicken nuggets, I’m coming after you for damages!!
37 weeks 6 days