Week 38

Another week closer and bigger, too! :)  And that pretty much sums up the last week!  We had another visit with Dr. Davis on Monday, and both Mom and Baby look great.  In fact, Luke is looking almost too good. :)  Apparently, his size is such that the ultrasound program won't project a gestational age anymore.  It simply computes "OOR", or "Out Of Range".  For some reason, Dr. Davis found this to be very funny.  But not as funny as Luke's estimated size.  Last week, he weighed in at 8 lbs 12 oz.  Danny guessed this week's weight at 9 lbs 4 oz, thinking with the two pounds he put on last week, he would gain a bit less this week.  I figured the same thing.  Well, we were wrong!  This week, Luke's estimated weight is 9 lbs 10 oz!!

So, needless to say, I'm getting mighty uncomfortable!  Sleep is a thing of the past, and I'm slowly starting to accept that.  I just can't get comfortable at all.  My belly feels stretched no matter how many pillows I prop around me, and when the baby finally settles down, he settles in a hip or on a lung.  Or a lot of the time, both!  Can't say I blame him.  I guess he's probably almost as uncomfortable at this point as I am.

Something I have dealt with more this week is fear, believe it or not.  It started last Saturday, while Danny and I were watching "Iron Man".  I was so uncomfortable, and had been having some moderately painful contractions throughout the day.  We were up way too late watching this movie, and the thought passed through my mind that tonight would be a classic night to go into labor.  With both Danny and I exhausted.  That's usually how it works, you know.  As I was thinking that, I expected to feel relief at the prospect of labor.  However, what I felt was gripping fear!  It only lasted a few seconds, but I was terrified.  I had the whole scene flash before my eyes.  Walking in to the OR.  Sitting on that cold metal table.  And then trying to relax and bend my back while the anesthesiologist puts a giant needle in my back to paralyze me for surgery.  I hate that part.  And then not being able to move my legs enough to swing them back onto the table so I can lay down, only to be embarrassed when a nurse has to lift what feels like 200 lbs of dead weight onto the table.  Then, I lay there and listen to them go through their pre-op procedures while they clean and shave me.  How humiliating.  Finally, Danny will show up all cute in his scrubs and I'm so relieved, for a moment.  But Danny's arrival means they're about to start.  Start cutting into me.  I fight to stay calm, and so far I've always been able to manage.  Barely!  Before I know it, they tell me that I'm going to feel a pulling sensation, and then my baby is here!  At least, that's always how it's been in the past.

At this point in my mental parade of memories, the "what-ifs" crawl in my ear and start with their insidious whispers.  "What if they nick an artery and I bleed out?"  "What if the baby doesn't cry?"  "What if I never get the feeling back in my legs?"  On and on and on.  So, I've been fighting to stay calm and faithful that everything will be perfectly routine.  That Luke will be every bit as perfect and healthy as his siblings have been.  And that the recovery, though undoubtedly painful, will be the same as the other ones.  Totally doable.

Anyway, that's what I keep telling myself.  Gratefully, each day that passes, I get that much more uncomfortable.  And I get less and less fearful, and look more and more forward to the inevitable relief.