Hmm. How about that.
In theory, I could still be pregnant now. Jakob was born when I was just 37 weeks. By that same count, as of today I would have been 42 weeks. If I'd gone overdue, right about now there would have been talk of induction (if I understand correctly).
To tell the truth, I feel a bit cheated. Although I had a relatively easy pregnancy, it wasn't easy on my body (the only reason I can think of why it would be better to have a child at 20) and the third trimester was particularly unfun. But I thought I had at least three more weeks, especially given the theory (statistic?) that first babies are usually late. When my water broke, Werner said, "It can't be that, it's too soon, maybe you peed?" and went back to sleep. But I too kept thinking, "This can't be labour, I'm not ready!"
The major things were in order - the carseat, the stroller, the crib, the stocked freezer... But I didn't get to have that clean-the-whole-house-top-to-bottom stage of nesting, and we didn't get the nursery absolutely finished. So much for stenciling a teddy bear border around the walls. The dresser and crib were positioned where it was convenient at the time - will we leave them there? No chair in the nursery, either, nor a lamp nor clock nor radio. I hadn't bought a nursing bra. I never did make up a labour and delivery music playlist/CD, the hospital bags hadn't been packed (although, thankfully, the packing list was ready), and we hadn't arranged for stem cell banking. I didn't bake bread, or get to another pedicure (a necessity as much as a luxury once I couldn't reach my feet), and my pre-scheduled weekly prenatal massages became postpartum massages. I didn't finish the fleece blankets I was making, or the blanket I was supposedly knitting. I had completed two prenatal studies just hours before going into labour. We didn't get away one last time, nor did we even get out for one last nice meal together, just the two of us.
Most of all, though, I wasn't emotionally ready. As uncomfortable as I felt (and, admittedly, I was probably getting grumpy about that), I wanted to enjoy that last bit of time. I wanted to rest up, as much as I could, maybe even take that last opportunity to be selfish and spoil myself. Most of all, there was one 'perk' of pregnancy that I really enjoyed, and I wasn't ready to give up - the sensation of Bärchen squirming in my belly. I wish there had been some way of bottling up that feeling and saving it for later.
As we drove to the hospital, my contractions were strong, painful, and coming every three minutes. I was noncommunicative and, I think, barely lucid. But I did have one recurring thought between pains: I'm not ready. I was practically ready, but not emotionally.
I certainly wasn't wishing for the discomforts of late pregnancy to continue, but I do wish I had felt emotionally and mentally prepared at least for labour, if not motherhood. I had already waited so long, but it turns out it wasn't quite long enough, and I was caught by surprise.
To tell the truth, I feel a bit cheated. Although I had a relatively easy pregnancy, it wasn't easy on my body (the only reason I can think of why it would be better to have a child at 20) and the third trimester was particularly unfun. But I thought I had at least three more weeks, especially given the theory (statistic?) that first babies are usually late. When my water broke, Werner said, "It can't be that, it's too soon, maybe you peed?" and went back to sleep. But I too kept thinking, "This can't be labour, I'm not ready!"
The major things were in order - the carseat, the stroller, the crib, the stocked freezer... But I didn't get to have that clean-the-whole-house-top-to-bottom stage of nesting, and we didn't get the nursery absolutely finished. So much for stenciling a teddy bear border around the walls. The dresser and crib were positioned where it was convenient at the time - will we leave them there? No chair in the nursery, either, nor a lamp nor clock nor radio. I hadn't bought a nursing bra. I never did make up a labour and delivery music playlist/CD, the hospital bags hadn't been packed (although, thankfully, the packing list was ready), and we hadn't arranged for stem cell banking. I didn't bake bread, or get to another pedicure (a necessity as much as a luxury once I couldn't reach my feet), and my pre-scheduled weekly prenatal massages became postpartum massages. I didn't finish the fleece blankets I was making, or the blanket I was supposedly knitting. I had completed two prenatal studies just hours before going into labour. We didn't get away one last time, nor did we even get out for one last nice meal together, just the two of us.
Most of all, though, I wasn't emotionally ready. As uncomfortable as I felt (and, admittedly, I was probably getting grumpy about that), I wanted to enjoy that last bit of time. I wanted to rest up, as much as I could, maybe even take that last opportunity to be selfish and spoil myself. Most of all, there was one 'perk' of pregnancy that I really enjoyed, and I wasn't ready to give up - the sensation of Bärchen squirming in my belly. I wish there had been some way of bottling up that feeling and saving it for later.
As we drove to the hospital, my contractions were strong, painful, and coming every three minutes. I was noncommunicative and, I think, barely lucid. But I did have one recurring thought between pains: I'm not ready. I was practically ready, but not emotionally.
I certainly wasn't wishing for the discomforts of late pregnancy to continue, but I do wish I had felt emotionally and mentally prepared at least for labour, if not motherhood. I had already waited so long, but it turns out it wasn't quite long enough, and I was caught by surprise.
posted by Melanie A at 5:06 p.m.
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