September 2, 2011
On Wednesday, at 34 weeks and 6 days pregnant, my midwife told me to keep my “legs crossed for two more weeks.” Directed at someone who has had to be induced twice, this seemed like an odd request, unless you consider the circumstances under which she told me this bit of advice.
Every pregnant lady knows that part of your pre-natal visits include your healthcare professional measuring your belly while you hang out on your back. The number of centimeters measured is supposed to be equal to the number of weeks pregnant you happen to be. For the last month, I’ve been measuring a half week to a week ahead of schedule. The last time I was there, two weeks ago, I measured at 33.5. Yesterday I measured 31. Babies tend not to shrink during this stage, so immediately I questioned that number.
“How is that possible when I’ll be 35 weeks tomorrow?” I asked her. She asked me to bend my knees and placed her hands on my abdomen, below the bump. “Oh my God” she said. (Totally not what you want to hear when a midwife has her hands on you.) A couple weeks ago, the same midwife told me that the baby’s head was down. Yesterday, she told me that the baby’s head is basically locked and loaded.
When she was measuring me from the bottom of my baby bump to the top, she was only really measuring the little guy from the base of his neck down to his butt. She rearranged the tape measure and I measured almost right on. I don’t mean to get too personal and all, but let’s just suffice it to say that there is a reason I’m getting up to pee three times a night now. There is a reason I feel like I’m getting head-butted in the cervix on a near constant basis. It’s because I am; he is waaaaaay down there.
As a comparison, Big I “floated” until I was pretty much ready to push her out (after over 14 hours of labor). Sassy did almost the same thing. She wasn’t “engaged” at all until I was in the throes of 15 hours of labor.
Today I am 35 weeks and 1 day and this baby has assumed the position. I’ve been praying all along that I don’t have to be induced this time; now my prayers have switched to “Please just let me make it to 36 weeks and 6 days” (the earliest the midwives will deliver me at the birth center).
It has gotten to the point where if I just push on the little guy’s butt (which is hanging out close to my ribs and all up in my lungs’ business), I actually feel like I’m going to push him out. Fun stuff.
So I guess if there was ever a time to start taking bets on when he’ll actually arrive and how big and long he’ll be, the time is now. Place your guesses below and the winner will get the best prize of all. . . . bragging rights. If you’d like to take a guess on his name, you can do that too. Knock yourselves out.