Uncharted Territory

35 weeks today. Can you believe it? Tomorrow I will be two full weeks more pregnant than I ever was with Peyton and Ethan. One more week until the high risk OB says I can stop taking my baby aspirin, because if my blood pressure creeps up after that point, delivering the baby should be perfectly safe and require no NICU stay. Did you hear that? NO NICU STAY!

I can hardly believe I've made it this far. I won't lie -- it's been a very long haul. After I had P & E, I used to daydream about maybe having another baby someday. It would be a singleton, I figured, and I would have a smooth and simple pregnancy along with a full term delivery. I would be all glowy and rosy, enjoying my status as a "regular," not high risk, mommy-to-be every single day. I would make sure the baby's carseat was installed before I went to the hospital to deliver him, confident that he would be coming home with me when I was released in two or three days time.

Well. It hasn't exactly gone that way. I mean, in part it has -- this pregnancy has been completely uneventful. Other than some trace blood in my urine at a couple appointments (which had disappeared by yesterday's) absolutely nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. My blood pressure has been fine, sometimes even good. The baby has consistently measured somewhere around the 50th percentile, and I've never had any reason to worry about his well being, as he has been very active since the first day I felt him move sometime around 17 weeks. And yet, I still sort of feel like I've blown it. I have NOT enjoyed this pregnancy and only partly because of all the vomiting and achiness and blah blah blah. No, for the most part, I haven't enjoyed the pregnancy because I've been freaking out the entire time. Rather than enjoying this wonderful surprise and the gift of a normal, routine pregnancy, I've spent pretty much every day waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now it's almost over, and I'm so relieved, but I also wish I could go back and give myself a swift kick in the ass. All this time spent worrying, and for what? Even if all the terrible things I obsessed about had happened, would the worrying have done any good? Of course not.

But I still think maybe it's not too late. I still have 4 weeks and 2 days to go until the little guy's scheduled appearance. We're putting the finishing touches on the nursery, and I did get all his clothes washed and hung because hey -- it looks like he should be able to come right home and wear them! The carseat is not installed yet, but it will be soon. Definitely before I leave for the hospital on the 1st. Because finally, with 30 days to go, I'm starting to believe that this might all work out.