Thursday marks the rollover date for The Soybean. It’s kind of like an estimated birthday, or reverse-birthday, since the actual birth day hasn’t arrived yet. Conception day sounds too creepy. Conceptión Day sounds better.
Anyway.
Yesterday marked the 28th week of my beknocked uppedness. I was always irritated by people who spoke of their pregnancy (or children’s ages) in terms of weeks, because it meant I had to divide by four to get a number that was meaningful to me. Much like how much a salary is, or how much a house costs, my ability to understand the numbers is something that came with age. 28 weeks = seven months, which would then mean that I have two months to go (8 weeks), but in reality, human gestation is a bit longer than that (40 weeks total), so I actually have 12 weeks to go.*
So what does this mean? The Soybean is over two pounds now, and if she were born now, she’d fare … ok. My plan is to keep her in for another 12 weeks.
What does this mean for me? Month 5.5-6.5 was kind of crappy, body-wise. I really couldn’t sleep in any position other than my sides, and I started getting back aches when standing or sitting for too long. This meant I was uncomfortable no matter where I was. I also was waking up a lot at night, unable to fall asleep. That may be par for some of your courses, but not me. I’m a good sleeper, and I want to get as much of it as I can NOW.
I thought (and even admitted to Jason) that if this is how crappy it is now, there’s no WAY I was going to be comfortable again for the next 3.5 months.
Starting mid-way through month six, I started being able to sleep better, and my back stopped hurting. I recognize that it’s not that much to complain about, since I’m bringing some effing life into the world in exchange.
What I’ve learned is that there’s a fine line between feeling like myself, and feeling like an incubator. When I’m not achey, when I can sleep at night, when I can wear jeans and a hoodie, I feel like myself. (I recently acquired maternity jeans and a maternity hoodie — my standard uniform, expanded.) If I’m uncomfortable, I feel so radically different, it’s surprising. It’s not like when I’m sick, even really sick. Maybe it’s knowing I’m not just outpacing a cold, I’m running the equivalent to a marathon, and it’s nowhere close to over yet.
*I’ll save all irritation at the whole gestation length being off by 2 weeks, because doctors count from your last period, instead of when you actually got pregnant, but whatever. It’s a joyous occasion, and I can’t get my panties in a bunch anyway. They’re stretched too tight.
