The Waiting Game

I’m 38.5 weeks along now, and the household is definitely filled with anticipation.  And as much as I’d love to go early, I’d have to say the kids are by far the antsiest.  I’m normally late and am resolved to the same fate this time, but I honestly feel like I’m about to pop and would be thrilled for things to get moving any time now.

My Braxton-Hicks contractions have become increasingly frequent and intense, which I’ve come to expect (and they do not fool me one bit!) but it’s difficult to make the little ones understand why these contractions do not mean I’m in labor.  Elisabeth asks me every day when I’m going to have the baby, and just two nights ago Hannah was convinced my labor had started (even though I assured her it had not) and went to bed full of wishful thinking.

After a fitful night’s “sleep,” I awoke later than normal and after all the kids were up.  I momentarily thought it would be fun to wrap up a bundle in pink and blue and call downstairs for everyone to “come see who I’m holding,” then immediately decided it would be a very cruel joke to play.  Still, everyone laughed and laughed at breakfast when I told them what I’d considered doing, and said it would have been so much fun if I had played that prank on them.  But I know it was much more fun having only talked about it; otherwise, I’d have surely had some consoling to do.

Everyone is pitching in and helping out more, especially with chores that require extensive bending or stretching on my part.  For instance, dishes are kind of tricky when your belly nearly prevents you from even reaching the faucet, and getting clothes out of the dryer is nigh unto impossible.  It sure is handy having short little people in the house who can easily pick up things when I drop them or retrieve items from the back of the lower kitchen cabinets.  But if no one is nearby to help pick up, I put my toes to good use because, notwithstanding the swelling, third-trimester moms necessarily have toes with impressive dexterity.

Along with extra help, I’m also getting lots of moral support here.  Just this week, in response to my muttering something about a hippopotamus, one of my children spoke up and said, “Mom, your belly IS enormous, but it’s not FAT—it’s baby—so that’s okay.”  Ahh, thanks.  That makes me feel ever so much better.

And so we all wait. . . . but hopefully not much longer.