My nurse this morning told me "You're all baby!" as she hooked me up to the fetal non-stress test machine, which I now do two mornings a week to make sure the baby isn't distressed by my diabetes. (He's not.) And it's true. I've only gained about 15 pounds so far during this pregnancy, probably because of the seven months of puking and now my carefullyish balanced diet. (The Diabeetus is doing fine, also.)
I definitely feel way less whalelike at this point in this pregnancy than I did with Ethan. Heck, if this were my pregnancy with Ethan, he'd be born next week. NEXT WEEK.
"Noah, what if this baby comes early?" I asked not long ago. "We don't even have a bag packed. The infant car seat isn't even installed. They won't let us bring him home from the hospital! And the boys' room wall decor isn't finished!"
My mom suggested that if the new baby saw the unfinished wall decor, he'd probably want to be put back in, and I agree. So there's been stress because of the being sick as a dog with a sinus infection (never had one before! until now, during this pregnancy of non-life-threatening-but-super-annoying occurrences!) that has put me down for well over a week.
Noah helpfully asked if I had a birth plan figured out yet, because having a birth plan is The Thing to Do in the United States, as opposed to what it is in most other countries, where the universal birth plan seems to be "Step 1: Push until baby comes out. Step 2: Move on with life."
In an attempt to feel some sense of control over the rapidly impending birth of our second son, I've come up with a simple yet effective birth plan that I will share with my doctor on Friday morning. At 8:15. Black Friday at 8:15, when I'm hooked up to a fetal monitor instead of cozied up in bed or battling the throngs of horrible humanity for deeply discounted merchandise.
The Birth Plan
I will wake up at 10 a.m. on the day of the baby's birth, after having slept wonderfully for as many hours as I wanted.
After taking a shower and doing my hair and makeup, I'll feel a twinge and realize labor has started. Within an hour, my contractions will be a manageable but steady five minutes apart.
We will go to the hospital, where I'll be placed in the best birthing suite. I'll be given my epidural, then my water will break.
One hour later, I'll be fully dilated and effaced.
I will commence one push followed by a hearty and satisfying sneeze, and the baby will be born.
By 4 p.m., I'll be nestled in the biggest and best maternity room, and having just successfully breastfed my new son, I'll be surrounded by my family, who have brought me a celebratory Jimmy Johns sub sandwich.
Of course I know these birth plans don't ever work out the way you intend, so I'm prepared to be flexible on a number of the main points. Such as what color my hospital gown will be, whether the push or the sneeze comes first, and what sandwich I might order.