I got a call tonight. Congratulations! My c-section has been scheduled. By January 28th I am guaranteed to have a baby in my arms and to... wait for it... not be pregnant any more. I should be bouncing off the walls with a d-day. A specific, firm date in which this whole pregnancy nonsense will finally be over. But I'm not over the moon. For probably three reasons:
#1- I am excruciatingly aware that it is easier to have a baby in the tummy than screaming at you from a bassinet.
#2- I am not used to being pregnant for this long and I want him to come sooner. With the twins I "made it" to 36 weeks. That would be the equivalent of three weeks from now. And you know what? I would be ok with that. Of course, I want a super-healthy baby. (the girls were super-healthy at 36 wks) But I'm uncomfortable, crabby, and kind of miserable. I can't tie my shoes anymore. And that's humiliating on the most basic of levels.
#3- One of the many "staffers" of this pregnancy put the idea in my head that I most likely would deliver by the middle of January. I have clung to his idea. Because I like it. It will be closer to the girls birthday and make my whole squishing-all-the-birthdays-into-one-party idea less guilt inducing. Even though it may mean having my parents far away on the other side of the globe while new baby comes into the world. But this desire is purely selfish on all fronts. I'm aware of that, but I still can't stop thinking about it.
Oh! And then there's the doctor telling me that the twins had pretty much "destroyed" (actual quote, there) my insides last go around, and that I will be pretty... uncomfortable (putting it nicely) until he arrives. Thanks girls, for trashing the place on your way out. (LOVE YOU!)