19 days and counting down. This child feels as though he’ll never arrive, and at the same time I stare at that number and think it can’t be right. But then I try to move and it’s glaringly obvious – I am most definitely 37 weeks pregnant. This is not something I care to repeat in my life. Once is enough when it comes to pregnancy. I can honestly say that while the majority of this has been smooth sailing, this last month is torture. I don’t enjoy the kicks and hiccups baby gets anymore (it just hurts these days), and I’m firmly of the belief that if men had to go through pregnancy, too, there’d be very little debate on access to birth control and other contraceptives.
Being, well, me, I’ve managed to get just about everything done already in preparation for this kid. And now I’m left wandering aimlessly around the house. I’m officially bored, which really says something because I’m usually the person who can find things to occupy my time easily. The problem is that nothing is comfortable anymore, which means no sitting and knitting, no movies, no zoo visits, no gardening, no standing in the kitchen baking up a storm… I feel useless. Completely and totally useless.
I need something to occupy my time so I don’t go completely insane dwelling on my discomfort. I feel the need for some grand project – something I can really look forward to working on. I’m probably insane and should be looking forward to not doing anything these next few weeks but that’s really just not my style.
