142 lbs. (Yes, that's less than
last time. Evidently,
horrible stomach illnesses and an ever bigger baby pushing on my stomach, which makes me not hungry, are helping me out here at the end.) And I'm term. I met with the midwife on Wednesday, who told me that I should "call if I need" them. She also said that Vanderbilt is really strict about the GBS thing and would make the baby stay for 48 hours whether she got the antibiotics during delivery or not, so we know we're looking a full 48-hour post-partum stay. Save three shifts next week, we're prepared for Wes to take full care of Oliver while I'm in the hospital, so it's important for us to know there'll be no early discharge this time. There was no vaginal exam (in my experience, they usually don't until 40 weeks), so I've no idea if there's any progress towards labor, and any dilation or effacement wouldn't be a promise of that anyway. She told me to come back in 7-10 days, so I'm scheduled for this Friday (10 days) and hoping I don't have to go! I've been having lots of Braxton Hicks contractions, which might be part of why I'm not always sleeping well, and last night I'm pretty sure I had some real contractions -- which led me to wake up thinking I might be spending the day in labor. Instead, I spent it in Wal-mart and Lowe's with Wes and Oliver.
I feel, in the interest of full disclosure, that I should admit that the end of this pregnancy has not been the most fun. I preface it with that because I really and truly do not mean to complain. I have my whiny moments, but in a contemplative space like this, I'm hardly going to whine about the few discomforts that come with such a wonderful and miraculous event. Wonders and miracles aside, though, I don't want anyone to think that there isn't some discomfort with the process, or that all pregnant women feel great and go on to smooth and easy deliveries. I know that there are friends and even some extended family members who read this who are pregnant themselves, looking at what's ahead, or thinking about becoming pregnant or comparing theirs to mine, and I don't want to make it seem like it's all roses and daisies. It's worth it -- for sure. I'd put up with all again in a heartbeat for more kids. But this time around, as I've mentioned, has been harder. My sleep is mixed now. Some nights, like last night, are pretty good and I wake up feeling mostly rested. Some nights, like Christmas Eve, are bad, and I wake up feeling groggy and fatigued but simply cannot fall asleep. My back is sore, as are my hips. [TMI warning here: Read ahead at your own risk.] My breasts are tender, and there are things leaking all over the place. And to add injury to insult, I have now developed something I'd heard about when pregnant with Oliver but somehow never suffered with -- hemorrhoids. One in particular is large and terribly uncomfortable. If I spend much of the day sitting upright or standing or lifting things -- which is basically how I spend every day, all day -- I'm constantly in pain down there. I'm applying the normal salves and such for the situation, but Roy, as I've affectionately named him, has no plans on retiring until the baby comes out and removes her head from my groin. He is simply unwilling to negotiate. I'm sure it will make labor and delivery that much more fun.
That said, the biggest difference between the end of this pregnancy and the last is how ready I am to have her out. I don't know if it's because I'm uncomfortable. I mean, the first week or so after a delivery is usually not full of good rest and physical comforts, what with the healing and bleeding and the sweating and the breastfeeding. I don't know if it's because I'm not in the midst of something else that is consuming all my attention -- like teaching school, which is what I was doing last time. And, in fact, I'm actually counting down the days until I have to go back to that something else -- being
in school -- and want her here for as much of that time as possible. Or most likely, it's that this time, I have some idea of what I'm looking forward to, what it's like to go through labor and delivery and see that person who's been poking her foot in my side for weeks now. What it's like to hold her and smell her and dress her. And looking forward to seeing her with her daddy and brother. I keep telling her how great they are, that she needs to come out and meet them. If a kid were ever ready for and wanting a sibling, it's Oliver. I feel no guilt about ending his days as an only child or making him "not the baby" (which he certainly is not, even without a younger sibling). And so, I wake up every morning wondering, Is today the day? Something I never went through with Oliver, even though he didn't really come early. I know, on the one hand, that she'll probably be here in the next 2 weeks. But I also know that it could still be 4 more if she were to come really late for some reason, which is scary. I don't want to hang out with Roy that long, and I really, really want to meet her.
Ollie had a lovely Christmas yesterday. He slept late, until after 8am (though I was up at 6:30am since I couldn't sleep). He got dressed and came downstairs to find his workbench all set up. He immediately wanted to play with it and get out his other tools from the toy cabinet. We literally had to coax him to open up the few wrapped presents sitting there. (Note: A two-year-old has enough focus to really love about two or three gifts at the holidays. While he's played with everything he got -- only a few more than this number -- the things he hasn't stopped playing with or talking about are, in order, the workbench, the turtle slippers, and his baseball pajamas.) In addition to the workbench, he got two books (ones I read as a kid that feature Sesame Street characters), two $1 puzzles from Target, and a $1 wooden airplane also from Target, which has already lost its wings. On Thursday night he opened up a gift from Grandma Kay, some footed pajamas with a baseball on them, and either that night or Wednesday night, when we were having a meltdown over taking off his shoes, I got out the turtle slippers as a bribe (yes, even I give in sometimes). He has some more highly-touted (and I've no doubt, deservedly so) gifts coming from my parents and my sister and brother-in-law, which he'll get to open Tuesday when my folks are here for a visit, which might be just enough time for him to break his focus on the workbench and open up something else. 
He has basically played with workbench every minute he's been inside since yesterday morning. He loves his workbench. He's colored on the paper roll, clamped things, used his hammers and screwdrivers and wrenches interchangeably, figuring out what works on which bolts. He likes to open the drawers and the door to the shelves and moves the pegs on the pegboard around. Basically, he just loves the thing. An unexpected gift yesterday was some fresh snow on the ground. It started snowing Christmas even and has been on and off until this morning. It's now getting a little warmer and even a bit sunny, so I doubt it will last much longer. Oliver wanted to play in it as soon as he got up yesterday but waited until after his nap (yes, a nap!) to go out with Wes, who was rummaging around the garage. Our neighbor, Renee, came over with a bone for Lucy and a foam football for Oliver. Wes and Ollie managed to play with it only briefly before Lucy, who becomes frisky as a puppy in the snow, absconded with it and tore about half of it off, which naturally moved Ollie to tears. He's asked to go out and play with it several times since then. All the snow play, now for two years, sent us to Wal-mart today for rubber boots, snow pants (3T so we can get some extended use out of them), and extra mittens. He's been soaking every pair of pants and shoes he has.
