The journey, Part 3

The weeks skipped by and oh-so-slowly my tummy started to grow.  

We found out that we were having a girl and my nose was continually in the baby name books.  I would lie in bed, sucking crackers and elbowing my sleeping spouse every time I found a good name. He would mumble affirmatively to any and all name suggestions, then claim ignorance the next morning when I assured him that we had discussed and settled on a certain name the night before!   

After a bit of marital disharmony, we finally settled on Chloe Elizabeth.  It must be the most beautiful name in the whole wide happy world. Baby Chloe was joyfully moving around much of the night and sleeping during the daylight hours.  This was difficult since I was accustomed to a slightly different schedule.   Daddy talked to baby every night and I had sworn off eating anything resembling unhealthy food for fear of hurting the baby.   Life was cozy and happy and sweet and quiet. I glowed and tossed my shiny hair frequently.  I bought stylish maternity clothes and smiled at everyone.  The world was a witness that being pregnant equals being happy and I was a shining monument to that very fact. 

Well,we had ridden the lovely highs of the second trimester and we seemed to be descending into the dark valley of the third.   My step was not so bouncy.  In fact,my ankles seemed to have fully morphed into my legs.  Chloe’s kicking was no longer anticipated, but was borne with a grunt and a grimace.   It took three stalwart men to pull me off the couch.   I no longer needed to practice my pregnant waddle b/c it was the only walk I could perform.  Heels were definitely out of the question.  I stopped informing the general public that I was pregnant b/c they really didn’t have any doubts.    

I don’t think that people were being kind by opening doors or stepping aside,allowing me to go first.  No, I think that they were dubious that I had any kind of maneuverability or braking action whatsoever and so were nimble for their very lives. 

We were now not counting months, but weeks, and then, suddenly, days.   I no longer could hug my husband with my kettle sized stomach.  We had adapted to hugging sideways.   I could no longer reach the sink to do the dishes, nor tie my shoes. I was, alarmingly,  too big for even my maternity clothes.  

I never really realized that this was possible. 

We were 3 days away from the Due Date, and we were miserable, each of us for differing reasons.  I wanted baby out and I’m sure that hubby wanted to live with a sane woman again.  My ever-so-intelligent midwife suggested that we have (clinically put by her) "intercourse" to move things along. Well, that suspiciously sounded like sex and that was OUT of the question at this stage.  When theupper part of your torso rests on the lower part…….need I finish? Every ounce of energy and thought, every conversation seemed to center around "The Date". 

And then…….. The“first contraction”……..what excitement! What joy!  It was 1:30 a.m. and I awakened my snoring spouse. He leapt out of bed with a panicked look on his face and grabbed his watch.  Now we needed to time the contractions!   

We will do this diligently!  

We will follow every step on the bullet pointed sheet that is laying on the nightstand!!! We waited with baited breath. 

Nothing. 

 Chris frowned and checked the bullet pointed sheet for, um, pointers. 

An hour later, my husband was snoring again and I was lying awake, willing labor to start.  I did not care if labor was going to be the most horrific time of my life, I just desperately, insanely needed this small person to leave my bodily premises.   Immediately!   I will be a much more pleasant person to be around, I justknow it!  

Please, baby!


To Be Continued......