Tonight, I’m going to take the final ritodrine pill. It’s both a relief and terrifying. It’s a relief because the shakiness and palpitations that shit of a pill gives me are definitely not something I’m going to miss. It’s scary because the contractions never really went away completely and I’m not sure what’s going to happen next.
Tomorrow, I’ll be 35 weeks pregnant and since we’re one hour from midnight and I don’t believe I’m in labour, it seems reasonable to assume that we’re about to clear that hurdle. I needed to get to 35 weeks just to be able to deliver at the women’s hospital I’ve been going to. I love that cafe at the university hospital, but it definitely doesn’t mean I want to stay there.
Six weeks ago, reaching 35 weeks didn’t seem so much of a challenge. It seems foolish now, but I was so convinced this baby was going to be late. I mean, I was damn sure of it – wondering if I really should be starting maternity leave as soon as September clicked over to October, expecting that I might still be in hospital or even in the throes of labour when my mother arrived, things like that.
Now? Dr. I talks about 37 weeks. She does this pessimistic thing, where she tells me how bad things could get as a way of making how things currently are seem that bit more acceptable. Maybe this little monkey baby and I do actually have a realistic chance of reaching full-term? I don’t know. I doubt it, though.
I really would like a little bit more time, though. Just a bit. There are selfish, stupid things I want to do, like watch the grand final, read those baby books I’ve ordered online and go for an actual walk. There’s the fact everyone else is planning around the actual due date, whether it be Mum and her flights or R and his limited days off.
But, most importantly, we’re not ready yet. Still, I have things to buy and prepare, a need to get this house more baby-friendly, the few ESL lessons I still have scheduled to teach. We’re not completely disorganised, no, and I appreciate that there’s a point where we are never mentally going to be ready for a baby, but just a little longer would be good on so many fronts. Just a couple of weeks more, please, little monkey baby/angry uterus?