35 weeks and two

Steve will be chauffeuring me to my appointment this afternoon for a Non-Stress Test, BP check and protein urinalysis. Fun times. He’ll get to hear his son’s heart chugging away on the monitor and I will remain as calm as I possibly can knowing full well that my homebound freedom can be taken away at any moment. My BP continues to creep up. I have yet to take it this morning, knowing that I am better off waiting until breakfast settles and the water I’ve drank is into my system.

Each day when I shower the soap grazes the spots on my arms where the IV tape and the various other needle stick bandages were. The tiny pinhole from my IV is fading, but present. That tape is a menace and though each time I get out of the shower fully intending on baby oiling them away, I choose to leave them instead. They remind me where I was more than a week ago. They remind me how far we’ve come since then, more than a full week of gestation and ok, while I admit I should just wash the tape marks off my arms – gross – they are like badges of courage in some kooky way, reminders of what can be if I am not careful in another.

There is nothing left to do but wait. Steve continues to manage the house, taking care of dinner prep, dinner clean up, toddler lunch creation, bath time, the bazillion trips to her room when she claims she is tired and ready for bed, but really just wants to play. He fetches me glass after glass of water, sits with me while I take my blood pressure, reassures me even with a kind glance that things are going to be ok. He asks questions throughout the day, maintaining our connection even when he isn’t here; “how’s he doing?” “how’s the bp?” “did you nap?” I feel unprepared for labor and yet I know that with him by my side I have nothing to worry about. He reminds me that we’re already halfway to adding another week, the elusive week 36. I don’t know how people can do this without a supportive spouse like Steve. I know he’ll tell me later that he doesn’t feel like he is doing all that much, that the kudos aren’t deserved, but remind him please that they are.

We’re bringing along the hospital bags and the camera to the appointment, hoping that Murphy’s Law prevails and the prepared parents to be will be sent home to sit on their butts and wait some more.


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