All things considered, I had a great 39 weeks and 6 days of pregnancy. I didn’t hate being pregnant, and I didn’t want Maya out the way many women feel towards the end of their pregnancies. In fact, I would have been content to carry her around a little longer than I did. I never got too huge and was still able to touch my toes the day I delivered, and because I gave birth in December, I never dealt with being very pregnant + hot and sweaty and miserable. My nearly 40 weeks spent pregnant were good ones.
Weeks.
When you’re pregnant, you tend to focus on weeks — wanting to rush ahead to the next week to either get to the “safe zone” (for me — I never felt “safe,” but for many, that’s around the 14/15-week mark). Then, maybe it’s to feel a kick (it was 18 weeks for me) see a real bump (around 20 weeks for me) or to know what size fruit your baby resembles at the moment (kiwi, lemon, papaya, etc). Then as it gets closer to your due date, you’re counting down the weeks til your due date … praying to make it to the 34/36/38 week mark.
It’s all about weeks. Continue reading “As the weeks fly by …”