Jen in Her 30s Weeks of Pregnancy
The standard length of human gestation is 40 weeks, dated from the last menstrual period. The whole 9 months thing is an approximation that more or less works out to the same amount of time. My estimated due date is set for November 14th, which means that yesterday would place me at 8 months pregnant. Today I am at 35+5, meaning 35 weeks and 5 days. I’ve stopped remembering actual dates. Everything is put in terms of weeks and days.
Time is going fast. It seems like only a few days ago that I posted on Facebook that I was 30 weeks pregnant, and now I’m suddenly approaching 36 weeks. Four weeks and two days until my due date. I’m both ready for pregnancy to be over and massively unprepared.
Earlier in pregnancy, I had decided that I would work up to labour. Now, I’m not so sure. All I do is sit on a sofa, writing blog posts on a laptop. Yet this makes me entirely exhausted. Completely drained. Standing up is an effort. Staying awake is an effort. If I have any task to complete in a given day, that’s all I can do.
It’s all hit me fairly quickly. A few weeks ago, as I hit the 30-week mark, I wasn’t quite so exhausted. I foolishly thought that this was my reprieve from all the difficulties pregnancy could throw at me. Yes, I was knocked by hyperemesis. Yes, I was hit with pelvic girdle pain. But maybe the third trimester would be the one I sailed through.
The third trimester has been, by far, the easiest. It’s been full of appointments, but there haven’t been any new acronyms. There have been birth plans that take into account all the lovely little things that make me high risk, from brain to blood. And there has been exhaustion. Mental exhaustion, physical exhaustion, and horrible overheating.
I described my early pregnancy as a hangover without the fun the night before. Late pregnancy is the comedown of prescription stimulants without the fun of ever having been chemically alert. It’s the feeling of having been awake for far too long, that point where the bungee cord snaps you back and you have no clue what the hell you were doing or thinking or why you’re looking at whatever it is you’re looking at. It’s the point where you’re exhausted, but not exactly tired. Your brain has shut down for the evening, and your body wants to follow, but something is still preventing them from just letting you sleep.
I know the pregnancy exhaustion is meant to be nothing compared to the having a baby exhaustion. I know that dealing with a newborn is supposed to be much more tiring and exhausting and all-consuming. But I just don’t know. The past 30-odd weeks have proven to me that everything that is meant to be anything is a big load of crap. They have reinforced that everyone has a different experience of things, and that the experiences of others can be something for comparison, but aren’t a guide of what I will actually experience.
So I’m riding out these last few weeks. I might accept defeat, admitting that I’m too tired to do things. I might push myself to my very limits. Either way, sometime between now and November 28, I’ll have a baby. That’s pretty cool.