… and, one week later, I’ve gained *another* two pounds, putting my weight, at the end of the 36th week, to 150 pounds. Again, all of it right in front of me.
No wonder I’m out of breath when I climb the stairs at work. Good golly, Miz Molly!
Since I’m close to the due date, the good doctor checked my plumbing — i.e. see if the cervix is dilated or not. No change. He also did a swab for strep, which is routine for the 36th week check-up. As with all diagnostic tests, no news is good news, so if I don’t hear from him, then it’s all thumbs up.
And afterwards, we’re in his office, with me filling out disclosure forms in preparation for the delivery, including approving him as the doctor at delivery.
It’s rather surreal. I haven’t even had the baby shower yet (that’s my sister’s planning — should be coming up soon), checked out the hospital where I’ll be delivering Daniel, or even packed an overnight bag.
“Call me *immediately* when you go into labor: contractions that last one minute, are five minutes apart, and are consistent like that for an hour; or your water breaks,” the good doctor says, peering at me over his glasses.
Labor. Right. Labor.
Wow. I’m scared silly. SQUEEEE!
I’ll be having checkups every week, each time checking to see if I’m dilated or not. Whew.
Getting close now…