39 weeks today... As a comparison, I'm going to start with the 37 week picture (these are not pregnancy clothes, by the way -- they were my pajamas, actually):
Now here's 39 weeks. Notice that this time I didn't wipe down the mirror...
One thing I've been struck by is how much posture makes a difference in how I carry. Here's a shot of me slumping:
Suddenly baby looks much bigger. The moral? Stand up straight.
As I strolled the other evening, I indulged in a pretty little fantasy that this might be the last time I'd be nine months pregnant. I have other mind games I play: I've predicted the day baby will be born based on the steady patterns of the last four. This is a dangerous frame of mind to be locked into, as if there's one thing that can't be predicted it's a birth, and yet it's always worked this way in the past... But once I start questioning my scheduling predictions, everything is up for grabs. What if baby has six fingers on one hand? What if she's deaf? What if she's born with Down's Syndrome or Tay-Sachs disease or a tooth? This is the dumb stuff that keeps me up at night.
And then, on the night of the full moon I laid in bed and watched the moon glowing behind the clouds that blew in wisps and masses across the sky. Every now and then a pair of bats would swoop past my window, darting and twining. How appropriate it would be for baby to come tonight, I thought, especially since her name is connected with the moon. But the hours passed and baby slept resolutely, and finally I did the same.
Caesar Sunday: Jet Li Edition
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