That's almost 39 weeks of baby, folks.
We met with the "backup" doctor last week -- the OB we'd be transfered to in the event of any emergencies -- and got a surprise ultrasound at his office. We got no pics to take home, but another happy peek at baby's most baby-like hands and knees and nose and chin. A measure of baby's head and femur puts his weight at 7lbs. I'm at 140.
Perhaps that explains the back pain, the swelling, the having to pick up my belly and take it with me when I walk from the couch to the kitchen.
A woman at the grocery store the other day asked if I was ready to pop any day now. Yeah, like a pinata, I thought. An explosion of baby. Must we use words like "pop"?
"Well you'd never know from behind," she said cheerfully.
And, yes, I realize I've been wearing this black shirt through the entire pregnancy. It is stretched to its limit. The countdown is in full swing, as I can think of almost nothing aside from meeting this glorious creature who has been wriggling and squirming in odd corners of my insides...