As my third trimester rounds out, this final month has seemed like an endless To Do list amongst a flurry of non-stop nesting. On that list has been ‘Write a Damn Blog Post’, waiting to be checked off for weeks now but falling lower and lower among more important tasks such as: dusting all of the baseboards, scrubbing the refrigerator, and steam cleaning the carpets no less than 3 times. You know, all the things that newborns are very concerned about for their homecoming.

But here we are, on the 24th of September and I am finally sitting down to catch up on the last several months before my entire world gets turned upside down and pregnancy is all but a distant memory. Spoiler alert: it’s birth week! As of Thursday, September 28th our twosome will officially become a Party of 3.

We found out a few weeks ago that baby is breech, and all attempts at remedying that situation have failed. No yoga pose, nor inversion, nor chiropractic adjustment proved to be successful. My OB suggested to drink a (small) glass of red wine to get me to relax, followed by chocolate to get baby hyped up, and then getting on all fours and swaying around to try to get baby to turn – yet another fail. Although pregnancy was kind enough to not give me heartburn after the wine/chocolate combo, so really, I’d call that a win.

The internet even suggested things such as “gently express your sincerest desires to baby and ask it to turn head-down”. Unsurprisingly, Baby H did not respond to sound reasoning. I like to think that is because it is stubborn like his/her father and it is in there saying, “I’m not moving. If you want me to get out of here, you’re going to have to come get me!”

My final option was to try an external version, which would have involved going to the hospital, getting an epidural, being wheeled into the operating room, and having an OB try to manually flip the baby. I would have been all for that, except that even if it was successful they send you home and wait until you go into labor on your own. Which could be another 2+ weeks. Thanks but no thanks. If I’m going through all of that trouble, I damn well better be leaving the OR with a baby in my arms!  So here we are at 38.5 weeks with a C-section scheduled for Thursday, which also happens to be my parent’s wedding anniversary. I hereby win at being the best gift-giver of all time.

As an added bonus, having a scheduled date means that we were able to ensure that World’s Greatest Aunt / Labor & Delivery Nurse Extraordinare – my sister Holly –  will be in the OR with us on D-Day! I can’t think of anyone I’d rather having taking care of baby during its first moments of life than my sister. She has also promised me that she will personally count every piece of surgical equipment afterwards to make sure that a scalpel isn’t accidentally left inside of my uterus.

I am definitely a little disappointed that I won’t be getting to deliver vaginally; it kind of feels like I’m on mile 26 of a marathon and I decide to hitch a ride for the final .2 miles. A little anti-climatic. But on the other hand, after 9 months of pregnancy I am so ready to be DONE, and the prize at the finish line is the same regardless of how you get there.  Plus, the Type A personality in me is happy to be able to have a day on the calendar that baby will be here rather than just sitting around and waiting for the show to start.

I’m a liiiiitle nervous for the C-section recovery, I know it’s going to be rough. But to be honest, most of the first and third trimesters were miserable, so what’s a few more weeks of feeling like crap? The second trimester was wonderful– boundless energy, baby kicks, a cute bump, and dare I say, a pregnancy glow?! I thought I would be one of those people who had a rough first trimester, and then just sailed through the rest of pregnancy like the fertile goddess I am. I was wrong.

Like clockwork, month 7 hit and the third trimester came back to haunt me like the monster in a scary movie that comes back from the dead and brings its friends heartburn, exhaustion, insomnia, and false labor to join the party. Everyone warned me that the last month is the absolute worst, and to that I said “Nay, surely it can’t get worse!”. WRONG AGAIN.

I have to actively remind myself that pregnancy is not forever, and that as painful as it is to have a baby’s skull jammed under my ribcage, I probably won’t be internally crushed to death before the delivery.

When women tell me how much they love being pregnant, they might as well be saying, “You know, I really love being hungover! It just clicks with my body!”. At this point, I would give birth in the middle seat of an airplane on a transatlantic flight if it meant I would be done with pregnancy; how anyone could actually enjoy this is beyond me. Don’t get me wrong: I love the idea of being pregnant. I’m just not loving the physical aspects of pregnancy. It’s kind of like being on a 9 month road trip: you can be excited about the destination while absolutely hating the car ride.

I have my moments of guilt whenever I moan and groan, because this time a year ago we were in the middle of various fertility tests, wondering if it was ever going to happen for us. In spite of all the heartache and backaches that got me to this point, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. I know it will all be worth it come Thursday when we finally get to meet our son or daughter! I can’t even emotionally prepare myself for that moment because I know it will, bar none, the most joyful experience of my life.

Baby H, we are SO excited to meet you.