Five weeks, some days

Yup, that's pretty much what we have left to end this race if our Hippo decides to stay inside until his due date (November 19th). Forty-three-days-to-go. Scary. 

I don't know if I'm excited. I suppose it's hard to describe the feeling. Of course I'm looking forward to have the little guy around, well, around on the outside, but at the same time, I am not sure if I'm ready. Not so much ready for motherhood itself, as I believe you can never really be prepared for something as random and unpredictable; it's much more about being more or less anxious about the whole labour and delivery thing. But can one be really prepared for that? Hm. I suppose. Some women say that they can, or could be, while some, from what I can see, don't really care much about what is going to happen there.

Well, I care. Probably even a bit too much. 

I'm a pretty big control freak, but at the same time, I'm aware that this particular event won't really be something I will organize and manage the way I'm used to. While it's good to have some plans and general, uhm, guidelines, I'm fairly sure that the little Hippo, as well as my body, will actually lead the way. I'm not scared of pain, as weird as it sounds, but some other things terrify me to at least some degree: puking and C-section. The first one is just an old irrational fear of mine, while the second happens to be something I really would not like to be put through. I know they are sometimes necessary and, yes, I'm aware of the fact that it still might happen for some reason, but I just don't want it. It's too hard to even imagine being conscious and right there, while they cut you open and whatnot. Ick. At the same time, though, I'm fairly sure I wouldn't agree to be put fully under either. 

Another thing I know I don't want is an epidural. Ick, again. I suppose the main thing about this one is some sort of a, hm, primal instinct, perhaps? Basically, I need my legs. I need to know that, if I have to, I can use them. Granted, it's really highly unlikely that I will start running away from the scene, out of my room, then out of the hospital and whatnot, but I need to know that I can, okay? I guess that's the animal in me speaking. If I can't run, I'm not safe. So please shoo that thing away from me. (We had our preregistration meeting at the hospital the other day and I did put in my chart that I would not like to be offered any drugs at all. I said I'd request them myself if I really wanted some, instead.)

Speaking of all this hospital-related stuff, I suppose I should finally pack my bag, too. I have most of the things ready, as in lying around and/or existing in the first place, but they are not organized, let alone folded into some sort of an actual bag or a suitcase. (What does one even take in, anyway? A carry-on bag? Or a full-sized suitcase?!) People around me, well, mainly those from my online group of mothers-to-be whose due date is also in November, talk a lot about their babies' coming home outfits, so I assume that's something we should pick, too. Hm. Well, I hate planning outfits in advance even for myself, let alone somebody else. Argh. At least all the diapers are ready. Washed (several times), stuffed and put away. I wonder if Hippo will even fit in his collection of the smallest, newborn ones. Last time the doctor measured him, which was in September, around 31 weeks, he was estimated to be 1990 grams (4lb 3 oz). 75th percentile, if I remember correctly. Piggy-hippo! I hope I won't be delivering a giant, to be honest. Even though, as long as it's manageable and doesn't include puking, I suppose I'll gladly push out a ten pounder, too. 

Hmm. What else to say? Not much, I suppose, for now at least. After nearly a month and a half of no posts, I shouldn't just overdo it, right?

I also have absolutely no pictures to show. Hippo is too big to fit into an ultrasound printout and is, actually, to hard to see on the screen, too. I get to watch him move pretty much all the time, though. He pushes and pokes and rearranges the furniture, err organs, pretty much all day long. Well, okay, he's more of a night owl, just like his parents.

As for his parents, we're doing fine, too. Excited, anxious a bit, but overall more or less ready for the unknown. Or so we think. :panic_mode_on: 

I really don't mind this whole pregnancy deal. Sure, life is getting a bit harder now, but I'm still very far from feeling miserable. I wish I could sleep more, but that's about it. Okay, I have to admit that I hate going to work now, too. All the countless hours of sitting are outright killing me. I feel better when I have to walk all day.

Off to bed with me now!