One Last Day.

After 39 weeks and five days, I've finally reached the end of this particular journey. Tomorrow, my daughter will be born and it'll be time to start the next adventure. My mood? Highly changeable, to say the least.

I'm excited, of course. I can't wait to finally meet this little person that we've created. To count her fingers and her toes. Analyze her features and try to decide who she looks most like. And maybe, just maybe, finally pick a name for her (her grandma sure would appreciate it if we did).

But, unexpectedly, I'm also a little sad. I think I'm going to miss having her all to myself. I wonder if my belly will feel strangely empty without her squirming around in there all the time...

And then it's back to excited, for completely selfish reasons. I know I'm headed for a period of Extreme Sleep Deprivation, but when I do get some shut eye, I can sleep on my back! Or my stomach! Or hanging upside down from the ceiling, if I want!

And I'll be able to see my toes!

And tie my shoes!

And maybe, just maybe, put on something slightly more fitted than a circus tent by the end of the summer!

All happy things. But lordy, am I nervous about the actual procedure. No matter how many people tell me that getting a C-section is the easy peasy way to have a baby, the whole surgery thing freaks me out just a little bit. And honestly? It feels like I'm cheating. Skipping out on the hard part.

But I'm sure I'll get over that. Because, people? By this time tomorrow, I'M GOING TO BE A MOMMY. For reals. Let's all stop and appreciate the perfect insanity of that statement (it'll give me time to quit hyperventilating).

I think it's time to retreat to my happy place now. The one filled with cute high-heeled shoes, chilled white wine and bloody steak.

Ahhhh, that's better.

The Final Countdown.

I don't remember who sings it, but "The Final Countdown" is indeed looping in my head, over and over and over and over again. Why? Well, besides being 39 weeks pregnant, I've got the C-section scheduled, which means that unless she decides to make an early appearance, Baby Girl Page will arrive on Friday, April 3, sometime between 9 and 10 in the morning.

And I'd just like to pause for a minute to tell you how weird that feels. Not just that I am going to be a mom in less than five days, but that I was able to pick her birthday. Literally fit her arrival into a time slot that's convenient for me.

Here's how it worked. I met with the doctor again, who after telling me all the gory details about how much blood I'd lose (about 1.5 liters, for those of you who are too curious for your own good), what the increased risks were (surprise! death again), and how much recovery sucks (badly, but then, so does having a baby come out the regular way), said, "alrighty then, just go talk to the scheduler on the way out, and we'll get this baby out of you!"

So I did.

And after poking around on her computer for a while, she informed me that I could have my baby on Tuesday or Friday, which sounded better?

Uhhhh, I dunno. That's not a decision I expected to have to make.

But then the practical side of my personality kicked in and informed me that Friday would be more convenient for my husband, give me more time to clear my schedule at work, etc, etc. So Friday it is.

Which means she still doesn't have a name, but she has a birthday.

It's a strange world we live in, isn't it?

One Month To Go.

Yesterday marked the beginning of the one-month countdown to baby delivery time. That should seem pretty scary. And honestly, sometimes the thought, “Holy crap, I’m going to have a baby in less than a month,” crosses my mind, and my body’s flight or fight instinct takes over.

My heart pounds. My brain bleats in panic. And I start searching anywhere and everywhere for a responsible adult to take charge. Then I remember, I’m supposed to be the grown-up now.

Which pushes me straight into “I want my mommy” mode.

But she’s seven hours away. Of course, I know if I were to call her up and start howling in her ear, she’d panic and show up at my door in approximately 7.5 hours—faster if sheer force of will could propel her there.

Fortunately, so far, I’ve resisted the urge.

The good news is that these moods are the exception rather than the rule. More often, I find myself getting all warm and fuzzy at the thought of actually meeting my baby. I’ll sit in the big recliner we moved into her room and imagine curling up there with her in my arms. Or I’ll go through her closet, trying to picture an actual baby in those tiny doll clothes. I’ll play with her music box, re-fold her onesies, smooth the sheet in her crib…all with a goofy smile on my face.

I can’t wait to stroll around the neighborhood on warm spring evenings with her, my husband and our dog—our family finally complete.

I look forward to working in my garden, chattering to her as I show her the latest flowers.

Heck, I’m even excited to have company when I’m awake at 3:30 in the morning, marveling at how quiet the world is.

As my husband recently remarked, “Even though she’s not here yet, I can’t imagine our lives without her now.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

My stomach is alive and other random notes.

A couple of mornings ago, I was sitting at my computer, typing away, when I looked down and saw the strangest thing—my stomach was twitching from side to side, all on its own.  It looked like some weird special effect from a sci fi movie or something. I almost expected a little green alien to burst out and start doing the macarena.

Such is life in the eighth month of pregnancy.

Other fun highlights?

Childbirth education class. This week, we talked about the wild and wacky world of pain medication during labor, with a particular emphasis on epidurals. Now, I don't know how much you have heard about this "regional anesthetic," but I can tell you, I now know far, far too much.

I know exactly where in your spine they put it in. How much it hurts (supposedly not at all). All the risks and benefit (surprise, it can kill you!). And, thanks to a teacher who has apparently never heard the phrase "too much information," what the catheter, and yes, even the needle, looks like (big. and scary.).

But, not being a big fan of pain, I'm pretty sure I still want one. I'll just have to make sure my husband's out of the room first—even hearing about it was enough to make him dizzy. I don't think he needs to see it done to his wife. Although, by that point, he might feel like jabbing sharp needles into me himself...

Of course, he probably gets that feeling several times a day. My hormones are, well, a bit crazy lately. So he might find himself getting snarled at if he fails to guess correctly what I want for dinner. Or confusedly grabbing tissues for a suddenly  sobbing me when moments before I'd been laughing my head off.  Or nudging me awake when I drift off mid-sentence.

But at 34 weeks, I make no apologies. I'm doing the best I can, and so is he. I'm sure in the end, it'll all be worth it.

In the Home Stretch...But Not Close Enough.

According to my super high tech calculations (even copywriters can count days on the calendar), I have exactly 74 days left until the timer pops out and I'm officially done. And that, were I to be feeling rational, would be a scarily small number.

But today? I'm not feeling at all rational. Nope, right now, I'm ready to  get this show on the road. Don't get me wrong. I want her to be as fully baked as possible before she enters the world, but as for actually being pregnant? I'm over it.

Why? Well, gosh, I thought you'd never ask. Here, in no particular order, are my top ten third trimester complaints.

10. I'm tired of being tired. And yes, all you veteran parents out there, I know  I'm about to be a lot more tired, but these pointlessly sleepless nights are getting to me. At least once she's here, I'll have a good reason for being exhausted.

9. I hate maternity jeans. Make that HATE them. And I'm really sick of being faced with the choice of either hitching up my pants every five minutes or wandering around with the crotch around my knees.

8. Hemorrhoids are supposed to be for old people. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

7. I'd like to be able to breathe again. This feeling like I've run a marathon thing every time I climb the stairs, talk too long or chew my food too well is for the birds.

6. Speaking of food, I really miss being able to eat like a normal human. Right now I go from starving to ohmygodI'mgoingtopuke full in about 2.5 seconds. And that stinks.

5. Wine. I miss wine. A lot.

4. Aerobics videos drive me crazy. Real human beings are not supposed to be that perky. Especially while sweating. How I long for a good old fashioned run...

3. I've never been so achey. My back hurts. My hips hurt. I get charley horses. It sucks.

2. I'm going through cute shoe withdrawal. These days, even tying my shoes is tough. I'm not going to even attempt to stuff my bloated toes into my pretty little heels.

1. I want my body back. Sure, everybody says I look cute, but then they have to. I only have to look at the ever escalating numbers on the scale to know they're all LYING!

And that's my top ten list. Thanks for playing along, kids. I promise to try and be more fun the next time I post.