39 weeks.

I'm 39 weeks today. 

This is a weird feeling, considering my last pregnancy ended abruptly with the emergency delivery of Rhys and Quin at 33 weeks. 

As of my appointment with the midwife today, the baby is no longer breech...following a week that consisted of three visits with a chiropractor who specializes in the Webster technique, lots of DIY moxibustion, a heavy dose of Pulsitilla, hours of inversion, and a totally fast, painless, and successful version.  I'm so thankful that we're back on course for the VBAC, even if I am still reeling from the stress of the situation and dealing with it like an uninhibited ninety-year old woman with a knack for saying all the inappropriate things that cross her mind and no thoughts of apologies. 

Now we wait.

On the one hand, I love the waiting.  I have something awesome about to happen - I don't know when or how or what it will be like, but at this point birth is pretty much a guarantee.  Though I did see a TLC show once about a woman who had been pregnant for something like sixty years.  But that unfortunate woman aside, this kind of feels like when you have a box full of maple sugar candy in front of you and not even one has been nibbled yet, and you know you're about to go hide in a corner somewhere and just gorge yourself.  The delicious anticipation.  If you're not from a maple sugar candy area, I'm sorry.

And then on the other hand, there's the reality that the time between now and delivery may seem short to those who are not carrying an extra human being in their womb while chasing two toddlers around all day, but for those of us who happen to be in that boat, well, OH MY GOD HOW AM I GOING TO GET THROUGH NEXT WEEK BECAUSE THE DAYS ARE SOOOO LONG AND THERE IS STILL SNOW ON THE GROUND AND THE WEATHER ISN'T LOOKING LIKE WE'LL BREAK THE FORTY DEGREE MARK IN THE NEXT FIVE TO SEVEN DAYS.

And I want to see her.  I want to see her eyes, and whether or not she has hair, and if she looks like Rhys or Quin or Kyle or me or none of us...I want to experience this birth process that I've been fascinated with for as long as I can remember...

I'm so close and so far.  I try to settle in and remember that it's always more exciting to have the full box of maple sugar candy rather than just the empty wrappers with a few maple crumbs in the corner of the box, but then I remember that that's a terrible metaphor because in this case instead of empty wrappers I get an actual baby that I get to keep.

So there's that.

I thought writing might help me find a nice Zen place.  Instead I find that since I rarely write anymore, I'm rusty, which means my writing is 1. of poor quality and 2. hardly satisfying.

Instead of some nice Zen insight, I offer a crude summary:

• Baby is, at this point, head down. 
• VBAC plans are, at this point, a go. 
• I am, at this point, excited and anxious as shit.

to capture it.

It was a year ago yesterday that we learned we were finally going to have a baby. So much was wrapped into the emotion of that day. The end of a journey. The start of a journey.

Life really is beautiful.

(Thank you, Jill, for the beautiful belly pictures)

Wanting

I remember in college once making the remark that I didn't "believe" in infertility treatments. That couples who couldn't have children should adopt one of the tens of thousands of children alone in this world without parents. I remember being disgusted at the millions of self-absorbed dollars that were thrown at the fertility industry. At those poor, driven women who would stop at nothing for a child of their own.

I can almost remember what it felt like to assume that I knew something. What it felt like to believe. To take for granted the fact that I would have my own children. So much so that I didn't even stop to consider compassion.

Having is a weak emotion. Having lets you loosen your grip. Lets you get careless. Wanting is where the strength is, the passion.

These days I grasp for dear life to my mind's picture of my maybe child. Those small, curling fingers. Tiny feet, miniature toenails. All of the love in the world renewed.

My linen closet is stacked with drugs. I have crisp white paper bags full of syringes that terrify me. Small glass vials of clear liquid. I brought them home and proceeded to reorganize the entire closet to make room. To give the impression of calm control. Everything is okay in a house with neatly folded towels.

Any fear, any hope, is hidden quietly among the sheets.