37

Here’s a bit of honesty for you: I don’t like being pregnant. There’s this weird pressure to be in good spirits (which is impossible to be at all times no matter the state of your uterus), deny the anxiety of impending childbirth (which really hurts) and be ok with people who are not medical professionals asking you if you’re dilated (which is super off-putting).

I am extremely grateful that I have not had fertility issues and that I have the ability to bring  babies into the world. However, actually being pregnant is not my idea of a good time. The third trimester practice contractions, getting stuck on the couch, constant need to waddle to the bathroom aspects of being this close to meeting my girl are not fun.

Granted, it is fun to watch her foot move across the top of my belly and daydream about holding her and singing her lullabies. To me, pregnancy is a necessary means to a much desired end. It is also one of the few times when the journey is most definitely not the destination. The past 37 weeks have certainly happened. Now I just want to meet my Louise. Because that is the point of all of this anyway.

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