Tuesday, I had my 36 week appointment. I waited two hours and then I saw a doctor for 5 minutes. Usually, it’s a midwife. But because I’m 36 weeks, I got to see a doctor. (Remember–I’m in the public health system, so that’s how it works.) My fundal height was 2 cm small, which is still in the “normal” category. I’ve been 2 or 3 cm smaller than “normal” all along. All the same, the doctor ordered a CTG, AFI, and S/D just to make sure all was right. He wrote IUGR? on the request form. 
I went back to the hospital first thing on Wednesday morning (good thing I went early–I didn’t wait at all).
I didn’t know what those acronyms meant, so I looked them up. CTG is a cardiotocography test to check the baby’s heartbeat. It also measures contractions when the woman is in labor. Good news! I’m not in labor. Other good news: baby’s heartbeat is completely normal. So normal, in fact, that the woman administering the test told me to give the baby a stern talking to so the heart rate might change a little bit.
AFI is the Amniotic Fluid Index. They check it through an ultrasound, looking at the pockets of amniotic fluid they can see. (By the way, since I had an ultrasound they could confirm: it’s definitely a boy!) I measured in at 9. Average is 5-25, so Paul’s got plenty of cushioning. S/D is something to do with the blood pulsing through the cord. I measured at 1.7, a lower percentile, I guess, but fine. Don’t really know what it means beyond that. IUGR means Intrauterine Growth Restriction. I guess the doctor was worried that if I’m not getting “big enough” that means that the baby’s growth is restricted. Since I’m still getting bigger each week, just consistently smaller than “normal,” I think we can rule that out.
It’s interesting that I showed up for these tests and told the technician that I’m 36 weeks and then she commented on how small I am. Isn’t that why I was there in the first place? Anyway, as mentioned, all is well for the baby. 
The interesting thing about my day was the thoughts I had as I traveled on the train to the hospital. I was thinking about these tests and the possibility that something might be wrong. Hypothetically, if I didn’t have enough amniotic fluid or if the baby were in distress, I’d be rushed in to an emergency cesarean. 
As I thought that on the train, I realized that those minutes could be my last minutes being pregnant. I could very well have a baby in a few more hours, born just four weeks early (I was 3 1/2 weeks early). That might have been the end of the big swollen belly, the end of kicks in my ribs, the end of my waddle walk. I wouldn’t wake up in the night with baby kicks just as I was getting comfortable. I wouldn’t have to lean over when I sit through 3 hours of church because my back aches. True, I’d have a baby waking me at night and all the aches of major surgery, but I wouldn’t have the baby inside of me.
That made me so sad.
Last night, every time I woke up to a kick, every time I got up to use the toilet because baby was dancing on my bladder, I felt so happy. I get to enjoy him inside of me for a while longer! 
How great is that?!
I really love being pregnant. Don’t get me wrong, I am so very excited to meet this little guy when he comes. Maybe I’m just not as uncomfortable as other women because I’m “small.” But, to be honest, I really like all the belly aches and sore muscles and bones. I like the fact that I have a huge belly and I waddle when I walk. It means a baby is inside of me! I like constant movement when I’m just trying to get comfortable. It reminds me time and again that I’m going to be a mother, that God is sending me one of His chosen spirits. This baby has a personality, he has a spirit, and he has a calling in life that only Heavenly Father knows at this time.
It is a huge responsibility to be a mother and to teach this precious spirit. But I’m so excited. And I feel so blessed that I have the blessing of carrying this baby in my own body, feeding him through my body with the food that I eat, and nurturing him naturally in a perfect cocoon just the right size (though quickly becoming too small). What a blessing it is to be a woman and to carry a child!
I am so blessed! And yet I only get four more weeks or so of this. 
I guess I should it expect it to get very much more uncomfortable in the next month. Many people say you’re ready for the baby to come because you’re so uncomfortable. I’m not there yet. I’m still loving it!
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I’m so glad you’re enjoying it and I’m so glad you aren’t too uncomfortable. I’d predict that once they baby is a week late, you will be completely crazy and sick of pregnancy, but you have proved me wrong thus far, so I’ll hold off.
Thanks for putting it all in perspective! But don’t you think nine months is kind of a long time?
A long time compared to what? The 18 years before he leaves home? The 16 years before he can drive himself somewhere? The 5 or 6 years before he leaves home during the day? The 3 or 4 years before he can use the toilet? The year before he can walk without being carried? No, I certainly don’t think 9 months is a very long at all, but like you said, when I’m a week overdue, I may be singing a different tune.
As for not being too uncomfortable, I really wonder what the standard is for “comfort.” In the beginning, I was vomitting once or twice a day at least every other day for three months and didn’t think it was too bad. Miserable a bit, but not too bad when you think of the baby in the end. When I mentioned that to someone, I was told that I must not be that sick. OK. I guess we all have a different perspective of “bad.” Especially when a baby comes in the end.
Isn’t he worth it all?
I just finished getting all caught up on your blog, and I am so, so excited for you! That’s fantastic that you’re enjoying your pregnancy–good for you. I definitely had a few complaints, but all in all, I thought it was awesome too. Mostly, though, I can’t wait for you to have your baby. You’re going to be an amazing mom, and you’re going to love it! I’m thinking about you–good luck!
Becky, What a marvelous outlook of life and pregnancy you have! It will help during the midnight feelings. Which I loved by the way. A friend shared this with me and I though you and your family might enjoy it as well.
We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of starting a family. “We’re taking a survey,†she says, half-joking. “Do you think I should have a baby?â€
“It will change your life,†I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.
“I know,†she says, “no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations…â€
But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her.
I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable. I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, “What if that had been MY child?†That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of “Mom!†will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment’s hesitation. I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood.
She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting, and she will think of her baby’s sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is alright.
I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five-year-old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s at McDonald’s will become a mayor dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second guess herself constantly as a Mother.
Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years–not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a caesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter’s relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic. I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hop she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children’s future.
I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.
My daughter’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. “You’ll never regret it,†I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter’s hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from God…that of being a Mother.
Author Unknown
[...] must have a bad memory of pregnancy. But then, last time I was just a lot more positive I think. Here’s what I said at 36 weeks pregnant (which right now seems like a long time from now). Maybe it will get better [...]