The Ninth Month

The ninth month of pregnancy is the longest. It's at least twice as long as any of the other months. And while we're at it let's talk about the mean trick of calling pregnancy 9 months in the first place. The average is 40 weeks. 40 weeks divided by 4 weeks in a month = 10 months, right? Plus, that's only the average, meaning some people are pregnant for 10 and a half months. Lord, please don't let me be one of those.

Meanwhile, everything's done in there. The baby's just sitting around getting fatter. No, really. Look at our last ultrasound pic. This is a close up of fat rolls, labeled "fat rolls" by the ultrasound technician for clarification. The ninth month is the fetal equivalent of that one summer in college where you just binge drank, ate Poptarts and watched Snapped marathons on Lifetime. Just like you, he's got nowhere else to be till August.

PS- We think this is his side. 

In the ninth month you are tired. Maybe you are too tired to care if batman wears cowboy boots to swim lessons or a long sleeved spiderman suit to the library when it's 110 degrees out. You are making a new person, for goodness sake, and that trumps wardrobe decisions. That explains why you are down to wearing glorified muumuus and chacos everyday too.  You may also become less organized and together in the ninth month. Yes, less than you were just a month ago. Maybe you get to the grocery store and have to put shark slippers on your kid because somehow you lost his shoes in the last 10 minutes. Then, as you put the groceries in the back of the car, maybe you realized one shoe rode on the tailgate all the way there. Maybe you'll find the other in the parking lot of swim lessons, I don't know. 

In the ninth month things get messy. If your three year old cries in frustration that he didn't quite make it to the potty and peed on himself just a little, you can respond "me too" with all sincerity, and get everyone a fresh attitude and pair of undies. One of you may or may not have to waddle to your room, past the front door which you left open so that The Boy could watch the pest control guy try to get the bats out of your attic, just before said pest control guy sticks his head in to say he's done. Whatever. Your OBGYN appointments will morph from "how are you feeling?" to intrusive questions about the appearance of a "mucus plug" and "bloody show". Girlfriends will also start to think these are appropriate topics for conversation, and you will not care. These are obviously terms reserved for Insane Clown Posse lyrics, sci-fi movies, and of course, the ninth month of pregnancy. 

In the ninth month, strangers stop you in public bathrooms, where you spend much of your time, to ask you how far along you are and to tell you that you must be close to your due date. They will tell you that you are having a boy or that you are carrying low or high or backwards. They touch you without invitation. They talk to you like you have not noticed that you are pregnant. It's not that you want to be rude, but you want to wear a sign that says "2 weeks. August 10th. Boy. 2nd one."  Also, you will feel the urge to mention something inappropriate and obvious about their bodies too ("And you, ma'am, have bad breath." "You are forty pounds over weight", or "sex change operation?"). Resist. 

You might have all the feels. You may alternate between feelings of frustration and isolation, feeling like the first person on earth who has ever been pregnant and having NO ONE understand the plight of carrying another human internally for 24 hours a day; being angry and frustrated with all of humanity; and being grateful and tearful over each blade of grass you see, each opportunity you have to connect with others, each healthy checkup with your midwives, each time you put gas in a car that reliably works. I don't mean to complain but this cycle is exhausting. 

In the ninth month you are hot. You are swollen.  You feel bigger than the side of a barn you used to make out behind when you were a teenager. Your back hurts. You are tired. You have a pregnancy swagger that can only be described as a waddle. 

You appreciate the miracle of life that you are carrying, and understand that people pay tens of thousands of dollars to be in the condition that you're in, while you did little more than make out behind that barn. And while you appreciate these things, also you don't always love the condition that you're in. You are ready to get that fat baby out of your belly, even if you don't always feel ready to bring him home. The ninth month is like baby purgatory and you are stuck between being fearful that you'll be pregnant forever, and fearful that you won't. It's pregatory. 

The only thing worse than the 9th month....is the 10th. Come on, baby.