A friend (and mother of four precious little chickens) recently told me that the last month of pregnancy is longer than the previous 8. She wasn't kidding. The past four weeks have been the slowest of my life. It's not that I'm physically uncomfortable. In fact, I have to admit that this whole pregnancy business hasn't beenas bad as I had feared. I've been really fortunate overall. What I hadn't anticipated, however, was the mental/emotional toll these last few weeks of waiting would take. Every time I feel a kick or a squirm, I wonder, "Is this it?" Of course I know that true labor pains can't be ignored, but maybe it's the hope of Baby C's arrival that keeps me constantly wondering if the slightest twitch might signal her impending debut in our lives. Though I don't like to admit my "control-freak" tendencies, when faced with something I have absolutely no control over, I'm slowly going a bit insane! I suppose there's nothing to do but wait patiently. I'll continue devouring books (the latest--a 700 page novel on Marie Antoinette finished in less than a week), obsessively straighten the house, and continue to drive my poor husband insane. And maybe, just maybe, Baby C will be here just when I least expect it.
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