and so 37 weeks ends and the 38th begins

My breath escaped me on the way, Thursday, to camping. I thought it was because we towed the trailer in busy traffic and I could see D's anxiety as we tottered and pulled in the wind. But then we got here and I was so worn out I rested some in our bed but couldn't sleep and the anxiety clung to me like most of my clothes, too tight and often just slightly revealing.

And then there was bed. By the time I got comfortable and slept it was late and then D came in and I was awoken because, realistically, who can stay sleeping in a camper when others are moving around. I got comfortable once again and must have fallen asleep because at 2:30 I sat up in bed gasping for air, my whole body wound so tightly. I rearranged my 10 pillows and propped myself up higher but as I drifted off again, more than an hour later, I still could not get it under control. I took slow breaths. I counted up. I counted down. I listened to the rain on the roof. I tried to reason out the "why".  Somewhere between listening to the rain and counting the deep sleeping breaths of D I finally fell asleep. 

Friday went ok with cold and rain and relaxation, at least when I woke up the anxiety was gone and the baby moved.

Saturday our friend stopped by at the campsite to visit her parents and the mass group of campers.  Her twin boys were already there, but in tow she had her baby girl that's 4 months older than this one inside of me and the baby's older sister A. A is one month older than Gabbie would be. She is so sweet. She dances with her little legs baby-bopping to music, feeds the dog ice cubes with little red frozen hands, smiles shyly and shares her snacks with the world. She would have been such good friends with Gabbie. But no. I fought tears back a few times, like when D turned to me after A cuddled up to him for a minute sharing Goldfish with him, and his pout expression said exactly what I was thinking. So sweet and beautiful, a reminder of what we don't have and how precious it is.  Watching her is so painfully bitter sweet.  

Then we had some scares steeped from my own anxiety. Twice it took me a while to get a good kick count and Derek had to wake her with a raspberry blown on my belly. I'm nervous. Kick counts that don't go so quickly make me nervous. Babies who are noticably quiet make me nervous. Movements that are getting less frequent lead me to my to dark places.  Those dark places were pushed away by the beautiful blue skies filled with butterflies fluttering by, a husband who blows sweet raspberries, and the frequent movements of a little baby. 

Sunday was quiet. But the baby was not. She rolled and kicked. And so many friends shared in her movements with me, fascinated by the rolls and and bumps and hiccups.

Today is Monday. 38 weeks. Memorial day.  Ironic, I think, that this 38 week marker should fall on a day titled as such. She was very quiet this morning, and though she was moving it was very hard to feel and had long spans of time between each.  It took until lunch time for me to count ten kicks in an amount of time that made me comfortable. D had even asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital.  He has been holding his breath too.  He doesn't want to take any chances.  Better to go and be sure than not and risk it all.  It wasn't that I couldn't feel her at all, it was that I didn't feel her the same or enough for me.  This anxiety and preoccupation with her movements is powerful.

It is 38 weeks.  I wonder what this week will bring.  I can't breathe in anticipation and I'm ready to get off the edge of my seat.  A week from today they will take her out.  I wonder if then, I'll be able to exhale.  Perhaps when I finally hear that cry.