Sleep at Thirty Seven (Almost!) Weeks: An annoyingly whiny post about Pregnancy

I felt cranky this morning, standing up onto a swollen ankle, waddling off to the bathroom. Heavy, hungry and achy, and ready for The Big Day. This is who I am these mornings.

I climb into bed every night, ready and thankful. But 3 minutes in, the tossing begins. On my right, my bones and baby seem to settle a little more comfortably, but inevitably, an ache will form and then I must hoist my dense self over to the left. Why does rolling and shifting hurt so bad? Back and forth, readjusting pillows, untangling the blankets and trying to stretch without crushing either my vena cava or my infant. Sleep comes, however, and its solid. Until I am awoken by a sharp stab as my inhabitant shifts, and I realize, I must get out of bed and hobble to the bathroom. On the way, my abdomen tightens in a mild contraction, adding greater urgency to my plod down the short hall. Relieved, but stiff all over, I make my way blearily back to bed. I choose to lay back down on the side that is the least sweaty, and I fall back asleep for the next two hours. And repeat, all night, with the occasional grumpy "HONEY! can you roll over?" to my sleeping husband. (I know he appreciates this immensely.)

And then morning comes, and I sit up, ravenous. I feel my littlest one wake up with me and squirm into place, and I feel the bond of mutual general discomfort... Because really, warm and snug as he is, how comfortable can you get, floating upside down in a bubble, with your knees and feet in your face, with your head lodged solidly in a pelvis? I rub the back that pushes firmly from within and murmur to myself and him, "just a few more weeks little one." 

Thankful for a healthy little boy, and for this body that is doing amazing things. Thankful for his wiggly growing body, and my ever stretching, ever swelling, tired one. Thankful for no complications and months of exciting development. Thankful that the time to hold him in my arms has almost arrived.

Thankful too for the bubbly burst of chipper that climbs into my bed and pokes me in the face till I arise to make toast. Crank and grump have a hard time standing up against "Mama, I just love you. Thank you for this toast!" Oh how she woos.