Chapter 5: The Home Stretch

As the emotional roller coaster that was the second trimester came to an end, I was actually looking forward to the third.

The home stretch.

The nesting phase.

The final countdown before we finally got to meet our little boy.

And it was all of those things...

Kind of.

It was also, without question, the most physically painful part of my pregnancy.

I swear the day I entered the third trimester was like running full speed into a brick wall.

My ankles?

Gone.

I had full-blown tree trunks.

Now, keep in mind, I work a job where I'm on my feet most of the day, so I expected some swelling. But this? This was next level.

Compression socks became my best friend.

Getting them on wasn't the problem. Getting them off after working all day? Absolutely not.

That became Hubs' job.

He always laughed because I'm the world's worst person at asking for help. Ever. So for me to sit on the edge of the bed kicking my feet and saying, "Pleeease help," in the most pitiful little kid voice I could manage... well, he found that hilarious.

He also called me a turtle more times than I can count.

You know... because I moved at the speed of a snail, and if I accidentally rolled onto my back, I needed assistance getting back over.

So supportive.

Don't worry—we gently bully each other all the time. I'm convinced it's one of our love languages.

The swelling wasn't even the worst part.

I practically lived with a heating pad.

Actually... three heating pads.

One stayed in my car, one lived on the couch, and one never left my bed.

I'd struggled with back pain and sciatica before pregnancy, but the third trimester turned it up several notches. Every day seemed to end with me attached to a heating pad, trying to convince my back to cooperate.

And remember how I said nausea wasn't too terrible during my first trimester?

Yeah...

The third trimester decided to make up for lost time.

The acid reflux was relentless. I felt nauseous more often than not, and if I ate the wrong thing, there was almost no chance I'd get a decent night's sleep. The heartburn alone was enough to keep me awake.

My doctor suggested sleeping propped up.

I still laugh about that advice.

How exactly was I supposed to sleep propped up while also sleeping on my side? I've never been able to sleep on my back, pregnant or not.

So instead, I became best friends with Tums and Pepcid AC.

They helped...

Most days.

By 30 weeks, I was going to the doctor every week.

One unexpected perk of being an "older" mom was all the extra ultrasounds. By 35 weeks,

I got to see my little boy every single week.

Honestly?

That might have been the best part of having what they lovingly call a "geriatric pregnancy."

Every appointment meant another chance to see his sweet little face before he was finally in my arms.

Then came my 38-week appointment.

My nurse practitioner walked in with news I wasn't expecting.

My amniotic fluid had increased.

It could mean I'd need to be induced. It could even mean we'd have to start talking about a C-section.

Neither one was part of my birth plan.

I immediately panicked.

Then I cried.

Then I panicked some more.

I called my mom, who did exactly what moms somehow always know how to do. She calmed me down enough that I could breathe again.

Then I told Hubs.

He had his own little moment of panic too, but he never let me carry mine alone. He wrapped me up in a hug, let me cry, and kept reminding me that everything was going to be okay.

Sometimes you already know those words...

You just need someone you love to say them out loud.

The plan was simple.

We'd check everything again at my 39-week appointment and make a decision from there.

I even let my boss know what was going on. I still had three workdays left that week, but everyone started preparing for the possibility that I wouldn't be back before maternity leave.

Apparently...

Our son had other plans.

Maybe he felt all of my stress.

Maybe he was just ready.

Either way, he seemed to say, "Absolutely not."

The night before my 39-week appointment...

At exactly 39 weeks pregnant...

At 10:23 p.m...

My water broke.