The Last Sunday?

This week will mark 34 weeks pregnant. (I always count Mondays as the turning point, though Tuesday will be exactly 34 weeks.) This is as far as any of my doctors predicted I would make it into pregnancy. So is this literally my final day as a non-parent?

I have no way of knowing the answer. As usual, it's all up to Dr. S. Tomorrow we will have the answers to the all important unknowns: Do the babies still have enough amniotic fluid, strong heartbeats and enough blood flow? Has our little floatie, who two weeks ago weighed 2 lbs., 13 oz., grown enough? If the answer to any of these things is "no," it's off to the hospital we go.

I could be a bad mother for thinking this, but part of me is really ready to meet these little guys – and get them out of my body. Today I developed a pain in the upper left part of my back that won't seem to go away. It's hard to sleep, sit up, lie down, stand, walk or just move in general.

This morning I slept in until 9 a.m. Matt had to come in and wake me up. Lying on the bed next to me he mused, "Is this our last Sunday alone?" I wondered, "Is this my last day to read the paper and drink coffee?" "Is this the last day our house will be quiet?" If it is, I haven't done anything earth-shattering to mark my last day of freedom. I made banana bread. We ate tacos for lunch. Otherwise, I sat on the bed most of the day reading the New York Times and surfing the Web.

I have often felt paralyzing fear at the idea of becoming a parent. (Only to be matched by the paralyzing sorrow I felt when I thought it might never happen for us.) The waiting game of the last couple months hasn't taken away my fear of parenthood, but it has made me more at peace with the inevitable. As Matt says, there is no alternate ending -- the babies have to come out at some point. So whether it's tomorrow or a week from tomorrow, we're ready. At least we're as ready as we can be.