The Mommy-To-Be Who Cried Wolf?

Okay, yesterday was still not The Day.

I'm starting to feel like an ass for always proclaiming every doctor's appointment could be it. My first doctor-imposed goal was to make it to 28 weeks, then it was 30, 32 and maybe if I was really, super lucky, 34 weeks.

Well, I am at 35 weeks today. Now I feel silly for having sounded the alarm every single week for 10 weeks.

Not only do I feel like a bit of a fool, but I feel guilty for not working. I've been home on bed rest just lying here waiting for babies since June 1 and thinking the floaties would be here any day now. I hate the idea of letting people down. Of course, the worse part is that my workmates are totally fine without me. They tell me they miss me, but it's not like the office has come to a grinding halt in my absence.

So was my fetal specialist's dire prediction 10 weeks ago a false alarm? I've thought about it, and I actually don't think so.

Even though my babies have made it past the doctors' predictions, our littlest floatie is still very small. Last we measured, he clocked in at just over 3 lbs. That's because he's not getting as much blood as the big guy, who is about 4.5 lbs. Little Floatie only has two veins in his umbilical cord (instead of the usual three) and he's attached to a part of the placenta that's just not delivering as much blood and nutrients. So even though it often feels like I'm just sitting here wasting time, I think if I'd pushed myself to work longer, do more, keep going, I might have jeopardized his health.

My friends and family call me a rock star and say they're so proud of me for holding the babies in so long. I feel silly accepting that compliment. I'm getting praise for doing nothing -- literally -- for letting Matt do the shopping and cooking, for lying on my bed and ordering baby things online. To be hippy dippy about it, I'm being praised for having the strength to let go.

I'll never know for sure what would have been different if I'd pushed myself harder, had tried to keep working, going to the gym, socializing. Maybe the outcome would have been the same. Or maybe right now instead of blogging from home I would be sitting in the NICU nursing a super premature baby and cursing myself for not slowing down.

I don't want to be the mommy-to-be that cried wolf again next week, so even though I totally think this coming Monday will be The Day, I'm going to try to play it cool.

I'll just say this: The journey I'm on only has one ending -– these babies are coming out. It could be next week, it could be the week after that or even the week after that. But, the end of my pregnancy is coming to an end soon. Then a whole new journey will begin.