Thirty-two weeks

Today is a good day. Oh sure, I slept badly last night, my hips are killing me, my ankles are swelling back up, and two of my fingers have gone numb. But that’s OK. Because today, I am 32 weeks pregnant.

I am officially out of the biggest danger zone of preterm labor and birth. My doctor said 28-32 is when they worry the most, because the risk of going into preterm labor is relatively high, while the babies’ outcomes are more in question. Yes, I still have several more weeks that would be considered preterm, but babies born at this point and later tend to do quite well in the long term even if they have to stay in the NICU for a while.

Because of this ever-lowering risk level, if I were to go into labor at any point from now on (which seems unlikely, given my cervix of steel), I would be free to go to my nearby community hospital, instead of needing to go to one of the larger teaching hospitals downtown. Not that I have any problem with those hospitals, and my sister-in-law is even a medical student on her OB rotation at said hospital right now. But it’s nice to know that “my” hospital can handle much of what I could throw at them at this point. And if the babies needed to stay in the hospital for a while longer than me, I wouldn’t have to get myself all the way downtown to see them.

I’ve also been struck by how very close to the end I now am. At the most, I have three weeks left of work. I used to think that working to 35 weeks was a pipe dream. Now it seems like a fait accompli. Heck, it’s worth it to keep coming for the air conditioning, alone.

At the most, I have six weeks remaining of this pregnancy. Yes, each day has crept by, same as the day before. Yet somehow… six weeks? Wow. And it could be even sooner, who knows. Suddenly things are seeming a bit more urgent. Time to wash the onesies, pack the hospital bag. Time to make arrangements for the dog while we’re in the hospital. Heck, time to stop putting off trading my car in for the minivan we’ve been talking about. After that, we can even install the carseats. Holy crap.

But here I am, 32 weeks. I had so hoped that I would make it to this point, that no emergencies would arise and cause something to happen before now. Not to jinx anything, but I feel like a particular chunk of worry has fallen off of my shoulders. Sure, there’s still plenty to worry about, and I won’t be neglecting any of it. But this is just one less thing.

Now if I can make it to 35 or 36… August, here I come.