The Last Week

Each day is like a week. Each night is interrupted by a 20-point turn to move from the left side to the right side...to be reversed in 90 minutes. The belly cannot expand more, except it does. The kids sense something tiny this way comes, and push each other off the couch. And the due date comes and goes. I try to play "guess that bump," hoping against hope that it's a bum up there, not a head. I convince myself this is true, and then get kicked in the bladder by what I'm pretty sure are feet, not tiny fists. I groan as he moves and tries to get out my bellybutton, but then when he doesn't move, I poke him until he does. I want him out, then realize his bassinet is still lying in pieces on the floor. The waiting game is almost over, although today every hour will feel like a day from week 18. The c-section, which is inevitable if he's breech, will hopefully happen tomorrow, as long as the hospital can accommodate me. It's not how I wanted my last birth to go, but if all goes well, I'll have a healthy little boy tomorrow. His bassinet is ready now, his tiny little clothes hanging in the closet, and if the house still needs to be picked up and his room still has some detritus from Sabrina's tenure and the basement is nowhere near finished and Sasha needs more 24-month pants, well, these things will work themselves out. Hospital, here I come! (In somewhere around 23 hours.)