5 Ways To Survive The End Of Pregnancy (Without Losing Your Mind)

My babies cook for a really long time. Baby #1 came at 40w 1d. Baby #2 came at 42w 0d. Baby #3 is now approaching 41 weeks and I'm writing this from my bed as my mom watches my older kids for the millionth time this week. 

I'm coming to terms with this ten-month-pregnancy thing, the third time around. I can tell you that I certainly had not come to terms with it last time, when I went 14 days past my due date. I really don't know how many meltdowns my poor husband had to listen to that included the phrase, "I will NEVER have this baby!!" 

So, I'm past my due date again. And while I can't say I'm exactly jumping for joy to still be waiting, I can say that I've learned a few things. Finally. 

So if you're pregnant for the first time, or if you had your last baby early, or if you're almost due, or (bless your heart) post-due date already, here's some tips on how to not lose your mind while you wait for Baby to show up. 

1. Do not count down the days. 

Unless you actually have a deadline (i.e. medically necessary scheduled induction), think of your due date as a "due period." Healthy babies can and do come naturally anywhere from 37-42 weeks. (Sometimes earlier, sometimes later, when allowed to happen!) Your due date is an estimate, not a scheduled arrival time. Save yourself the agony and do not- I repeat- DO NOT do the countdown thing. Because if you hit that due date, or whatever benchmark you thought baby would come by, the next however-many-days until baby actually comes will be the longest of your life. That's a promise. 

2. Remember that late pregnancy is virtually indistinguishable from early labor. 

My midwife will often respond to me telling her my symptoms with a, "great! So either late pregnancy or early labor." 

And the reason why? The two are practically indistinguishable for a decent amount of time. 

Back cramps? Could be a sign of impending labor. Or you could be really feeling the strain of that big baby in there. 

Losing your mucus plug? Could be labor coming! Or it could take another 2 weeks to lose the rest of it. Or it could regenerate. Yes, they do that. 

Elevated blood pressure? Could be a sign that labor is around the corner. Or not. 

And that brings me to my next point...

3. Notice but don't infer. 

It's important to pay attention to what your body is doing, but the part that makes you crazy is assuming what it means. So try to think of it like an exercise in observation.

"I'm cramping a lot today."

"I have lower back pain."

"I have a burst of energy right now." 

"My appetite has increased." 

Period. No more inferences needed. No, "I'm cramping so I WONDER IF TODAY IS THE DAY!" 

No. Shut that down, if you want to keep your sanity. 

4. Do what makes you happy, not what will induce labor. 

If you enjoy bouncing on an exercise ball 24/7, eating spicy foods, going on extra-long walks, or any of the other "sure fire" ways to get that baby moving, by all means, have at it! But if it's making you miserable, don't. From experience, those things only work if baby is actually ready to come anyway. Focus on doing things that make you happy instead- take a nice bath with essential oils. Eat some chocolate. Think of ways to increase your oxytocin...which, by the way, is really helpful in getting baby to start coming. (But forget I said that.)

5. Make other plans. 

Do not count on baby coming every day. In fact, find fun things to plan as if the baby won't come. All plans should be flexible, obviously, as the baby could show up at any point! But putting your life on hold and thinking every day will be "the day" is an excellent way to make yourself miserable. So put into motion little benchmarks of "if-baby-hasn't-come-yet" plans for the weeks following your due date, and if baby doesn't come, go do them!

And most importantly... remember that the baby will come eventually. Whether on his own, or with a little help, baby will make an appearance. So when you think you'll be pregnant forever, just repeat it to yourself: "this is temporary!" 

Anticipation and Grieving

There's something sobering and sweet about the last days before another baby comes. 

It's equal parts anticipation and grieving; waiting eagerly for this child to make an entrance into the world, and watching the child in front of you, knowing change is imminent. Knowing it will never be "just us" anymore. Knowing that, although a new and wonderful chapter is about to unfold, this familiar chapter will be closed for good. It's bittersweet. 

I will never forget the last morning we had together- just me and my oldest- nursing in bed in the morning light, as I felt myself slipping into labor. She was so small. She was a baby- my only baby. 

And the next morning when she awoke and waddled her way into our room, we greeted her with a fresh, red-cheeked little sister. I swear, that night, she must have grown two years-worth. No longer did she seem so small and helpless, as she laid sweetly beside this tiny newborn stranger. No, she was big now. Only eighteen months old, but so big.

How was it possible that, only 24 hours before, she had only been a baby, and here she was, a toddler, so grown and smart and capable? 

But it was then, as I held my "big" and "little," that the words of every mother before me finally rang true. It was then that I felt my heart swell bigger, making room for another to fill. It was then that I was finally able to laugh with relief at my previous anxiety that I could never, ever love another child the way I loved my first. That somehow my love would be split. That there couldn't possibly be enough of me to give to another.

Yes, my oldest was no longer a baby. She was older, she was bigger; she was a toddler. But to me, she was still my baby. 

And today, almost two years later, as we approach the last days of the chapter of two, and prepare to flip the page and begin the chapter of three, I still see my baby when she looks at me. She can put a 12 piece puzzle together by herself, and create a house out of stacked-up books, and make herself a sandwich, and tell me a made-up story, and wash her own hands. But when I look into her face, I still see that same 18 month old baby that I nursed that late summer morning. The one who called me "mama" and wore diapers and had a chubby little protruding belly. I think I'll always see her in there, even if just in glimpses. 

So I blink back some tears from time to time, as I watch my "big" and "little," knowing that in the coming days, a new "little" will be shifting the framework of our family. Knowing that these beautiful babies of mine will so soon be my "bigs." That they will look so tall as they tower over the next newborn stranger who will come to live with us. That they will seem so old as they teach him all the things they know. 

But, more than everything else, that at the end of the day, when those big kids snuggle up with me, wet-haired from bathtime and dressed in footie pajamas, milk in sweet little hands, I'm going to see the eyes of the same newborn babies I saw so many years ago, as they laid on my chest for the very first times. 

"As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."