I had my 36 week visit to the midwife today. She estimated that the baby is right around six pounds, which puts things on track with Naomi, who was 7.12 at 38 weeks.
Last time I was terrified of having a big baby. E. had been very small, weighing in at 6.10, and I worried about a bigger, healthier baby ripping my dainty bits to shreds. And it didn't help that the OB was always saying that Naomi was going to be "huge, a nine pounder, at least".
This time, I'm not so worried. Naomi had a huge head, and I pushed her out in 20 minutes in a semi-lithotomy position without a single laceration . Bring on the nine pounder. My bod can handle it.
This was also the point in my last pregnancy that they started to do internals again, to check the magical dilation and effacement, the most useless numbers in midwifery/obstetrics. When I found out at 36ish weeks that I was already a fingertip dilated and 50% effaced, I whooped with joy and waited to go into labor any minute. I was so done with waiting to have a baby, by then it felt like I'd been pregnant for five years, since E. was born.
That was the longest two weeks of my life.
It is proof of a merciful god that I went into labor at 38 weeks instead of 42 weeks. I would have bee certifiable at that point. Absolutely batshit crazy.
This time I'm not so anxious for the pregnancy to end. I'm enjoying myself, I like being all round and ripe with child. I know these are my last days of grace before the real work starts. It'll end when it ends. No rush.