Remember when you were a kid and someone would ask you how old you were and you'd always make sure to add in the half? "I'm eight and a half." That half was essential. It meant you were that much closer to becoming an adult. Or at least that much closer to becoming a teenager which is thrilling because teenagers got to do all the fun stuff like going rollerskating or staying up past 9pm.
That extra half has become important to me again lately. I'm 31 1/2 weeks pregnant. That half means I'm that much closer to having a baby who is older and less likely to have any problems breathing or eating on his own, which is why I'm strapped to a hospital bed at the moment. The doctors tell me that each day I'm pregnant is one less day that the baby will have to spend in the NICU.
Through all of this, I was curious as to what the goal was since I have little to look forward to each day other than breakfast, lunch and dinner. I was unsure of whether the doctor wanted me to stay in bed for another 8 1/2 weeks as my body slowly becomes one with the mattress, or if they had a different plan in mind. The doctors tell me the plan is to make it to at least 35 weeks, which is when I gave birth to my daughter in my last pregnancy. She was born perfectly healthy with no complications, but apparently little preemie girls do better than preemie boys. The nurses here actually refer to the preemie boys as "wimpy white boys." Probably because they'd rather lay around on their uterine water beds and eat all day rather than bother with being born. Typical.
For now, I'm just counting my blessings as the days continue to pass and I continue to stay pregnant. Plus, the daily naps don't hurt.