Full. Term.

Today, The Bump.com, proclaimed that I am officially full term.

This has never, ever happened before and soon, I will be the mother of way too many children in the modern era. I will be the old woman who lived in the shoe. I will have a son and he will come home with me.

It seems impossibly normal.

And if anything, I have quite an abnormal track record. All of this is enough to leave me pinching myself. It has put me in a state of procrastination and denial that is hundreds of feet deep. How can this normal pregnancy be happening to me?

Normalcy has been a balloon that keeps floating higher and higher. I can never quite reach it. I am not sure I should bother trying; but the competitor in me cannot stop herself, even though once a balloon slips from your finger tips and the wind has it, it is typically gone forever.

Except when it isn't; sometimes the wind gusts the other way.

I could list all the ways my life has been abnormal from its start in 1977 to its current state, but I despise lists and grudges. Suffice it to say: it has given me plenty of fodder for a memoir, for therapy (although I've never, ever been) and to cry about (although I am not one to cry, because of generalized cry baby hatred and tendency to puff up).

I have spent this pregnancy just assuming preeclampsia would settle in for a visit; knowing that I did not care, because it has always worked out. And avoiding bed rest (clearly, it is useless, I never rest.) and taking my blood pressure. I've been waiting for the gust of wind to end it all.

But, here I am, in some sort of normal, holding on to my little red balloon that somehow floated back down to me.

Full. Term. Fully. Normal.


  1. Beautifully written. Congratulations on your full term status!


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