If I had to sum up what reaching thirty-seven weeks gestation feels like, I suppose I would point to an incident that took place a few days ago when I checked the expiration date on the carton of milk in our fridge and realized that I will have a baby before it goes bad.

Thirty-seven weeks = WHAT?!  HOW?!  WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?!

Over the past two or three weeks, my belly seems to have exploded outward (I forgot to take photographs this weekend, but I promised Charlotte that we would do so this morning, so hopefully I will have some to upload by the end of the day).  A month ago, I could not stop marveling at how enormous my breasts had become.

By contrast, last night I could not stop marveling at how tiny my breasts now seem in comparison to the planet strapped to my front.

I have also reached a point in pregnancy wherein people who encounter me in public react as though they fear I might drop a baby right in front of their very eyes.  They approach me timidly, asking gingerly when I’m due, relaxing visibly when they hear that I have a few weeks left.  WHEW, their body language says, THAT WAS A CLOSE ONE.

On that note, I spent all summer noticing my fellow pregnant women in public and commiserating with them over THIS HEAT WAVE OH MY STARS TAKE ME NOW…but it has been well over a month since I came across a woman as pregnant as I am.

They must all be at home eating fries in their air-conditioning, like any normal self-respecting sacred vessel incapable of reaching their shoelaces should be.  THIS, it appears, is the most significant difference between Baby #1 and Baby #2.  These days, no matter how badly I want to close myself up in the house and nest my little heart out and dine on fries, I cannot.  That three-year-old who shares my home needs someone to model healthy eating practices.  And, just as unfortunately for me, she also needs to go outside and play.  She needs to rough-house and shimmy up tree trunks and end each day so coated with dust and sweat that it takes a washcloth to see her true skin color again.  THIS is the work of a three-year-old – nibbling at vegetables, running around like crazy, playing until she literally drops from exhaustion – and even at my most pregnant I do not have the heart to take that away from her.

Our family is just about ready for this baby to come along.  We still need to install the infant car-seat in our family vehicle and I have a few unfinished sewing projects that I would like to clear out.  I still need to make a birth plan, to tidy our bedroom a little, and to make a decision about consuming the placenta.  And it probably wouldn’t hurt to blend a couple weeks’ worth of green smoothies and freeze them so that I have plenty of nutrients available with little prep after the birth.

But let’s be honest: we can TECHNICALLY get by without any of that.  We can put a baby in Charlotte’s car-seat and have Charlotte ride home from the midwifery center with her grandparents, even.  So if the wee one comes tomorrow, my husband might find himself blending smoothies all day, but it would all work out.

One thing is certain: sometime in the next five weeks, a baby will join this family.  And we are ALL very excited just thinking about it.