thirty-five and fab.

We hit 35 weeks this past weekend, and we're quickly approaching 36.

Time is flying, and yet it can't move fast enough.

Oh, sweet babies. We can't wait to meet you.

My uncomfortableness exists on several levels. First, and this is in no particular order, I don't really sleep. Constantly throughout the night I wake up to stabbing pains in my hips and grab my tummy and lift and rotate over to my other side. In between rotations we have the potty breaks, which are have suddenly jumped to 3 times a night. I get up and hobble over to the bathroom, groaning in pain. Chris used to wake up freaked out and ask if I was in labor. He has since adjusted and rarely wakes anymore. I'm glad. He needs his rest. And if I was in labor, I would surely wake him.

My tummy is stretched just about to its max. My left side, where baby boy spends 90% of his time trying to burst through, is stretched to far that is is shiny. It gives me the creeps and I can't touch it. It is also covered with a lovely web of stretch marks. My right side is still relatively normal looking. Baby boy is grounded upon his arrival, to say the least. At my last ultrasound two weeks ago Miss A was just over 4.5 lbs and Boy B was just under. Boy is still breech. We'll see them again next week to check weight and positioning, but I think they are officially too squished for him to flip now.

We began our twice-a-week non-stress tests this week, and both went flawlessly. Except they have a hard time keeping Boy's heartrate on the monitor, and the nurse called him a "pain in the butt". That is now 3 medical professionals who have called him a trouble maker. Poor kid has quite the rep. Today's test even showed I had a few contractions, a bright spot for me, as I haven't been feeling any sort of contractions whatsoever. Its nice to know something is happening, and sometime these kids will come. Eventually.

My fear of having the babies too early has officially shifted to a fear of having them way late. Of course, we want healthy babies that can come home right away, and as we approach 36 weeks, we're pretty much there. But going to 39 weeks or more has entered the realm of possibility as things progress with no problems at all. And I seriously doubt my ability to make it that far, emotionally just as much as physically.

Because you see, at this point I'm pretty much constantly on the brink of tears. Not because I'm sad or because something is wrong. But because this whole pregnancy has been quite the marathon, from the extreme sickness, to the emotional roller-coaster of finding out about the twins, to the physical challenges in these final months. I'm tired in just about every way possible.

So if you're a stranger who runs into me at this point, you'll see a lady with bags under her eyes hobbling around in yoga pants and a shirt that barely covers her beach ball tummy. You'll wonder when the heck she is due, and you'll wonder why her little girl is wearing a purple shirt, pink pants, and red shoes (the answer: the girl dresses herself, and the giant pregnant lady doesn't have the reserves to fight about it). You'll casually ask when she is due, and when you hear she's having twins, your face will register a look that says "Oh, that makes more sense" and you'll make some comment about your sister's friend's boss who had twins and be on your way, thankful its not you.

As for the giant pregnant lady? She'll head home and curl up on the couch with that cute little girl who won't take her red shoes off. They'll watch Balto and color with markers and eat sandwiches for lunch before they both settle in for a long nap. And she'll think about the chaos of her impending twins, but also have a heart full of joy and excitement at what the coming weeks, months, and years hold. And she'll think about baby names for the 7 millionth time in the moments just before she falls asleep. And she'll feel very very grateful.