You Know You're Full Term When...

Depending on what book I read, 37 weeks is either ‘term’ or ‘full term,’ with 37 – 40 weeks being the normal length of pregnancy. Babies born before 37 weeks are considered premature.

Well, praise and hallelujah (for real), I’m right around full term! Though baby has been head down and engaged since 28 weeks, I’ve not had any preterm labor, and in fact at 37 weeks everything is still, um, shut up good and tight to keep him firmly in place for at least a little while longer.

While I haven’t felt too uncomfortable, I’m keenly aware that this stage of largesse will come to an end and used that as motivation to accept whatever discomforts come along the way. And until these particular discomforts do come to an end with baby’s birth, I remind myself that You Know You’re Full Term When…

Ø      You do or do not have a belly button, depending on the size of your last meal

Ø      You can actually clean the entire interior of your belly button for the first time in your cognizant life, which is strangely satisfying

Ø      Getting into the car involves an act of faith in pointing your backside and squatting, trusting that the seat will be there in what I believe in aviation terms is called a ‘controlled crash’

Ø      The incredible size of your boobs is dwarfed only by the enormity of your belly

Ø      Your relaxed diaphragm is capable of belches that register on the Richter Scale

Ø      You feel a sneeze coming on and panic because you’re sure the baby’s head will pop out

Ø      …then you’re sure that no, he’s coming out the belly button since that extremity extension of his nearly cleared out the lady in front of you at the grocery store

Ø      You outweigh your husband, who is a good five inches taller than you, geeeeeeeeeeeeez

Ø      90 degree angle chairs no longer work for you – you require obtuse-angled ones (or as Sam calls it, ‘obese-angled’) or at least will do in a regular chair a special sort of slouch combined with back arch so that baby’s feet mash your ribcage a little less

Ø      Turning over in bed requires the leverage power of both legs, groanings to deep for words and a groggy request for a push from your spouse

Ø      You have fat white sausage fingers

Ø      Corners, bartops, doorframes and refrigerators conspire to shift at the last minute to bounce against your protruding belly

Am I missing any? Observations as well as first-hand experience are welcome.