I’ve struggled with a blog topic this week because quite frankly, I’m sick of myself…I can only imagine how you feel about reading these pregnancy posts. Buuuuuut since it’s 10 am and I’m already half way all the way through a bag of m&ms, something must save me from myself.
If we just call a spade a spade and admit this entire post is going to be hormone-fueled rant with NeNe Leakes gifs as filler content, does it give me any leeway?
Side note: NeNe is my new Ramona Singer. Cannot get enough of her. LOVE.
So the American Academy of Obstetrics and Gynecology released new definitions for “full term pregnancy” this week, which until now was considered 37 weeks…although most women are given a due date at 40 weeks, meaning pregnancy is really 10 months long, not 9 like all the movies claim. Sneaky bastards. However, the updated definitions are now:
- Early term: Between 37 weeks 0 days and 38 weeks, six days
- Full term: Between 39 weeks and 40 weeks, six days
- Late term: Between 41 weeks and 41 weeks, six days
- Post term: 42 weeks and beyond
Logically, I realize this is a good thing. We are a society that is induction and c-section happy, particularly for non-medical reasons. If there is no medical threat to the mother or baby then I think babies should be able to bake as long as they need. Emotionally though? I’m PISSED.
The only thing getting me through the miserable cesspool of third trimester was that magical 37 week mark where I could finally kick up my feet, breath a little sigh of relief, and smugly announce to the world that I was full term. You’re telling me I have to wait another several weeks to do that?!
Well, now what am I going to do? I suppose I should just buck up and realize this is just pregnancy, not a death sentence. Millions of women around the world have done it, many in far worse condition than I am. Blah, blah, blah.
I am certainly no special snowflake when it comes to this “journey”. In fact, I could probably be the poster child for #firstworldpregnancyproblems. Oh your feet are swollen so you need to put on your ProCompression socks from your last marathon? Booo hoooo. Your diamond wedding band doesn’t fit so you’re worried people think you’re a trollop with a bastard child in your belly? Womp womp. You can’t find a ridiculously overpriced coming home outfit that she’ll poop and puke in 10 minutes later? Poor you, Marie.
But isn’t that the beauty of having your own blog? You can spin the truth however you see fit under the jurisdiction of “poetic license”.
In any case, I would like to say thank you to the people who have continued reading (and commenting!) on all of my pregnancy posts these past several months. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea and while I’m sure to have solicited my fair share of eye rolls, it’s been really nice having an outlet to complain to share things.
Just look on the bright side, because of the updated full term guidelines, I have even more weeks to really stretch these pregnancy page-views to the max. Thanks, American Academy!
Now, I must go and immediately delete all these amazing downloaded NeNe Leakes gifs from my desktop computer. Another pregnancy side effect? Insomnia-induced anxiety that caused me to panic at 3 am that I’d go into early labor without erasing my Internet history on my work computer. Not so sure Buzzfeed, Get Off My Internets, and Feedly count as “productive work environments”.