I was talking to a friend on Tuesday night, and she asked how far along I was. Without thinking, I replied, “oh, just about 32 weeks.” And the conversation continued, casually. Normally. And it was only when I was off the phone that I realized, holy crap. 32 weeks.
32 weeks is huge. A baby born between 32 and 36 weeks is not a micro preemie. Not extreme preterm. Not even early preterm, just, preterm. 28 was huge too – 28 was when his odds of survival really wentup – but a baby born after 32 weeks will not have nearly as many potential long-term issues to deal with as a baby born before. 32 weeks is a huge sigh of relief and time to start freaking out about actually bringing home a baby. 32 weeks is just 5 weeks from full-term. And back in October, even back in February when they put me on bed rest, 32 weeks seemed impossibly far away. Like a dream we might not dare to have.
But more than that, I’m not actually 32 weeks yet. I won’t be until tomorrow. But on Tuesday night, I rounded up. And there was a time when I wouldn’t have assumed on a Tuesday that I’d still be pregnant on Friday, but this week, I did. And I am. And I will be.
Last week was my last cervical measurement – I’m far enough along that they don’t need to measure it anymore. As of tomorrow, I get to start transitioning from “bed rest” to “taking it easy” until 34 weeks, when I’m off all restrictions. I’m no longer a high-risk cervical patient. My next ultrasound isn’t for another two weeks, and no one is worried. Finally.
Our ultrasound tech had some extra time and we played around a bit with the 3D/4D. I couldn’t believe how much detail they were able to see. I’ve seen other 3D pictures and wasn’t expecting much, but then suddenly on the screen there was our son’s adorable face.