I’m 39 weeks pregnant, and I was trying to smile through the pain and exhaustion at my husband’s birthday dinner last week. Then he turned to me and said something that made me grab my daughter’s hand and walk out. I’ll never forget that night. I’m sure nobody in the family will.
My name’s Catherine, but everyone calls me Cathy. I’m 38, and 39 weeks pregnant with baby number two. The baby could come any day now.
My belly stretches so tight I feel like a balloon ready to burst. Every step sends shooting pains down my legs. Sleep? What’s that? I haven’t seen a full night’s rest in weeks.
A joyful pregnant woman looking down at her baby bump | Source: Pexels
We already have Zoey. She’s four, all pigtails and endless questions. This pregnancy has been different though. Harder, honestly. The doctor says it’s because I’m over 35. High risk, they call it.
“Cathy, you need to take it easy,” Dr. Smith told me last week. “Rest is crucial now.”
Rest. Right. Tell that to Alan.
My husband has made it to exactly one ultrasound appointment. One… out of dozens. While I’ve been to every checkup, every test, and every moment of worry alone.
A pregnant woman undergoing her ultrasound scan at the hospital | Source: Pexels
“I have to work, Cath,” he always says. “Someone has to pay the bills.”
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