Spacefem's Weekly Wikipedia Pregnancy Blog: 37 weeks pregnant

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This week's articles

Month Week Day Article
8 37W,0D 259Human milk banking in North America
8 37W,1D 260Nine Months
8 37W,2D 261Sheila Kitzinger
8 37W,3D 262Junior (film)
8 37W,4D 263Overactive let-down
8 37W,5D 264Baby-led weaning
8 37W,6D 265Maternity blues

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I happened to be 37 weeks pregnant on my birthday.

The weather was kinda nasty that day. Rainy, cloudy, chance of storms. What's funny about that is that my Mom has a totally selective memory about weather on my birthday. For some odd reason, she's got it in her head that May 20th has always been an absolutely gorgeous day every day since 1980. So on years when it's nice out, she calls me and says, "See? Once again it's 73 and breezy and not a cloud in the sky, just like it always is on your birthday!" On years when it's like this, she calls me to say, "I can't believe it's raining, it's never rained on your birthday!" Except it has, lots of times, my birthday has about the same weather as any other day in the spring in Kansas. Sometimes nice, sometimes not. I remember turning 21 on a rainy Sunday, out to lunch with my sister, unable to order a fun summery drink to celebrate my legal alcohol status. It was sad.

Being Really Freaking Pregnant obviously gave me a new relationship with both my mother and my birthday. I somehow think that her memory of the weather may be some kind of complicated childbirth result that happened in 1980, who knows what May 20th was like for her but it was changed. I'm unable to think of it like any day because it's always been my birthday, I have all these memories from every year, fading back in time. She's unable to think of it like any day because she remembers the day. Maybe the weather was nice that day? Maybe there wasn't a window in sight, but she was so happy to not be pregnant she imagined it was a beautiful day? Either way it stuck, and overwhelmed all her May 20ths forever.

Last week I was telling my investment club ladies that I was tired of hearing all these bad childbirth stories. Why people do this to pregnant women, I'll never know. But my investment club is full of the awesomest most supportive women, and one of them just smiled and said, "You know that none of those stories really matter, right? Because soon you'll have your own."

My own story, my own birth day, my own crazy tainted changed-forever square on the calendar. Of course I will always have all the May 20ths to celebrate myself and how awesome I am, my celebration of years. But I'm curious and anxious to see what it's like to really celebrate birth.

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