The Anticipation Builds.

As the new year dawned, the signs of winter and labor flurried around me like a snowflake in the wind. The temperatures dropped and so did my belly. The houses creaked with frozen gusts and so did my bones. The weight of this small being sank deep into my hips, leaving me with achey pains and an inability to keep my knees together. I found myself holding my belly as I waddled the halls at work, worrying my coworkers on the daily. So, needless to say, when the nurse found little one head down at 35 weeks, no one was surprised. 

That same week, I collected my essentials for the hospital and took an "Oh shit! My water broke!" bag to work. I carefully began to plan for my leave, looking forward to the big day. 

At my 36 week appointment, I waited anxiously for the doctor's analysis of effacement and dilation. When she announced that neither had occurred, I nearly kicked her in the face! "In fact," she said, "I don't even feel a head. Maybe some fingers or toes. This kid is breech." 

BREECH! 

The word itself filled me with fear. With every ounce of composure left within me, I asked what this meant. The doctor calmly explained that there was nothing to worry about until at least 38 weeks. She hesitated to discuss the details, but briefly mentioned the three possible outcomes: 

Door #1: baby turn before labor/delivery 

Door #2: perform a version procedure to manually turn the baby 

Door #3: perform a scheduled c-section 

Somehow, I didn't totally freak out. I was able to tell Ryan and my mom with no tears. It wasn't until I learned Costco's ice cream machine was broken (preventing me from securing the very berry sundae I have been craving all day) that I lost it. Full-on ugly cry. 

Speaking of ugly crying....baby calls. To be continued...