|From 5 Minutes for Parenting|
I almost had my baby in Target yesterday.
My toddler and I made a quick trip to the Big Red Mothership after lunch to pick up a few items. But instead of strolling the aisles in search of body wash, Clementines and diapers, I ended up clinging to the cart handle while my body endured wave after wave of breath-taking contractions. They were apparently triggered by me participating in the adventurous x-sport known as walking slowly.
I’m sure they were the infamous Braxton-Hicks, because if I stopped moving, the contractions also stopped. But as soon as I started to walk again, I felt the python tighten its grip around my abdomen.
Meanwhile, the baby was trying to tunnel out of my uterus through my belly button.
It took me about 45 minutes to get the 10 or so items I needed.
At the check-out, the woman in front of me gleefully asked, “When are you due?” before I even started to unload my cart.
“Next month,” I grimaced, as another rock-hard contraction forced me to stand still.
“Oh my word, you are so cute!” she enthused.
(I hear that a lot these days.)
“Thank you,” I laughed wryly. “I don’t feel cute. I feel huge and tired and breathless. But I will take all the reassurance I can get.”
Slowly, I unloaded my purchases onto the moving belt. Naturally, I had to take a break after I dared lift anything heavier than a buff puff. Even the box of 84 newborn-sized diapers set off a spasm of tight muscles.
But I am cute. So they say.
And I didn’t have my baby in Target.
Even if the Braxton-Hicks force me to move at the speed of a geriatric turtle.
Maybe it's pregnancy brain, but I don't remember Braxton-Hicks attacking me with such ferocity before. Does anyone else have stories to share of contractions dictating their lifestyle the last few weeks of a pregnancy?
Kelly is 34 weeks pregnant with her fourth baby. When she isn't held in suspended animation by a Braxton-Hicks, she can be found blogging at Love Well.