Today is the magical 24 weeks.
What do I mean? I mean the point in gestation where most North American hospitals consider infants born to have enough potential to live that they will try to resuscitate them. It ranges from 22-26 weeks, but 23 or 24 is the point I was taught. Plus, at 24 weeks, at least half of the little ones born survive with the help of modern medicine.
As a crazy medical person, this is significant. Because I like my kid and want to keep it around. And because I know how the medical system works and fear the choices I would have to make or have made for me before this point. And yes, there would still be tough choices now and even at 40 weeks. Things go wrong. I know too many bad things. But, I also know the probability of good things increases on a weekly basis from here on out.
So, hooray for babies the size of an ear of corn. Who kick and roll around and grow at a good pace. Who give their mothers lumberjack sized appetites.
I hope this little one keeps cooking. Because we are literally nowhere near ready for a baby to actually be in the house. And I still have rotations to finish (and have a (what some people consider) lofty goal of working to 40 weeks). And like many others, I fear childbirth and want to put it off as long as reasonable.
On a related aside, I’m obviously not a photographic/blog pregnancy documentarian. Those sorts of posts were a strange mix of fascinating and heartbreaking to me before, so I am choosing to skip them.
But, this was a milestone I looked forward to most after the disappearance of the mind numbing morning sickness and the 20-ish week ultrasound. So, I thought I’d share my joy.