…the time of year I start reminiscing about the end of my pregnancy.

Let’s see. December 2, 2007. I was done. I had PUPPPPPP (can never remember how many Ps to put in there) and I hadn’t slept well in days. My back hurt, I was swollen, my hands were numb, I was a miserable blob. My BP was creeping up, as was the protein in my urine. I had been in the hospital for a week and I’d read every magazine and watched everything on TV. I was done.

I hit 33 weeks that day, and within the past few days, I’d seen a baby in the nursery who weighed four pounds. She looked pretty big to me, and the boys were estimated to weigh at least that much, so I felt okay doing what I did the next morning…begging my doctor for a c-section.

He agreed, and the operating room was booked for December 4, 2007 at 6:30 am.

A few pictures from my hospital stay…

The inflating leg cuffs and TED hose. Fun! There’s my belly at the bottom of the frame.

Home sweet home for two weeks!

My last “official” belly shot of my pregnancy. (I took one every Sunday)

The night before…dear god, this is horrific.

Man, I was not one of those attractive pregnant women. Ha ha! Good times. I looked so bad that every time I’d go for a follow-up appointment at my MFM’s office, the doctors and nurses would say, “holy cow, you look SO GOOD!”, not because I looked good, but because I’d looked so bad before. Heh.