I'm sorry that I keep writing about my pregnancy.. Really, I am. But since it's what dominates my thoughts, and this is where I try really hard to expel thoughts from my mind, this is where the thoughts go.

About 4 weeks ago, my OB mentioned to me that 34 weeks was the magic healthy week for an unborn baby. Or, for that matter, a born baby. Babies born at 34 weeks generally have very few health problems, and typically only require a short NICU visit. So, she said, if they could get me to 34 weeks, I'd most likely have a healthy little guy.

In that same conversation, she told me that she really felt that with the amount of monitoring I was going through, they would most likely have a 10 day heads up if I were to start getting sick.

Here we are at 33 weeks, 5 days, and Baby G and I are perfectly healthy. Know what that means? That means that even if I WERE to have the first signs of pre-eclampsia at my appointment Friday (which we are all still praying will not happen), I would most likely get well into the 35 week range before they had to deliver G.  Know what's healthier than a 34 week baby? A 35 week baby.

KB was born at 33 weeks, 3 days. I'm two days past that now, which means I'm two days past my anxiety point. I guess that all along I've been praying to just get there with a healthy baby, and then anything past there was a bonus. Now that I know I'm getting to that bonus, I feel so relieved.

It hasn't helped my anxiety that Jason has been gone for the past two weeks. He got the opportunity to do some really awesome submarine stuff in D.C., and I don't blame him for taking that opportunity. It just really sucked that it meant him leaving me when he had to. We're at the end of those two weeks, however, and all of us have made it!

And I'm pretty sure I only had 2 or 3 meltdowns along the way.