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I’m so close to the end, and yet there’s still nothing I can do but wait. Oh, I can pre-wash the cloth diapers and drink my uterus-strengthening tea. I can swim the world’s slowest 800 meters and blend healthy strawberry-banana smoothies. I can bump into counters. But mostly, I wait.
I feel like I’ve been waiting since way back in October when I saw two lines on a little stick instead of one.
This is not how I usually work. For example, if I can’t think of the right ending for a column, I’ll still end it. I don’t keep writing indefinitely.
Or consider a ballet combination: A dance stops when the choreography does, ideally on a particular note in the music. There’s no guessing. When I perform a variation onstage, I can predict the final movement down to the exact second.
Yet, I can’t even predict on what week my pregnancy will end.
Here’s what I do know: About 90 percent of pregnancies that run their natural course last 37-42 weeks. This gives us a range of more than a month.
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