When I first became pregnant with Maddie, I had women coming out of the woodwork with advice. What to eat, what not to eat, where to shop, whether or not to breastfeed, you name it and there was a person with an opinion. Most topics I expected, but I was astonished at how many women felt the need to give me “body preservation” advice.

One client immediately wrote down the address of a store that sells circulation hose; she advised me to start wearing them “RIGHT AWAY” so I wouldn’t get varicose veins. Another client was kind enough to feel my boobs and tell me to “kiss their perkiness goodbye” unless I started sleeping in a jog bra every night. But this paled in the number and ferocity of comments I got about stretch marks. Every single woman I met had the “perfect” solution for avoiding stretch marks. Being the obsessive researcher I am, I hit the internet and got the low-down. Want to know the most sure-fire way to avoid stretch marks when pregnant? Here it is:

As I inch towards 38 weeks and my belly inches towards Guinness Book worthiness, I sit here, still sick, still pregnant.

On the upside – while feeling worse Monday morning, a whole day pretty much in bed made me feel significantly better by the end of the evening. And Madeleine’s had a slight drip, but I’m hoping it stops there.

On the downside – I’ve stayed in bed pretty much the whole day, and haven’t even had the baby yet.

Halcyon Days my Aunt Fanny.

Yes, I’m enjoying my last few weeks with Maddie. Yes, they are precious. Yes, I know they’ll never come again and should be savored.

On the other hand, enough with the pregnancy already.

There’s a Greek myth about the goddess Alcyone who fell in love with a mortal. When he died at sea, she drowned herself in grief. The gods felt pity for the couple, transformed them into sea birds, and would calm the seas every year for a couple of weeks to enable the birds to safely lay their eggs. Over time, the phrase “halcyon days” came about to describe the two weeks around the winter solstice that sailors believed were typified by unusually calm seas; a sort of calm peace before the storm.

And that’s where we’re living right now: in the calm peace before the storm. While a part of me tenses in expectation of all that’s coming our way – my husband’s continued job search and the possible move that may result from it, adapting to a newborn in the house and all the sleep deprivation that comes with her, and oh yes, let’s not forget the joy of labor – another part of me is physically willing myself to try to simply dwell in the moment.