I'm twenty-seven weeks pregnant today and I think that it's ok to relax a tiny, tiny bit.
The neonatologist came by yesterday to give me the run-down of what we can expect from a baby born between 27 and 28 weeks. Having had a preemie before, I'm not too mislead by rainbow colored pictures of high survival rates and a hopefully smooth NICU stay, but he was very optimistic. Every day the baby stays inside the womb is huge and the first few days after birth (if the baby were to be born today, which he won't) could still bring a lot of surprises, but overall things are promising. To summarize, if the Peanut were born today--which he or she won't be--they would expect him to survive. Chances of complications are relatively low and we could expect the baby to grow normally and to be like other children. The baby would be in the NICU for a long time, but could probably have a relatively uneventful stay, Respiratory Distress Syndrome aside.
All that said, the longer I stay pregnant the greater our chances are of a happy, sunshine-type ending. But it is reassuring to know that we are leaving the Danger Zone where the chances of Baby's survival are NOT so high and our chances of complications are greater. And since I don't have plans to give birth today, or maybe even tomorrow, I feel like I have the luxury to focus on the positive side of this. We have come a looooong way in the last three weeks. And whatever happens, I need to remember--I NEED to remember--that what we will get is vastly better than what I was expecting when I first walked into the hospital. I will most likely (the misleading promises of statistics aside) be bringing home a healthy baby instead of trying to figure out how to plan a funeral. I am already blessed.
Of course, I am still hanging onto the hope of reaching 34 weeks. This is the Olympics of Pregnancy and there's no point in competing if you're hoping to just cross the finish line. There is honor in that, to be sure, but I'm competing for the gold medal. It makes me laugh a little because it is entirely out of my control. It's a big job, however, and I like me a silly metaphor.
I will end this ridiculously upbeat post by saying that I am sick of the smell of amniotic fluid and if I never smell it again, it will be too soon.