I hit 40 weeks of pregnancy today, and I still haven't given birth yet. I'm huge. I'm having trouble walking, rolling over in bed, breathing. My feet are so puffy I can't bend my toes, my hands feel arthritic, and I can't reach the sink to brush my teeth without dribbling toothpaste on my stomach.

And yet, for all that, it's still sort of nice to be pregnant.

The baby is moving around a lot, which is surprising since there's less and less room in there for her. But I can see my stomach rippling as her hands and feet flutter around and push outwards. It's wild. Sometimes painful, frequently uncomfortable, but wild.

It's really weird knowing there's a whole separate person growing inside you, a person who will grow up with her own hopes and dreams and neuroses and fears and loves and hates and needs and wants. Strange to think that this creature pummelling my innards will one day go to school, drive a car, fall in love. All I want is for her to be healthy and happy, and I'm terrified of her being neither. I'm not ready to deal with illness or colic or sadness. But I know that as soon as she comes out, I'll have to learn to deal with all that and more.

Which is why it's still nice to be pregnant, even with all the discomfort. At least I know she's safe and warm. And getting lots of exercise.