The next milestone I'd had in mind, 33 weeks, seems simply too far off to comprehend. So my next milestone now is 28 weeks, which puts me at the end of November. Mentally, I think I can handle that concept.
Another thing that's helped: The other day, I was reading through an article on Sidelines (huge thanks to Jody for pointing me there--I'm already recommending it to others), in which a doctor is quoted as saying that between 24 and 28 weeks, each extra day in the womb increases survival rates by 3 percent. I'm not too sure about that math, but the concept alone has been hugely helpful to me, mentally--the idea that rather than staring down the long impossible barrel of the next eight weeks plus, every single day I keep Bat Girl inside I am accomplishing something real.
Emotionally, I go back and forth. Jody also mentioned PPD--I do worry about PPD, given that I had a serious bout of clinical depression in college, am generally prone to depressive states and mild OCD, and am thus at risk for PPD even without the difficult pregnancy (not to mention infertility, another risk factor for PPD). But I'm even more worried about falling into depression now, while I'm still pregnant. I do keep tabs on my emotional state--having been depressed before, I know what it feels like--but it's sometimes hard to tell what's normal pregnancy hormonalness and what isn't. I think bursting into tears when my mother gave me a hard time about daycare vs. nanny qualifies as hormones (I mean, jeez, Mom, can I please focus on getting this baby out alive before you start criticizing my outside-the-womb childcare choices?); on the other hand, lying on the bed yesterday afternoon gripped with a sudden certainty that I can not do this is right there on the edge of normal fears vs. debilitating despair.
Friday night I had a horrible dream, that I got up to go to the bathroom and blood and tissue started pouring out of me, and through one mishap after another it took us forever to get in touch with the doctor and get to the hospital. I woke up just as we were pulling up to the dream-hospital doors, and I was so sticky with sweat that I had to reach between my legs to make sure I wasn't covered in blood.
Despite all this, I am doing okay. I get up every day at the same time, shower, dress--in real clothes; initially when I was sentenced to work-at-home I planned to send back the few items of winter maternity clothes I'd ordered, but then I decided that wearing nothing but yoga pants and big T-shirts every day for the next 3 months was a surefire way to slide into madness. I work--I even get actual work done, in fact I probably surf the Internet less than I would at the office. I ordered a crib mattress--yes, I went for the pricey organic one; figured we got the crib for free, so I could afford the splurge. I finished my registry online. We're slowly making progress on cleaning out the baby's room. More days than not, I'm optimistic that yes, Bat Girl will be here, sooner or later. Later rather than sooner, preferably.