Week Thirty-Nine - The Final Countdown

I know that it's been all baby all the time around here lately and if you're not into it I do apologize.  I can also pretty much guarantee that it's going to get significantly worse once the baby actually exists outside my belly.  I'm going to be obnoxious, I can feel it.  But lest we forget what this blog is (or was) supposed to be about, I'm using my Week Thirty-Nine post to talk about being pregnant in Sweden specifically.  Granted, I haven't been pregnant in the US or anywhere else, but I know enough to know how fortunate I am to be doing this here.  Today, for example, was my last day of work before over a year and half of parental leave that The Swede and I can split however works best for us, paid by the government.  I can't help but marvel that after a dozen appointments with doctors, midwives and technicians we have never opened our wallets.  There is no business office at the clinic, no invoices, no proof of insurance, nor will there be when I deliver and when we stay over at the hospital, regardless of what is medically or procedurally required.  I, even as a non-citizen, am getting the same care as Sweden's richest citizen and its poorest immigrant and the care is excellent.  No, I don't get to choose my doctor, nor will my baby be delivered by anyone I've ever met before and yes, we pay a lot of taxes here, but not as much more than a US resident as you might think.  Beyond the differences between Sweden and the US, though, is the much more significant reality of how lucky our family is compared to so much of the rest of the world where this experience which is so joyful to us could mean a high likelihood of death.  I don't want to take it for granted that I have the luxury of feeling safe.

And now back to our regularly scheduled program of superficiality:
It's a good thing today was my last day of work because I have nothing to wear.  Time to get a move on, Baby Swede.  My wardrobe can no longer accommodate you.