Severe props to Astarte, who accompanied me on my sandwich run yesterday so I could get my fix and also gave me a footrub! I'm proud to say I ate the entire sandwich (but not all the fries) and enjoyed it tremendously. It was like sex in a paper-covered basket. Greasy goodness that still leaves me salivating when I think about it. I was up until nearly 2am with a big smile on my face.
Speaking of things that eat my waist, it's time to update on InUtero Boy. After a six week hiatus (my doctor took quite a lenghtly vacation, I must say), Gutsy and I went to my 33 week prenatal appointment.
The good news: The boy is in a great head-down position, is engaged in the pelvis and has a strong heartbeat (which I knew, because I still have my rented doppler and admit to checking on him once a week). This would explain the hooha pain when I walk or do anything else that should be perfectly pain-free. How long until my due date again?
The to-be-expected-but-still-makes-me-wince-a-little news: I put on ten pounds in the last six weeks, and it's not because I'm swollen anywhere or packing on some extra layers for winter, despite my late-night sandwich run and Second Dinners. I'm measuring nearly four weeks ahead, meaning that a third 10lb baby is most likely in my future. He feels enormous to the touch, too. Major pat on the back for The Maven for my anticipatory refusal to buy any newborn diapers or clothes. I may be dumb, but I'm also cheap and I know my babies.
Doctor D doesn't think I'll go to 40 weeks and neither do I (although I promise to eat my words in between desperate sobs if I do go beyond my due date). He's quite low now, although not alarmingly so. I'm having several braxton-hicks contractions per day, which I didn't get until about 36 weeks with Gutsy. I had none with Intrepid that I remember. My water broke with Gutsy at 38 weeks, while Intrepid was induced at 39 weeks. I try to forget about that whole induction thing and focus on the one that wanted to come out two weeks before his due date. It's gentler on my fragile emotional state.
So that's the update on the Unborn Spawn of Maven. Let's all think 38 week vibes. There's a coffee in it for you, or at least a cyber hug.
In other news, Intrepid had another performance today, although I wasn't able to attend due to my appointment. Geekster brought him to it, ate complementary pizza with the band after the gig and then took the superstah on some rides. It was pure torture for my poor nine-year-old to go to the Ex with me last week. Pregnant mothers are no fun.
After my prenatal, Gutsy and I headed off for a visit with The Madre and co. We ate deliciously fattening foods from the casse-croute (read: french name for burger and fry joint), including poutine (fries, cheese and gravy). Did I mention that this was after I spent a few minutes with my uncle in the waiting room at the clinic while he told me all about his heart attack two weeks ago?
I think my actions today earn me about 10 points off the ol' I.Q.
Finally, a conversation with Intrepid from yesterday:
Intrepid: Gutsy and I have started a band! Do you want to come to the concert?
Me: Sure! I'd love to.
Intrepid: Great. I'll make you up a ticket. We're calling ourselves 'The Laids'.
Me: ... The... The Wades?
Intrepid: No. The LAIDS.
Me: ... Oh. Hmm. neat... name.
Intrepid runs off to make me a ticket. Meanwhile, I'm pondering the name and the origins thereof. I decide they must be doing some serious wishful, forward thinking. They are male, after all.
Intrepid hands me a ticket: "Special Event: The Lades".
Now I'm wondering if he just mispelled a very valuable word in the male teen dictionary, or if this was some strange coincidence. I'm going with coincidence, but will be writing this one down for a future wedding speech.
Speaking of things that eat my waist, it's time to update on InUtero Boy. After a six week hiatus (my doctor took quite a lenghtly vacation, I must say), Gutsy and I went to my 33 week prenatal appointment.
The good news: The boy is in a great head-down position, is engaged in the pelvis and has a strong heartbeat (which I knew, because I still have my rented doppler and admit to checking on him once a week). This would explain the hooha pain when I walk or do anything else that should be perfectly pain-free. How long until my due date again?
The to-be-expected-but-still-makes-me-wince-a-little news: I put on ten pounds in the last six weeks, and it's not because I'm swollen anywhere or packing on some extra layers for winter, despite my late-night sandwich run and Second Dinners. I'm measuring nearly four weeks ahead, meaning that a third 10lb baby is most likely in my future. He feels enormous to the touch, too. Major pat on the back for The Maven for my anticipatory refusal to buy any newborn diapers or clothes. I may be dumb, but I'm also cheap and I know my babies.
Doctor D doesn't think I'll go to 40 weeks and neither do I (although I promise to eat my words in between desperate sobs if I do go beyond my due date). He's quite low now, although not alarmingly so. I'm having several braxton-hicks contractions per day, which I didn't get until about 36 weeks with Gutsy. I had none with Intrepid that I remember. My water broke with Gutsy at 38 weeks, while Intrepid was induced at 39 weeks. I try to forget about that whole induction thing and focus on the one that wanted to come out two weeks before his due date. It's gentler on my fragile emotional state.
So that's the update on the Unborn Spawn of Maven. Let's all think 38 week vibes. There's a coffee in it for you, or at least a cyber hug.
***
In other news, Intrepid had another performance today, although I wasn't able to attend due to my appointment. Geekster brought him to it, ate complementary pizza with the band after the gig and then took the superstah on some rides. It was pure torture for my poor nine-year-old to go to the Ex with me last week. Pregnant mothers are no fun.
After my prenatal, Gutsy and I headed off for a visit with The Madre and co. We ate deliciously fattening foods from the casse-croute (read: french name for burger and fry joint), including poutine (fries, cheese and gravy). Did I mention that this was after I spent a few minutes with my uncle in the waiting room at the clinic while he told me all about his heart attack two weeks ago?
I think my actions today earn me about 10 points off the ol' I.Q.
***
Finally, a conversation with Intrepid from yesterday:
Intrepid: Gutsy and I have started a band! Do you want to come to the concert?
Me: Sure! I'd love to.
Intrepid: Great. I'll make you up a ticket. We're calling ourselves 'The Laids'.
Me: ... The... The Wades?
Intrepid: No. The LAIDS.
Me: ... Oh. Hmm. neat... name.
Intrepid runs off to make me a ticket. Meanwhile, I'm pondering the name and the origins thereof. I decide they must be doing some serious wishful, forward thinking. They are male, after all.
Intrepid hands me a ticket: "Special Event: The Lades".
Now I'm wondering if he just mispelled a very valuable word in the male teen dictionary, or if this was some strange coincidence. I'm going with coincidence, but will be writing this one down for a future wedding speech.