Guess who's back? Back again. Maven's back. Tell some men.
Actually, please don't tell any men. I only have one and he's the reason behind my hugeness and uncomfortableness. I don't need more men and more pregnancies, thankyouverymuch.
Hark! I bring news from the medical world of pregnancy (I really can't stand how pregnancy is considered a medical condition, by the way, but I'll save that rant for another time). What shall we speak of first?
Obviously, I was correct. I'm measuring 42 centimeters at 36 weeks. A full 6cm ahead due to the mutant spawnling within me. He's also still firmly head down (no way he's going to move now as he has about as much room in there as I do in between me and the steering wheel at the moment - meaning abso-freaking-lutely none). His back is squarely in the middle of my tummy and he's ready to rock.
I'm nearly 2cm dialated, which means the contractions from this week have been fairly productive. Horray! The doctor thinks this is less horray as I'm only 36 weeks, but the doctor also hasn't gained two pounds this week of pure baby and is not praying - praying! - to every single god of all major religions, idols, icons and coloured paperclips that this child be born no more than two weeks from now. Call me selfish, but I would like to avoid a 23lb baby if at all possible. Just a personal preference, I guess.
Besides, being 2cm means very little in a third pregnancy. Yet, I cling to a bit of hope, as I was 1cm last week. Slow but sure, like the tortoise. And news in print form. And old men walking to the mailbox.
As for the itching, we will wait to see what happens. If I get UberItchy(tm), we'll run some more liver panel tests. However, I hope this little man makes his appearance before my innards decide to wreak havoc on both of us.
Earlier today I took Gutsy to the park. He asked me to play 'spaceship' with him, so I did. I walked up the playstructure and barely squeezed through the opening, which is designed for small children and little adults. Plus-sized pregnant women and land whales everywhere are screaming out in protest. Boy, that half a block to the park was a killer! Phew. Once I made it onto the playstructure I sat down on a step while Gutsy 'worked the controls' on a panel.
'Wow, Mom! With me working the controls and you... um... sitting on the buttons, we're really making this ship fly fast!'
How sad it is that I'm so pregnant and immobile my child has to resort to pretending I'm sitting on buttons? There are times when I feel like nothing more than a mediocre mother, despite my willingness to tolerate their abuse on a full-time basis. This was one of those times. The Maven of Mediocrity.
I haven't mentioned as of late that I'm glad to have closed down Daycareville. Well, it's about time that I do! This week is a great example, as there's something that needs to be done every day of the week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings Gutsy has to be at school. Today I had a prenatal and a preschool meeting this evening. Wednesday, while the boys are in school, I have someone coming to give us an estimate on having our driveway paved. Thursday I take the boys to speech followed by a late celebratory birthday lunch with my grandma, followed by meet the teacher night.
In other words, I can't really go into labour this week. I will tell The Thing That Ate My Waist that he must spend at least the next five days in there. I'm sure he'll cooperate - he's one of my children after all and we all know how easy going they are.
Actually, please don't tell any men. I only have one and he's the reason behind my hugeness and uncomfortableness. I don't need more men and more pregnancies, thankyouverymuch.
Hark! I bring news from the medical world of pregnancy (I really can't stand how pregnancy is considered a medical condition, by the way, but I'll save that rant for another time). What shall we speak of first?
Obviously, I was correct. I'm measuring 42 centimeters at 36 weeks. A full 6cm ahead due to the mutant spawnling within me. He's also still firmly head down (no way he's going to move now as he has about as much room in there as I do in between me and the steering wheel at the moment - meaning abso-freaking-lutely none). His back is squarely in the middle of my tummy and he's ready to rock.
I'm nearly 2cm dialated, which means the contractions from this week have been fairly productive. Horray! The doctor thinks this is less horray as I'm only 36 weeks, but the doctor also hasn't gained two pounds this week of pure baby and is not praying - praying! - to every single god of all major religions, idols, icons and coloured paperclips that this child be born no more than two weeks from now. Call me selfish, but I would like to avoid a 23lb baby if at all possible. Just a personal preference, I guess.
Besides, being 2cm means very little in a third pregnancy. Yet, I cling to a bit of hope, as I was 1cm last week. Slow but sure, like the tortoise. And news in print form. And old men walking to the mailbox.
As for the itching, we will wait to see what happens. If I get UberItchy(tm), we'll run some more liver panel tests. However, I hope this little man makes his appearance before my innards decide to wreak havoc on both of us.
Earlier today I took Gutsy to the park. He asked me to play 'spaceship' with him, so I did. I walked up the playstructure and barely squeezed through the opening, which is designed for small children and little adults. Plus-sized pregnant women and land whales everywhere are screaming out in protest. Boy, that half a block to the park was a killer! Phew. Once I made it onto the playstructure I sat down on a step while Gutsy 'worked the controls' on a panel.
'Wow, Mom! With me working the controls and you... um... sitting on the buttons, we're really making this ship fly fast!'
How sad it is that I'm so pregnant and immobile my child has to resort to pretending I'm sitting on buttons? There are times when I feel like nothing more than a mediocre mother, despite my willingness to tolerate their abuse on a full-time basis. This was one of those times. The Maven of Mediocrity.
I haven't mentioned as of late that I'm glad to have closed down Daycareville. Well, it's about time that I do! This week is a great example, as there's something that needs to be done every day of the week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings Gutsy has to be at school. Today I had a prenatal and a preschool meeting this evening. Wednesday, while the boys are in school, I have someone coming to give us an estimate on having our driveway paved. Thursday I take the boys to speech followed by a late celebratory birthday lunch with my grandma, followed by meet the teacher night.
In other words, I can't really go into labour this week. I will tell The Thing That Ate My Waist that he must spend at least the next five days in there. I'm sure he'll cooperate - he's one of my children after all and we all know how easy going they are.