Monday, March 13, 2006

Week 25 (almost)

Wow. Time flies when you're, um, pregnant. Hard to believe we get to meet our baby girl in 15 weeks! Awesome!

There is a whole world of crazy boobness going on here in Pregnancy Land, and in all honesty, if they get any larger I fear for my balance. It's ridiculous enough that I went up an entire cup size in a week and a half. Then, I realized that it wasn't swelling, but that my boobs had, in fact, grown that much that quickly. Freaky. Now though, I'm noticing that they're not stopping. I stopped being able to see my feet by the 8th week of this pregnancy, and it wasn't 'cause of the belly. Now being just past the 6 month mark, you'd think that my belly would protrude further than my boobs. Nope! The boobs, they're still winning. I can't afford to go bra shopping *again*, so instead I'm relying on tank tops with "shelf bras" and warm breezes to keep me sane until they stop (will they ever?) their unceasing growth.

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, things are moving along swimmingly. I have had a very angry uterine occupant for the last two or three days, but she seems to be calming down a bit now. She literally spent almost every waking moment of the last several days punching, kicking, or arching her back in protest. I know she was arching her back, because she was facing out towards my belly button at the time, and the arching forced her head back against my, well, back, and it felt all kinds of weird. So yes, she's angry. Portia says she's exercising. Nah, she's just my kid, and is/was in a pissy mood. I was looking through a cookbook the other night, and had the book propped on my belly, 'cause, you know, it's there. B happened to be looking over at the exact moment that Little Angel kicked so ferociously as to knock the book out of my hands. Seriously. My abs still hurt from that little stretch. So, apparently Mama isn't allowed to read for the next 15 weeks. Awesome. I keep reminding her she has to stay in there for 3 more months, and she keeps kicking my hip and punching my colon. Glad we straightened that out.

In exciting news, my parental units are bringing down furniture (!) on Saturday for BB3's room. Theoretically, they are bringing a cradle, a crib, and a dresser. They are definitely bringing the cradle, but the dresser needs to be painted (so says mom, and I'm okay with it as long as it's done here) as does the crib, because the paint is "badly chipped" on the end. Okay, fine. Then please, please, in the name of all that is holy, bring all the furniture here, and come visit to paint it. Otherwise, our child will be sleeping in bed with us, because she won't have any furniture, and her clothing will be spread out in stacks in her (empty save for a rocking chair) room. We'll see how much furniture we actually get. If worse comes to worse, we will most definitely be getting the cradle, and will have to purchase a mattress for it, as it is the cradle that my grandfather built for my father when he was a little one (my father was the little one, not my grandfather...that would be weird) and the mattress has disappeared in the 19 or so years since it was used for my brother. BB3 will have somewhere to sleep from the get-go.

I had my six month checkup last Wednesday, and everything is moving along just fine. I see a "regular" doctor, as well as a direct-entry midwife, because I am participating in what is known as "shadow care." I live in one of the few states where homebirth is illegal, and as I am adamant that I not have this baby in a hospital where I will be treated like an incubator, I have sought the help of a direct-entry midwife for the birth, but am continuing to go to my regular appointments with the ob-gyn/nurse midwife practice in town. At my doctor's appointments (not to be confused with my midwife) I am weighed, fundal height is measured, heart rate is checked, and we generally get to take a look at the little one through ultrasound. According to every once-pregnant woman I know, this is a very strange thing, because most of them received two ultrasounds during their entire pregnancy. So far I've had at least one at every appointment. I like it that way. I have to go a week between seeing my other two kids, which is hard enough. It's almost excruciating to only see our third child once a month.

The newest addition of my doctor's appointments has been to warn me of the dangers of pre-term labor. Thanks, guys, 'cause I'm not freaking out enough at the thought of my hips spreading *more* and not sleeping, and am I getting enough nutrients, and dear Jesus I took three Tylenol instead of two for my migraine the other day. Apparently, it is entirely possible that I will go in to labor Any.Second. and must be extra super-duper careful to not "aggravate" my uterus. Okay, so that means what exactly? According to the doc, that means no strenuous exercise (yeah, i'm doing any strenuous exercise...this is the one time in my life i'm totally expected to sit on my butt) no cleaning of bathrooms or kitchen floors, I shouldn't do too much bending and stooping, which means not too much laundry, etc. So, if I understand correctly, I am to let my house go completely to rot around me while I sit on my butt and watch? Um, no. Now don't get me wrong, PB does his more-than-fair share of housework, but he is also putting in 70-80 hours a weeks at the office in the hopes that we will be able to pay the bills and I won't have to immediately go back to work, so he's usually completely whipped by the time he gets home around 8 or 9pm, knowing he has to get us between 4 and 5 the next morning. I called my nurse midwife (we'll call her KC from now on, to differentiate) who told me in no uncertain terms that I was to pretty much completely forget everything the fire and brimstone doc had told me and was to live my life normally. I'm pregnant, not ill. My tests have all come back normal, every time, and I have textbook good blood pressure. I am not anemic, I do not have a problem cervix, nor is my baby's growth being stunted. I am to live my life, and listen to my body. If I feel like I need to take a nap, take a nap. If I feel motivated (like I did the other day) to clean out an entire room and make 8 trips up to the attic, I should do it. I am in no way to feel obligated to perform (or not perform, as the case may be) certain tasks simply because I am pregnant. My body will tell me if I am working too hard. I love her. She has a very, "we are woman, leave us alone to gestate in peace" attitude.

And did I mention that PB is planning to train for the JFK Memorial Marathon? That's a 50K, people. That's a lot. Luckily, he's got until November '07 to train for it, but still. That's just crazy. As someone who has spent her entire life trying *not* to run, unless chased of course, I just can not understand the appeal of pounding up and down pavement for 30 something miles. Seriously? Just drive if you need to get there that bad. But I totally support him doing it, and training at the butt-crack of dawn, when he'll take BB3 in the stroller so that Mama can get at least an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep, is an added bonus. Yay!

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