Sigh. First, they took away my booze and my turkey sandwiches and even my debilitating meth habit. Now I must also add Yoga inversions to that list. (Bend it Like Becker PSA: 34 weeks is the point wherein it becomes too much of a risk of flipping baby into breech. Can’t have any of that. Stay right side up, fellow massive preggies.) So this was my farewell handstand. See you later, buddies.
This is a great week. According to the expert counsel provided by my weekly Baby Center emails, (AKA the expert counsel provided by hungover entry level copywriters cut and pasting from Wikipedia), babies born between 34-37 weeks generally do just as well health-wise as their full term counterparts. This gives me so much comfort. It’s like how I feel when I’m walking Chooch and waiting for that anticipated poop. Once you’ve checked that box, it doesn’t matter what you do. Take the long way around the neighborhood, go straight home if the weather is gross, pause to stop and bark at a flower pot… you’re playing with house money. That’s how I feel now. Frogson, I don’t care when you come out as long as you’re healthy. Do your thing. Sorry I just compared your birth to Chooch taking a poop.
On that note, (not the poop note but the bit before that), we went to the doctor’s office today and you are officially measuring perfectly on target! Ever since they started measuring my tummy I was always getting the “you’re a little behind” BS, but I managed to catch up with a vengeance (5 pounds and 4 centimeters in 2 weeks… BOOM). Just please be mindful of mama’s pelvis and don’t get too gargantuan, OK? Sorry that you are going to read that someday and be disgusted that I just brought up my pelvis. (And that I compared your birth to poop).
Not much else to note… I am lucky– very lucky– to still be feeling pretty awesome except for a few minor physiological grievances. Whatevs. Small price to pay. I know I’ve said it before but I swear the WORST thing is these AWFUL dreams! Dear God you’d think I guzzled four dozen Lunesta-laced magic mushrooms before bed with what goes through my head at night. Last night, among other assorted bizarre sagas, was a dream that Barack Obama was sleeping in bed next to me. That right there is weird enough. But I was upset because he had rolled around in garlic and herbs and gotten it all over the bed. SERIOUSLY BRAIN WTF.
Otay, uhh, I’ll leave it at that. Later gators.