32w6d 33 Week Prenatal

Baby Z and I just went in for our 33-week prenatal appointment, and yay, for once, we passed everything with flying colors.  We definitely don’t have gestational diabetes, we’re right on target on weight gain (despite my anxiety about growing a fatty and becoming one myself), and we’re still on track for a Feb 1 due date.  But if my OB had to make a guess, she thinks that Baby Z will make an appearance at least a week early…

Also good news:  We found out that under Obamacare, breast pumps are now 100% covered under our insurance starting Jan 1.  My OB wrote us a prescription for one today, and I guess Baby Z and I are going to give breastfeeding a shot in a few weeks.  From all sources, I hear that it’ll be a challenging (and possibly painful…) experience.  Gulp.  I’ve been watching YouTube videos on breastfeeding, and I still can’t wrap my mind around my body producing actual FOOD to feed a human being.  It seems so…sci-fi.

(Sort of funny side-note:  I’ve been watching these videos on birth and breastfeeding at work.  Which is probably not a good idea since I sit in an open office environment.  Just last week my boss kind of snuck up on me and I had, like, 5 videos of boobs playing simultaneously on my computer screen, along with a video of a very loud live birth.  Nice.)

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32w5d 12-12-12

Dear Baby Z,

Happy 12-12-12 kiddo!  It’s been pointed out to me that today is the last repetitive date that I’ll see in my lifetime…but possibly not yours!   The next time three numbers will align as they did on 9-9-09, 10-10-10 and 11-11-11 will be January 1, 2101 (01-01-01), and you will be nearly 90 years old.  So I write this letter to your 90 year old self.  (Did I just blow your mind?)

My dearest hope is that by the time you’re 90, you will have lead an amazing, fulfilling, thoughtful life filled with 90 years of  love, laughter, and happiness.  I hope you’ve lived a life that you’ve imagined and a life that you’re proud of.  I hope you are surrounded by people who love you as you are.  I hope you’ve remembered to wash behind your ears, open doors, use correct grammar, eat well, travel when you can, make wise choices, learn how to fail gracefully, and not only sleep when you can, but to dream big.

But most of all, I hope you remember me as the best Mom in the entire universe.

(Just kidding.  Sort of.)

I hope you know that I feel so fortunate and proud to be your Mom.  (Unless you’ve become a sociopath or a serial killer, in which case, I take the aforementioned sentence back.)  I know at 90, it’s probably no longer appropriate for me to refer to you as my Baby Z, but I will probably always think of you that way for all of your life.  If my own mother taught me anything at all about motherhood, it’s that a major part of my job is to make sure that you suffer complete and utter embarrassment on my behalf from time to time.  I hope that I’ve succeeded.

I can hardly believe that in a few short weeks, I will be able to hold you in my arms for the first time.  Your Dad wants to be the first to hold you, but I’m putting my foot down on this one.   I’ve earned to right to be the first to hold you, dammit!  Even as I’m typing this letter, I can feel your (sharp) elbows and knees poking against my belly.  You are so very, very active these days that I’m worried that you hate sleeping already (your Mom’s favorite activity).  Sometimes when I feel your little feet poking out, I like to put two fingers against my belly and pretend that I’m ticking your toes.  You’d make a fluttering movement, and I like to imagine that you’re laughing and kicking your chubby feet around  in glee.  It’s a private game we play together, and I must say, I’m going to miss these little moments the most when you’re out in a few weeks.

Happy 12-12-12 and 01-01-01, my dear baby boy.  Whether inside or outside, I’ll always carry you in my heart.

Love,

Mom

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32w0d the countdown

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Your baby’s the size of a durian!

This week your baby weighs a little over 4 pounds and has passed the 17-inch mark. He’s rapidly losing that wrinkled, alien look and his skeleton is hardening. The bones in his skull aren’t fused together, which allows them to move and slightly overlap, thus making it easier for him to fit through the birth canal.   With that much baby inside your uterus, your amniotic-fluid level has maxed out, which explains why some of his pokes and kicks feel pretty sharp these days. (There’s less fluid to cushion the blows.) Antibodies are being passed from you to your little one asshe continues to develop his own fetal immune system, which will come in handy once he’s outside the womb and fending off all sorts of germs.

(Source: Baby Center and What to Expect)

 

I cannot believe that I am 33 weeks already.  Was it only 6 months ago that my doctor COULDN’T FIND MY BABY in my enormous uterus?  Now there’s is definitely no mistaking in his constant jabs, rolls, and karate kicks that he’s in there…and quickly running out of room!

These days, I’ve become a fat, hot, swollen, sweaty, waddling, exhausted mess of a human being.  Sleep has become elusive, even though I’m tired all the time.  I wake up at least once an hour  to hit the bathroom, and it takes me at least another 15 minutes to find a comfortable position on my side to fall back asleep…only to wake up again 45 minutes later.  I actually need to hold on to the handrails (yuck) in the subway in order to make it up and down the stairs, and simple tasks such as putting on pants feel like an exercise in dexterity (and humiliation).  My hands and feet look like they belong to Smeagol, and my emotions are like those of Jekyll and Hyde…except Hyde seems to be surfacing more and more.

In short, I’m more than ready to have this baby!  I wonder if making your third trimester as uncomfortable as possible is nature’s way of preparing you to raise a child.  Even though I’m still nervous and worried over whether I’d make a good parent, these days I’m just too freaking tired to worry beyond calculating the distance between the couch and the bathroom, as I would imagine this cat is also thinking.

3 more weeks until I’m full term.  7 weeks until my due date.  Let the countdown begin!

fat cat