Saturday, June 22, 2013

It's Friday and I'm Pregnant: Week 36 ...

"Feel that?" she asks.
I won't even tell you what she's doing, but, yes, I do feel it.
"That's the baby's head," she says. "She's in position."

Basically this means that if I did a handstand, the PBG would be wearing my pelvis like a jester's hat. This doesn't mean the nurse practitioner, who is filling in for my doctor, is going to predict a due date. At least not aloud. But, she tells me, this positioning means that when I get to the delivery room much of the work has been done.

This is good news. I'm in a silent competition with my own mother, who labored less than 3 hours with both my brother and me. If I can score a 2 hours, 45 minutes, I'll be the reigning champion.

It also means that it might hurt to walk, the nurse tells me, which I've verified.

"Like you've got a bowling ball between your legs," she suggests. "And then you might begin to feel electric jolts in your vagina. ... Maybe you've begun to walk like a duck."

I'm starting to feel like people should pay 50 cents to a man in an exaggerated top hat to sneak a peek  behind the velvet curtain. Visit my cage. Throw peanuts at me. Pet my second head.

We discuss upcoming appointments, including the one next week.
"And," she says, "If you're still coming here the next week ..."
Whoa. If?
She must notice my big eyes.
"Yep," she says. "I have to tell you. That baby's coming out. One way or another."


Me: "Promise me we will never put one of those headbands on our baby's head."
Chuck: "No way."
Me: "She can wear hats, though. We need to make sure that she is comfortable in a hat."
Chuck: "Yeah, but we don't want to raise Blossom."
Me: "... Why not? I like Blossom. And she as a good dancer."
Chuck: "In your opinionation."


I've become obsessed with swollen ankles, to the point where I might have ankle dysmorphia.


Chuck and I were in Canal Park today to catch Lil Latrell's big finish during Grandma's Marathon.
"Look at that kid," he said.
A young boy, very serious looking, was pacing a man -- seemingly his father -- down the homestretch.
And ... I started bawling.
I stuck my face to Chuck's arm.
"Later" (sniffle) "Later" (sniffle) "That dad is going to tell everyone that" (sniffle) "that kid helped him finish the race."
Full on tears mixing with rain.
Chuck cackled. He claims that I always cry when I see young people succeeding. That I didn't stand a chance at the finish line of a marathon.


Anonymous said...

Thank you for taking a stand against baby headbands. They are the worst.

Jodi said...

I read this last night before bed and barked with laughter at Chuck's opinionation line. I thought it might have been the gin, but I've been awake for like an hour now and it's still cracking me up. Well played, Chuck.

Also, I was known to wear a Blossom hat or 8 in the 90s.

Tawny said...

My baby was also in position at 36 weeks. They pulled me from work and I sat around until I was induced at 41 weeks.


Just approach labor with the attitude that although it is nice to have a plan, babies come when they want and how they want.