This morning (yesterday morning?) we had another midwife appointment… one with the blood glucose screening or whatever that is where they make you drink what is apparently the syrup part of orange soda and then steal your preshus blood.
I. Do not. LIKE. Needles.
But I totally sucked it up today. Am a big girl, after all.
And then I crashed as soon as we got home, which is why I’m wide awake NOW. But I was so annoyed! Because I? Am dumb. And bad at being pregnant.
Remember that whole emergency trip to the midwifea while ago? And how it was NOTHING, and everything was FINE and I felt all silly? I took that experience very much to heart, because I hate drama and I hate feeling silly. And so I spent a few days last week ignoring what were apparently multiple symptoms of freaking pre-term labor, because God forbid I make a scene and feel silly. I was blithely relating to the midwife how everything was great! I feel great! I’m sure glad that the baby moved out of that weirdo position she was in for a few days last week, cause it kind of hurt a lot! And felt like she was going to fall out when I walked upright! Back pain? Sure, but only for a month or so! No big! Because I don’t freak out! I am level-headed, baby!
Ahem.
Fortunately, my cervix is still closed, just softening. I’m supposed to not exercise anymore, which is funny, because I haven’t been exercising AT ALL and also because usually I get a big Midwifey Lecture about the importance of an active pregnancy. She started asking me about “working full time” and “needing rest if this happens again” but I headed her off with Christmas Break! It will be here soon and I will totally rest then! Because so help me, if people start talking bed rest when there is still work to be done and young’uns to be learned, my head will explode. The End.
In other weird pregnancy news, I had officially gained one pound, but I lost it. I’m calculating this by my pre-pregnancy weight, which granted, had some extra chub. Which I lost entirely through the miraculous diet known as the First Trimester of Doom. So I am now back to what I weighed before I was pregnant, although it is proportioned very differently, and I’m still wearing regular old jeans even though I’m six months along. Am weird. I read today that the average woman gains 11 pounds during the third trimester. So if I miraculously started gaining weight like an average woman, I will have gained….11 pounds during my whole pregnancy. And this makes me think I should probably eat something! Only, there is no ROOM for food in there. There is no room for other silly things, such as my ribcage or lungs either! Only room for Ariel, with her strangely long leg bones and wooshy-woosh-woosh heartbeat.
Ariel, who is currently winning the world’s longest running game of hide-and-seek. I knew early on that she was very active, what with feeling her kicking even though the midwife said I wasn’t, and the way people had to chase her around my stomach with Doppler or sonogram wands. Joey got to feel her move pretty early on, but then she found a fun new game! We call it Kick Like a Rabid Squirrel In a Bag Until Someone Else Tries To Feel, Then Freeze! The grandmothers are not amused. I can lay my own hands on my stomach, and feel her just fine, but the instant anyone else touches me, she stops. Every. Single. Time. The rare occasions where I have a hard time falling asleep because of baby activity, I just put Joey’s hand on my stomach and voila!
The only family member who seems exempt from this game is McLovin. Who was innocently snoozing on my tummy, minding her own business, when her floppy little head got shoved from within, pretty hard. She deserved it, though. Just ask Maya.
