6 pound baby and a dwindling sense of humor

Week 33: smuggling a beachball

Week 34: smuggling a much lower beachball, complete with moon face syndrome

It's official - I have finally arrived at the uncomfortable stage of pregnancy.  Nice that it took 34 weeks to get here.  Sad that I still have 5 more to go.  Up to this point, I've had minimal issues carrying my little baby belly around.  But until now, my sweet baby has been riding high.  Sometime in Week 33, I dropped.

I've read stories of women gaining some relief when their baby drops into position.  Suddenly, they can breathe again.  Their perpetual back pain goes away.  They start seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  For me, not so much.  Baby's head is pressed firmly against my cervix, which is apparently the end of the line for any baby I get the pleasure of carrying.  My doctor informs me today that my pelvis may be too narrow for a baby to ever descend into.  Especially a mammoth baby like the ones I've grown so far in my gestational career.  So before the advent of modern medicine, I was the mother who died in childbirth because those two things are incompatible.  But I digress.  A dropped baby means constant pressure, walking like there's a bowling ball between my legs, and super humorous contractions.  All day.  5 minutes apart.  Just for funsies.  Thank goodness for my parents, who saved me after almost 24 hours of this nonsense.  I called them desperate for some help.  Tapout.  TKO.  Uncle.  I'm actually not sure what I thought they could do to help, but my primal instinct to have Mommy make it better kicked in and like all moms, she knew what to do.  So an hour later, I was in the Tylenol PM land of nod while Ben got to play with Gram and Grandpa.  And problem solved.  For now.  I woke up hours later, contraction free, but with a slight medicine hangover.  Which I will gladly take over watching my belly come to a point and get as hard as a drum for absolutely no reason.

The good news for the baby is that none of this is hurting him in any way.  My body isn't preparing for labor.  Yet.  It's just irritated that a 6 pound bowling ball is sitting in its current position.  So baby gets to cook longer.  Bad news for me: I get to waddle around feeling this way for another month or so.

The last couple of doctor appointments have gone well.  My labs are all stable and Gestational Diabetes was officially ruled out when I rocked my fasting sugar tests.  Blood pressure is still in the normal range, and so far, I'm not presenting anything to make the doctor raise an eyebrow.  These are all good things.  I am retaining some serious water in my face and hands, still, but I'm encouraged by being told this is completely normal.  Not so encouraged when I wake up with moon face and my decoy wedding ring won't slide off my swollen sausage finger.  But trying to take it in stride.  As long as it's not part of a bigger problem, I'm cool with it.

Baby Bean is doing very well.  His movements have gotten fewer and further between because he is running out of room.  About a month ago, his pinball wizard impressions caught the attention of anyone close enough to see his act.  He would literally bounce from one side of my belly to the other, quite violently, as if he didn't realize he was quickly running out of room.  This is no longer an option for him.  So we've gone from acrobatics to slight taps every now and then, just to let me know he's still in there (as if I needed a reminder).  He's a bit bigger than your average 34 weeker, probably weighing in at 5.5 to 6 pounds, and is on track to be a 9 or 10 pound bouncing baby boy at full term.  Thank goodness for c-sections. 

We're really looking forward to delivery day.  Which, by the way, is September 28th, as long as labor doesn't kick in first.  The list of things to do is getting shorter, but is still somewhat overwhelming to someone who needs help getting her shoes on.  Earlier this month, Jacob's family surprised us with another baby shower, or "sprinkle", where we received lots of needed stuff for the baby.  The nursery closet now resembles Target's diaper aisle, so if you were wondering, we are set on Size 1 diapers for life.  We've also gotten the swaddlers that I was hyperventilating about last month, and lots more size 0-3 clothing.  So baby won't be rocking hand-me-downs every day, just some days.  We also received a baby book that I have big plans to get started on BEFORE he gets here.  And as a sidenote, I may even work on Ben's book some, and pretend I've stayed on top of that in the last two years (I totally haven't).  Really, I consider the guys' blogs as their baby books, so I've let that task fall by the wayside.  But in my preggo craziness, it is now imperative that they both get worked on.  I'm also knitting a baby blanket for the coming home event.  It's pretty important that this gets done in the next month as well, so add it to the list.  And of course, my list of nesting behaviors that seem to get longer instead of shorter.  Putting towels away in the linen closet turned into a complete excavation and reorganization project.  Cleaning up Ben's toys turned into a rearrangement of furniture project.  Putting dishes away in the kitchen lead to me washing cabinet doors and deep cleaning the microwave.  It's a compulsion I can't control.  And under normal circumstances, none of this stuff ever happens and were never priorities.  The pregnant brain is a funny, funny thing.

So that's month 8 in a nutshell.  All is well.  Mama is ridiculously uncomfortable.  Delivery date set for next month.  We're very nearly the parents of two children!  Excited and freaking out at the same time, y'all!