Any day now. My doc likes baby boys to get to 38 weeks, and we’re there. I feel like I’m all belly, and moving in general has gotten difficult. My feet are all kinds of swollen and I can’t stand for more than a few minutes without them seriously hurting. So, yeah, we’re right at the end.
I’m huge and the end is near, thank goodness. #Babything is positioned right where he needs to be and is probably weighing in at around 6.5 lbs. There’s a good chance he may come early, but it’s hard tellin’ not knowin’, so we’re just going to be as prepared as possible.
Nine. Damn. Months.
Y’all. That’s three-quarters of a year … and he’s still not done cooking. I’m feeling every ounce of this third trimester: I’ve napped at least once every day, I can’t move without being in pain, the waddle is strong with this one and I’m just straight exhausted. I couldn’t even be fucked to try to look any cuter for this week’s photo. Just a few more weeks to go …
You guys, I feel huge. Like, I’m being led around by the bowling ball that is my belly. And #babything pretty much has nowhere else to go, so he’s just pushing up against my ribcage like it ain’t no thang … which, uh, is the opposite of fun. But we’re getting closer and closer to the due date, which means we’re getting closer to my taking maternity leave (such a weird concept, not working). We also have infant CPR and prenatal classes coming up, so education! Yay!
Not much has happened since last week. It’s too hot for me to even think about going outside, and with #MFE picking up a second job, I’ve been pretty solidly couch-potatoing. I did start watching season 7 of “The Good Wife” and it’s rekindled how much I love Alicia Florrick. I’m also on book three of the Harry Potter series and am making some serious progress through that.
The end is so near, I can almost taste it! We had a doctor’s appointment with a sonogram today, and #babything is looking nice and healthy … complete with a big ol’ bean (like his pops). Consistent with the rest of the pregnancy, he’s still measuring about a week ahead and is weighing in at
Holy bananas. Thirty-two weeks and feeling every ounce of it. It’s finally gotten summer-in-Texas-hot around here, and that’s making things pretty miserable (pro tip: If you’re knocked up and live in a hot-as-balls climate, sit on an icepack for about an hour every day. It helps sooooo much). Since we’re getting into the super homestretch,
Thirty-one weeks. That means, since my doc likes to get baby boys to at least 38 weeks, I effectively have seven to nine weeks left. Whew. It’s becoming more and more of a ride on the strugglebus, especially as the air quality and allergens have been really bad lately and there’s nothing I can do
All right. Dirty 30. Let’s do this! #MFE turned to me today and said “So, really, if you give birth on your due date, it’ll be 40 weeks. That’s 10 months.” To which I responded “Yeah, it’s some bullshit!” Because it is — they say nine months, but they don’t account for the month from