I remember when I was marveling over the fact that something as small as an apple seed could cause so much trouble in my body. Now, after our last growth scan, we know you're measuring around seven pounds and three ounces. How that happened, I don't think I will ever fully understand. Sure, something something cells dividing something organs maturing something something fatty tissue, but it's all gibberish when I think about how you just grew there and my body made it possible.
I need to brag for just a few minutes, too, since I am technically responsible for this baby that is about to come out. Your dad helped, obviously, but as the incubating unit I'm the one that's kept you warm and growing. He's more the guy that made you incredibly handsome and genetically awesome.
My blood sugar numbers have been great for weeks, even with a few cheats (red velvet cake with magical no blood sugar spiking properties). The doctor says it's this that has kept you from turning into a ginormobaby that would require a C-section to deliver. So, suffice it to say, it's been pretty miserable not being able to just go and do and eat whatever we want, but in the end? This is so worth all of it.
I feel like we've actually accomplished something great, that somehow with all the bad stuff that has come along, your father and I have managed to keep our shit together and keep you healthy. He's most definitely a part of this team. He watches out for both of us. He sets me straight when I get angry or sad or feel pitiful. He does it the most amazing way possible.
When I'm feeling down and want to rant and rave about how incredibly hard this has all been, he takes my hands and looks at me and says, "Thank you. Thank you for everything you do to grow our son. I know it isn't easy." And that is all I need.
It hasn't been easy. It has been appreciated. We did good -- no, we did awesome.
And with that bragging, welcome to week 38! We are really in the home stretch now, baby boy. We are officially in our last week of gestation. Tuesday is my next appointment with the OB. We're going to do a membrane strip (don't Google that until you're way, way older, ok?) with the hopes that it will send us into natural labor within 72 hours. If it doesn't work out, then we have our induction scheduled for October 9th.
I won't lie. I'm kind of hoping you come and we're out of the hospital before October 10th. Alton Brown will be in town doing a book signing. What? That's a big deal! Oh, and I am dying to meet your face.
This could, in theory, be my last blog entry before you are with us.
That is incredibly exciting!
The other day, your father came home from work and out of habit, he gave me a kiss and I flashed my big bare belly at him. He, of course, gave you some pats and said hello. This look came over his face and he said, "I just realized I may never see this again. Can I take a picture? I promise I won't put it on the internet." (Note: if anyone on the internet sees my husband posting a photo of a gigantic, glowing white ball that looks like the moon orbiting, let me know so I can yell at him.)
And it's true. Any day now, any day could be the day that you come.
Watching you move right now amazes me. I can see your butt pushing up the side of my tummy and I can watch your feet stretch my skin out. And soon, all of these parts will be in our arms instead. No more alien baby, no more hiccuping inside my gut 10 times a day, no more gigantic tummy (but hey, thanks for the new stretchmarks anyway!)... just my beautiful son.
I flutter back and forth between incredible happiness and excitement to complete fear and shock. Mostly it's the happiness parts these days, thankfully. I can't help myself. I got into your room and sit in the rocker and breathe in the amazing smell of baby detergent on all of your things. Sometimes I just look into your crib and try to imagine what the world is going to be like with you sleeping in there.
I have nothing left to prepare in your room. Well, that's not entirely true. If your growth scan was correct, we WILL need to get some more newborn sizes and I'll need to wash those, but I'm still holding out on that until you are out and we know. I have an aversion to buying more clothes that you will only be in for a couple of weeks.
Welcome to the world of your kind of cheap mama!
Sorry this post was so disjointed, baby. My brain is not exactly functioning in a manner that is easy to organize my thoughts. I can't imagine it's going to get better before it gets worse, you know what I mean? All of these coming sleepless nights and frustrations.
I love you, sweet boy. I cannot wait to hold you and tell you in person just how incredibly special and important you are.
Shoot you're almost there, congrats.
ReplyDelete