Week 31. In anywhere between five and 12(ish) weeks Peanut could make her landing. Five weeks! Though it’s not probable that she’ll come that early, the fact that she could is kind of blowing my mind. Looks like I finally got my wish. During the first three and a half miserable, puky months I kept wondering when it would ever end. And now SHEBAM, the end is in very clear sight. Of course once the puking stopped I was able to sit back and enjoy myself, to stop thinking about how fast or slow things were going. And once I stopped feeling so miserable time mocked me by speeding up exponentially.
Two weeks ago we went to our second to last doctor’s appointment for the last “big ultrasound” as it’s called on my Mutterpass (mother’s pass—the book in which German doctor’s write down all your pregnancy info). Peanut hates ultrasounds. Shortly after arriving, a nurse ushered us into an office and hooked me up to a fetal heart monitor, which involved getting my belly smeared with goo and having two elastic belts wrapped around the place where my waist used to be. Small plastic discs on the front of both belts are then supposed to measure and record the fetus’ heart beat. Supposed to. Peanut ran for cover every time the nurse repositioned the sensors, eventually resorting to punching and kicking the sensors directly. After about ten minutes the nurse eventually gave up. “She’s just too active,” she said with a shrug. There was a threat to try again after the appointment, but they never did bother.
During the rest of the appointment we got to watch Peanut on the big screen once again, and the doctor confirmed that everything was in order inside the mountain. Plenty of amniotic fluid, 42 inches in length, 1.4 kilos, active, and looking healthy. Now I’ll only need to go back for one final ultrasound around week 36, to confirm that Peanut has her landing gear on—i.e. that she’s positioned head down and ready to launch. If she hasn’t turned by then (at the time she was sitting butt down) I’ll have to give birth in the hospital. So my fingers and toes are crossed. “Turn turn turn,” the Beard told my stomach that night. Heh—probably the closest he’ll ever come to singing a Byrds song.
Physically things are just fine—as long as I don’t attempt to do too much. Walking is a bitch, sitting for a long time is a bitch, and even a task as piddly as putting away all the groceries leaves me with horrific back pain. I’ve managed to tame most of the heart burn by avoiding spicy foods, raw onions, and too much citrus or tomato. I feel the occasional Braxton Hicks contraction (these are what some folks call “practice contractions” and they are thought to help tone the uterus for the coming marathon). And I spend most of my time in bed reading, writing, and relaxing. Who are these women who feel so amazing and full of energy when they are pregnant? I haven’t had any of the “and I have so much energy!” stuff I’ve heard about. I’m more like, “and then I slept for 14 hours and now I’m going to go take a nap!” When I hear about women who run marathons in their third trimester I just shake my head and think, “aliens.” It really is amazing how different every pregnancy is.
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