Dear baby girl,
Not long now, and we’ll be meeting you. It’s just three and a half weeks until you’re due. I could almost count the days. It’s quite surreal really. On one hand I’m very excited about the whole thing, and I’m really looking forward to meeting you. On the other hand, it’s quite scary knowing it’s not just going to be me and your Dad anymore. We’ve been spending a lot of time acknowledging “lasts”. For example, on Friday night we went to the movies, being well aware that it may be the last time we can do that, just the two of us, for some time. Sure, we’ll have babysitters, but I’m not sure how easy it will be coordinating something when our babysitters live so far away!
How it all began: Peeing on a stick
I’m now up to weekly appointments at the hospital. Combine that with the pre-natal classes we’re now doing and I feel a bit like I’m living there. It does mean I’ve progressed to four-day weeks at work though, which is very nice indeed – though I don’t feel like I’m struggling at work, the fact that I’ve spent this weekend feeling absolutely destroyed probably means something.
Anyway, the pre-natal classes have proved very disappointing so far. I was expecting Hollywood clichés galore. No such luck I’m afraid. I only saw one fake baby, and that was when she was showing how it goes through the pelvis. Ouch! They lost me when they made the statement, “You’ll know the difference between Braxton Hicks and labour, because Braxton Hicks don’t hurt.” I actually snorted out loud to that one. It has got me a little worried about my pain threshold, but I’ve read about many women who have painful Braxton Hicks, so it can’t just be me. Anyway, after that I figured the midwife had no credibility. Your Dad, on the other hand, was enjoying learning some more. I don’t think he’s spent as much time reading online blogs as I have. Why would he really? It’s not like he has to prepare himself for pushing a child out of his vagina.
At this week’s doctor’s appointment I found out you’re oblique, which means your feet are in my pelvis, your bottom on the left of my belly, and your head on the right. You’ve been there all week so I’m guessing it’s a pretty comfy position. The doctor offered to book me in to have you moved, but I just didn’t feel right about it. The procedure is only 60 per cent effective, there are some small risks involved and, really, if you’re my daughter, you won’t like people telling you where you need to be. I figure you’ll get there in your own time. I hope you do! The doctor didn’t seem too worried as you’re tiny, and still have plenty of room to move around.
Yesterday, we got a growth ultrasound. The doctor was a little worried you might not be getting everything you need as you’re so small. Of course, that has meant a week of worry for me. And a week of your Dad trying to get me to break my diabetes diet in an effort to fatten me up. I keep telling him that you’ll eat everything you want, and I’m not going hungry, but he seems to think injecting me with bread will make you bigger. Anyway, the scan indicated you’re just under five pounds. You still have a few weeks to catch up though. I remember, your cousin measuring about the same, and she came out six pounds, five, so I’m not really concerned. The main thing is you’re healthy and happy and doing everything babies should be doing at 36 weeks. Plus, it was really nice to see you again, to reconfirm that you’re a girl, to see your little face. It really will be good to see what you look like.
I’m getting pelvic pain as I write this. I think you’re kicking me in an awkward way. Or, dare I hope, you might be moving. So, I will leave it at that. Hope it’s not labour. Your Dad just went for a run so he’s at least an hour away. One thing the midwife did say in class the other night was that quick labours run in the family. Hopefully, that means we won’t have to go through a 40-hour labour, Miss, but it also means that it’ll be a rush to the hospital, so don’t come too fast!
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