SIX WEEKS!
We’re rolling right along at the size of a cantaloupe in there. A cantaloupe!
One of the funny things about having a boy is that every dang week, the pregnancy calendars tell you something about what the kid’s testicles are doing. I say “testicles” because I nearly wrote “balls” and felt really, really weird about talking about my son’s situation in that way. So I will keep it clinical.
What to Expect practically squees:
This week, a boy’s testicles start making their way down from his abdomen to their final destination: his scrotum (look out below!).
Next week I expect something like, If you’re having a boy, right at this moment his traveling testicles are packing up their bindle and visiting the kneecaps for a weekend jaunt! But don’t worry, mama! Junior’s Traveling Testicle Show will make its homecoming some time before birth, and you’ll have nothing to worry about! 
We had a good midwife visit this week — good weight gain, good blood pressure, good fetal heart tones, no swelling. I had a cervical exam just to make sure I wasn’t dilating early (a smidge of spotting will make you think the worst), so that was probably fun for Ray to watch, since my midwife is super cute and all. Ha. I kid. He just smirked at me the whole time while I tried to pretend to be dignified with my pasty legs up in the air. At least there was no speculum involved. The sight of those things makes every muscle in me tense up. Eeeeeeee.
Still reading? You are a trooper.
Next visit, Amy will come to the house to get familiar with where we live. I also am due for a GBS test. Not looking forward to that one. I’ve dodged so many other bullets that I hope I can dodge GBS too. Because it’s pretty serious and I don’t like to think about the treatment or the possible bad outcomes. Scary stuff.
I had scheduled a consultation with Dr. Stiles, a pediatrician who comes highly recommended by several people I know, for this morning at 8:15. Early, yes, but you do what you gotta do to get in with these doctors. Guess who left her phone in the dining room overnight and so did not hear the alarm to get up, totally missing the appointment? This dumbass. I hope they don’t charge a fee for missed consultations, or post my name next to the reception desk and bar me for life. We couldn’t get in to see Dr. Hanson until Oct. 26, and I haven’t set up any other consultations yet. MY BABY NEEDS A DOCTOR, OH GOD.
Ahem.
SIX WEEKS!
My insides are all cramped up all the time now, it seems. Melonhead sometimes lets his feet snuggle against the bottom of my lungs and every time I pitch forward the slightest bit, I lose all my breath. I can feel something wedged up in there in the lower part of my chest, in the middle of my torso. It’s the oddest thing. Actually, the oddest thing is lying still in bed and feeling the whole structure shudder and shake due to the movements in your belly alone.
The cooler weather we’ve had lately has been magnificent. We even took a walk in the middle of the day earlier this week and didn’t die. I have, however, been having some pretty wicked hot flashes here and there. Usually when I haven’t eaten in a while. The beast demands to be fed when he is hungry. Which is often.
I got a massage on Thursday. My first ever. Once upon a time I might have had some qualms with letting a stranger rub warm oil on my nekkid body but I have sailed past that modesty mark. I will admit, however, to wrapping myself in the sheet like a mummy when I was told to just drape it over me. So there is some modesty left in this embiggening body of mine.
What was surprising to me is just how good it felt to have my hands and my scalp massaged. These typing fingers store up a lot of tension, I guess, and my head teems with the crazy, which sometimes needs to be squeezed out. I thought before going in, An hourlong massage? That is a long time to get a rubdown! But I swear I could lie there for hours, plural, and not get bored if someone was working on me.
SIX WEEKS!
Last night I let myself fall down an internet rabbit hole, and I read a bunch of stories about home births with not great outcomes. A morbid way to spend an evening, maybe, but I’ve read plenty of happy stories, so I wanted a little balance. So much sadness and loss and so many questions about why. It’s painful to read those stories and contemplate the possibility of everything going horribly wrong in my own labor, but it’s a reality I have to at least acknowledge. I trust my midwife to be observant and prepared and in tune with how things are going so that we never reach true emergency status, but it is a very heavy realization to remember that birth and the flesh can be unpredictable and very dark sometimes, regardless of how skilled the midwife is or how proactive everyone tries to be about safety. Sometimes it just all falls apart, I think. Mistakes are made, life is fragile.
I’m not worried, really, but I am trying to be very cautious, very serious about this.
I graduated from Central High with Allison Stiles. She’s great and very dedicated. You’ll like her. As for the birth, don’t read or listen to horror stories. You’ll be okay, it will pass and you’ll have the boy. :)
Would you be concerned if you knew that every time you post a photo update, I wave enthusiastically at the screen and holler, “HI BABY! YOU ARE A LUCKY BOY! YES YOU ARE! BE GOOD TO YOUR MOMMA!”?
Probably not as concerned as you would be if I were in town, I’m sure. Heh.
You are an information provider, as well as a sensible person, so it’s only natural that you’d want to have as much sensible information as possible about the impending arrival of Li’l Alien Bunny Boy Mahit Chanakya Spaghetti Fred. You are wise, and you also have excellent professionals in your corner. All that + the good wishes/prayers of the hundreds of folks who KNOW you and the thousands more who know you from teh Internets = good tidings of great joy. In SIX WEEKS!
(BTW, that item I mentioned via Twitter not long ago? If it will be of use to you and won’t just be in the way in the kitchen, say the word. Payday has come!)
Labor and delivery is about as far away from a threesome as you can get. Unless you’re into having shit wiped off your ass over and over again during sex.
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