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| This is last week as I have not yet taken a "33 Week" photo. |
Dear Baby Girl,
You and I hit 33 weeks yesterday and we now have…. (wait for
it)… FOURTY-SEVEN DAYS to go! It’s been a while since I’ve been awake enough to
write to you, so we’re going to organize this little letter-update Dad-style…
YOU: We had an
ultrasound at your thirty week appointment and you looked great. The doctor
told me that you were sucking on your tiny fingers—which is SO heartwarming and
adorable—but stare and squint at the screen as I may, I could not make it out for myself…it just
looked like a black and white mass (although I pretended to see it because it
felt like an exciting moment). You are still roughly in the fiftieth percentile
for size, so you might actually not
reach the grandiosity of our favorite 12-pounder, Uncle Bart. Good news for Mom.
You’ve been in the “head down” position for our last two
appointments (thirty and thirty-two weeks), and the OB says that you are low in
my uterus, which means you are a) unlikely to flip around prior to birth, and
b) likely come out “quickly” during birth (obviously a relative term in the
birthing world). I don’t know whether this means you will be punctual with your
arrival or not, but in any case, you’re in the “ready” position well ahead of
time, like I would expect my daughter to be.
Sometimes you kick a lot and sometimes you go long periods
of time without kicking and I debate whether I need to go to the hospital and check
on you. I try to poke you a little, but you will not kick if you do not feel
like kicking… stubborn, and again, exactly how I would expect my daughter to
be.
ME: My body has
betrayed me. I’m gaining weight in places other
than my belly. I am not totally okay with the size of my ass right now. I’m not
eating more, because I get full very quickly, so I’m not sure where this
mysterious mass is coming from, but I don’t like it.
It is exceedingly difficult to shave my legs, but I haven’t
gotten to the point yet where I’m giving up on them. However, it’s become sort of a once a week
kind of thing.
My sleeping habits are slightly out of whack. I wake up at
least three times a night, I snore, I sometimes fart in my sleep (embarrassing I
know, but it’s true), I take up 75% of the bed, and I have a hard time
breathing. Your father will do this little impression of me waking up in the
night where I stomp off to the bathroom, return to chug some water, gasp for
air, and then plop down back in the bed, rolling one way then the other a few
times before I ultimately go back to snoring. It’s all very attractive.
Work is challenging and exhausting. It’s uncomfortable and
every afternoon I hit a wall earlier and earlier. I have zero energy when I get
home, and weeknights go by crazy fast.
Things I miss most: running and coffee. I’m not talking
about a soft little pitter patter jog. I want to run as fast as I can for 3
miles straight (although when I finally do, it likely will be a pitter patter jog). Coffee I miss more than I did in any
other trimester… I feel if I just had an artificial energy fix I could
accomplish so much more… ah, drugs.
DAD: He is
putting your gear together almost as quickly as I can purchase it. His arch nemesis?
The Pack n’ Play changing table. He has yet to conquer that item, and what he
has done so far was met with loud and profane hollers. Dad vs. Pack n’ Play
Part II will commence today.
He is getting excited and anxious for your arrival. We’re
taking an infant care class today and I am particularly excited to observe how
Dad handles it. To quote him in his own words (after I tried to explain to him
that burping a baby is a gentle tap, NOT a pound), “I’m worried about the
infant stage. I am not by nature a gentle person.” The look of concern and fear
on his face as he said it gave me a good chuckle. “Delicate” is certainly not
an adjective I would use to describe your father, but I think he will be great.
WORLD: Zika has
reached the US with a small outbreak in Miami. So far, it is contained to the
immediate area, but it still makes me happy with my decision not to travel to
Florida this year.
We are in the midst of the summer Olympics in Rio. Michael
Phelps has officially been declared the greatest Olympian of all time by
multiple media outlets, and the US women’s gymnastics team is kicking ass and
taking names. I plan on enrolling you in gymnastics in a few years, but—I’m
sorry to say—the genetic odds of you becoming an Olympic gymnast are not in
your favor. BUT, you never know.
The DC metro continues to defy temperature odds. We are
entering another weekend of 100+ degree temperatures. Hope you’re staying cool
in there.
7 WEEKS TO GO!
Love,
Mom
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