Sunday, May 20, 2018

32 Weeks

"It won't be long now." "You're almost there!" "Trying to walk the baby out?"

These are quotes from random strangers when they see me out in public now. I don't always have the heart to tell them that actually I still have a bit to go, and no I am not trying to induce labor because my baby would be very premature. Instead I just smile and say, "not soon enough!" Because there's still technically two months left. I don't know if two months is physically possible, and given that Trinity came at 36 weeks, I imagine this one will be on the early side too. It's somehow happening so fast and so slow at the same time.

My goal right now is to quit it with the carbs. I've already gained as much weight as I did in the 36 weeks with Trinity, and this baby still needs to double in size before it can safely be born, so I'm basically doomed. Still no stretch marks. Cross your fingers, knock on wood, and pray to the Bio Oil gods that my vain ass can make it through a second time. Don't worry though, I'm pretty sure my belly button is harmed beyond the point of return, so we'll see what kind of drastic measures it will take to get that back in working order. I am stretched to the point that I can feel her body parts at any given time pushing at the top of my stomach. So close, yet so far away.

Just from knowing her in the womb, here are my predictions for her personality:

  • She's going to be calmer - more serious - like the type that can sit still and focus on something.
  • She'll be an early riser - less of a sleeper than her sister.
  • She's going to be more fragile than Trinity, at least physically. 
  • She'll be less Travis and more me. 
I'll have to report back on how this pans out. At the moment, all we know is that she looks like Voldemort. 



In probably the most hilarious turn of events this pregnancy, the midwife at my last appointment asked me what birth control I wanted to use after this baby is born. I told her I'd prefer my husband get a vasectomy, because I've altered the way my body should naturally work for way too long. So she kindly gives me a brochure on vasectomies, and then asks what I will actually do if my husband chooses not to take on this responsibility. She was basically saying, well that's a nice dream, now what are you actually going to do since you can't depend on a man for this? So I get home and look at this brochure, and holy shit, it's the most fun birth control brochure I've ever seen. 

First of all, it's in full color, with sports balls all around it, and it's labeled as the OFFICIAL Vasectomy Playbook with a Snip City logo. For any Blazer fans, this is a nice play on Rip City and I applaud it. The inside has paragraphs headlined "1-Hour Fitness," "Deny the Ride," and "Road to Recovery (a 2-day vacation)." More than half of the material focuses on assuring them that their prized package will still perform to full expectation, and they will be just as satisfied. The other half gives them pointers on how awesome recovery is, and also covers that their voice will not get higher. "Get frozen peas, video games, sporting events, or man-movies ready for your arrival home." 

The amount of effort it took to make this seem so great for men really kind of pisses me off, but at the same time I understand the necessity of it. Like, if we don't make this seems super awesome, men will just be like, nah I'm good. Every handout brochure a woman gets about all the horrible medieval practices that could happen to her nether regions are in black and white, and there's just a diagram of what fresh hell lies in store, along with all the ways that it's just going to suck ass. And you basically just have to accept it and be like, yep. Ok. 

For example, the handout for a tubal ligation (what one might consider the female version of a vasectomy) looks like this. 


So from this I just have to assume you cut my fallopian tubes clean off, and somehow seal the ends. Alright sign me up!


In a more unfortunate turn of events, I have to give birth at the hospital again because I have a bi-lobed placenta, which basically means I have two smaller placentas instead of just one big one, and this can cause issues after birth when trying to push it out. I can never just be normal.

In Trinity news, she is going through a new independence phase, where she's decided that she no longer needs me to walk her into her classroom, she can make her own lunch, and also apparently sign herself up for the talent show at school without my knowledge or help. And because she doesn't want me walking into the school with her in the morning, I don't really even know about this talent show. So when she tells me that she signed up to sing a song, and that it's next week, I'm a little caught off guard. She assures me that's she's signed up and she attended a rehearsal, and she's ready to go. So I help her with this song and make sure she knows the lyrics, but when I go in with her on Friday, I see the talent list on the wall and the rehearsal times labeled "required" and none of them have her name on it. This leads me down a path of desperation on a Friday trying to figure out what she has or hasn't done, and if she's in fact signed up. Low and behold, she is not. She signed her name on some practice rehearsal sheet somewhere thinking that made it official, and apparently doesn't understand what the word Required means, so didn't go to any of those rehearsals. I have to agree to volunteer to clean up after the talent show in order to get her squeaked in somewhere after finally getting a hold of the person running this thing. It's a mess that I could have prevented from the beginning if she'd just involved me.

Lesson learned: Never trust a first grader when they assure you they have it handled.

She finished up the soccer season with 1 goal and a lot of assists. I'm so proud of her for playing this year and so happy she had such a good time with the group of girls on the team. Travis and I need to remind ourselves that they are just here to have fun, but we are definitely the aggressive parents. It's even more obnoxious when I'm hugely pregnant shouting CUT HER OFF!! TAKE THE BALL!! from the sidelines. This poor girl. I'm sure she'll be delighted when her sister is born and she no longer gets our full attention.

If nothing else, at least her uniform matches her hairpiece






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