The Mighty Baby

Today I had a growth sonogram and yet another non-stress test. I “weighed” in at 6lbs 12 oz. The lady took a bunch of body part measurements, and then was able to guesstimate the weight from that. Every time we go for a sonogram, Mom asks if my head size seems big or regular. Apparently, she’s got a pretty big noggin and Dad has a smaller head. Hey Mom — even if my head is smaller, it’s still going to hurt you when I come out!

I almost foiled them again for the non-stress test. Conveniently, I was sleeping when I needed to be awake. The lady buzzed me, but ha-ha, that doesn’t wake me up. Mom tried to be smart and slipped a lil chocolate to wake me up. But… she ended up accidentally choking on it and knocked the heart rate monitor thingie off, so they couldn’t record my heartbeat for a few minutes. Spazz!

Nice surprise last night. Dad pulled an Amazing Race and came home early from Copenhagen. Mom was super caught off guard, and super happy. Now that those worrywarts are all relieved, I guess I can continue to screw with them and just not come out for awhile. :)

Mucus plug (sounds gross!) just fell out. No blood or contractions, so hopefully this just means that labor is imminent but not that imminent. Mom’s trying to be all cool and collected, but why is she now wide awake? Crap.

All plans are off for this weekend. Paranoid mama is keeping movement to a minimum and staying put in the apartment. We’ll see how long that will last, as she’s prone to cabin fever. Especially when it’s sunny, breezy and a cool 78 degrees outside.

I kicked around a lot this afternoon. It’s fun to stretch and try to make mom’s belly lopsided and square and wavy. Plus it makes her talk to me more. “Whatcha doing baby?” “Stay inside baby.” “Don’t come out just yet, hope you’re just practicing.” “Save some of that strength for when you’re kicking your way out.” “Wait for Dad to come home! Just 2 more days!” It’s fun to mess with her. Little did she know, I was just hungry and ringing the food bell. *sigh* She’s not too swift — we have quite a bit of training left to do.

Hello? Can I come out yet?

Yesterday, the doc told mom that she’s full term, 2.5cm dilated and why yes, it looks like I’ve dropped a little since the previous week! All good news, so why is mom planning on sitting this entire lovely weekend? And why does she keep on talking to me, telling me to stay in?

Apparently, my dad, who I hear is a pretty cool guy and definitely someone who wants to be one of the first people to meet me, is in this place called Copenhagen. I think he’s working there til Monday. So dad and mom are both swinging emotionally, hoping I wait til he gets back. Wow, what is this I’m tasting? I think they call it “power”? Hmm, fun! I’ll keep them on their toes (or in mom’s case, on her ass)…

I’ve been getting the hiccups a lot lately. It’s a nice rhythmic beat, though I wish I could syncopate it a bit — work on my beatboxing skillz!

On a different note, Mom spent this weekend catching up on the phone with old friends. All who’ve had their first kids within the past 2 years. Universal advice was to enjoy sleep while you can. Seriously, how bad can it be? I don’t foresee sweet, innocent me turning Mom and Dad’s world upside down. Lots of other talk about deliveries, c-sections, and rock hard breasts. Now who’s got the beatboxing skillz, huh? Mom’s erratic heart rate!

I had a ball last night, kicking my mom’s organs around. I didn’t kick so hard as to make her cry, but enough to make her whine. Secretly, I think she was fascinated by it.

And this morning I was all innocent and demure, sleeping peacefully while the technicians were trying to get a rise out of me for the growth sonogram and for the non-stress test.

Today my estimated weight is 6lbs 5 oz. Technically, I guess I could come out and play. But no, I have to stay in for 4 more weeks. Yeah, got it. 4 more weeks. Should I listen, or play by my own rules?

Today was my Baby Shower. I am super excited to meet all my future aunties and uncles. They all seem super loving and fun, rubbing my mom’s belly and yapping away with her. And they gave me lots of presents. I just kept on hearing my mom say “omg, she’s so spoiled and her closet will be more filled than mine” and my dad say “thank you, it’s not pink!” It’s really nice that people gave such thoughtful presents to someone they haven’t even met. I know I’m cute and cool, but they don’t know that yet. Can’t wait to come out, meet them, charm them, but Mom and Dad say I need to wait. At least 4 more weeks. They need more time to get ready for me. Ahhh, such procrastinators. People, you’ve had 8+ months — get with the program! Ha.

A big shout out from deep inside to Aunts Carrie, Helen, Janice, Melissa and Uncle James and my dad for all their love and help getting the shower together. See you soon! (yes, yes, but not for at least 4 weeks…)

It’s getting tight in here. I’m still able to move around a little, but my head is staying in the down position. (though I wonder why I’m not super dizzy with crazy blood rushes to the head.) I’ve been trying to dance or just stretch my legs every chance I get. I often make the top of Mom’s belly square, when I move or kick out. She and Dad talk to me, especially when I make her belly bulge in certain places. I can’t quite make out what they’re saying. I don’t think they realize they’re talking to my ass. Hello, my head’s down below the belly button! Clueless first timers…

Sorry that I’m slow to post. My mom’s really lame and kinda dense. I’ve been kicking a lot more lately, but she doesn’t seem to get that I’m trying to send a message.

“I’m hungry.”

“I want you to write a post on the blog, since I can’t type yet.”

“Yes, I do like that name for me.”

“NO, please don’t name me that.”

“I just want to dance.”

It’s week 30 now, which is the third trimester and there’s about 2 months left to go. A few weeks ago, mom took the super long glucose test. Was over by 5 points on the 3rd vat of blood they drew, and the other vats tested well under the suggested baseline. I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry, so they’ve sent mom to another doctor as well for diabetic counseling. Even though they aren’t officially diagnosing her with gestational diabetes. Mom’s been very cranky about it all. She’s had to prick her finger 7 times a day and record the glucose numbers, which have been normal (except for that time when she downed a sky-high stack of chocolate chip pancakes with syrup, duh). And she’s a total spaz with the glucose monitoring machine, making a bloody mess with all the pricking. Getting better, as she’s realizing the thumb is a good juicy source of blood. Index finger — not so much. Went back to the diabetes doctor yesterday, and have been granted parole — only need to do 4 pricks a day instead of 7. Good. That will help make mom look less like a drug addict as she lays all the needles and machines out on her office desk. Realizing mom’s been a big baby about all this, but I do appreciate it! Well, at least we’ll score a few extra ultrasounds out of it. Let mom and dad get a few extra peeps of me before I pop out and start exercising my vocal cords.