Baby Talk

I haven't talked about the pregnancy in a bit. I suppose that's what happens when things are going like they're expected to go. I don't know how entertaining “I'm fat and uncomfortable” is to the general reader. However, because things have been such a cluster-fuck this whole pregnancy I will offer a bit of good news.

My last doctor's appointment went amazingly well. I gained weight like I was supposed to, my blood pressure was fantastic and I didn't have to take another preterm labor test. That's right, I didn't have to put my vagina on display. It's a great feeling when that happens. Well, and this late in the game, it will become a rare thing. I'm going to get poked more than a drunk girl alone at a frat party.

I'm 34ish weeks along. This kid could pop out anywhere from four to eight weeks from now, with six weeks being the “goal.” Delivery is such a crap shoot. You don't really know what's going to happen until you're in the hospital and they hand your baby to you. That's when he or she is born. All of the guessing and planning in the world is pointless.

That being said, Nora dropped about a week ago. I can feel the mounting pressure, but I know that she has further to go. I can also feel that she's moved in to the head-down position pregnant women covet. Oh, yeah, she's prepping for the chute.

All of this means that I've Virgo'd my way in to annoying Adam. I've packed my hospital bag, Nora's diaper bag and I've hounded him to get some crap done. “She's coming, dammit! Can't you tell?! She's IN MY VAGINA!”

Luckily Adam, having been married to me for seven years, is immune to my crazed need to plan everything to death. He's just smiling and reassuring me that none of it matters because, “We've got this.” We are very street in our confidence around here.