Let me catch you up on all the news from the 35th week. An ultrasound showed that the little man has plenty of fluid and room in his current accomodations and also is coming out head first. I would be more excited about this fact, except that the three doctors in the room during the ultrasound all caught their breath, commented on the larger size of his noggin, and one actually said, 'You know that has to come out of your vagina, Kourtney.' Yes, I'm aware...a little more every day when I contract away and his XL head smooshes down just that much further into my pelvis and against my bladder, helping me to emit the new eau de preggo. Not a big deal when you smell like pee all the time, you just find yourself hanging out by old people and babies so that way you can pass the odor off as theirs.
Another fun and suuuuuper exciting event from this week was seeing the doctor. I was halfway through the week and had been contracting quite a bit so we decided to have a 'look see' and check my cervix to see what was going on down there. Now, having performed this exam on hundreds of women at various points in their last month of pregnancy, I didn't think much of it. As I now know, I did not have an appropriate fear or hatred of this exam and I now will hold off on putting patients through this joy until absolutely necessary. The innocent little check took like 5 minutes (or 30 seconds) and left me with one foot on the table, the other on the wall, one hand in a deathgrip on the head of the bed and the other bracing the opposing wall from the one my foot was on. During this contortionist trick, I also had a ridiculously strong vagal response, also known as coming within inches of embarassingly passing out without your pants on. My doc, who happens to be a pal, was actually amused by the colors changing on my face from ghostly white, to so-green-I'm-pretty-sure-you're-going-to-ralph-on-me, to bright red and flushed...and then I started to breathe again, or rather hyperventilate on the order of a woman who actually did just push a grapefruit out her kiwi. My giggle happy doc then says, 'you are going to be so fun in labor, I just know it.' To which I responded that she should check out my previous post centered on the idea of 'suck it.' Laugh all you want now, chica, because you're stuck there with me and my crazy behavior and elbows deep in the business end of things, so ha.
At least one good thing was discovered during this harrowing event...the fact, that this party is getting started early. Based on the changes that were already going on down South, we've surmised that he's my captive for only 2-3 more weeks if we keep up the current rate of contracting.
I thought that this news of early arrival would make me joyous and that I'd be out exercising, cleaning, having sex and doing anything possible to continue the contraction party. In fact, the exact opposite happened. I find myself sad that all his little kicks, punches, head butts, squirmy disco moves and general state of unrest are something that will soon be over. One of the best things about being pregnant is carrying around this little 'mouse in my pocket' who I can talk to and dance with and moves all about when he hears my voice or we're rocking out in the tank. Whenever we're out with Will or John and have to make a decision, we automatically have a majority as I pretend he, of course, would vote along party lines with me. I doubt Will will believe me that Ollie does want to go to Target instead of the splash pad when he sees that he actually doesn't speak and his main concern is pooping and drooling. Will is going to be somewhat shocked, I have a feeling, when he realizes that Ollie is not the talkative, little opinionated mofo that I play him out to be. Also, at least for right now, he's hand free. He eats, sleeps, plays and chills out all without me carrying him, having sore nipples, changing a diaper or wondering why he's crying. He's about to become a whole bunch more high maintenance than mama in a couple of weeks.
I don't know if it's me subconciously trying to prolong his descent or if this is just what happens the second the clock hits 35 weeks, but I've become almost inert. I sleep in 30 minute to 2 hour intervals, waking every 1.5-2 hours to pee or change position as one of my legs is asleep or my hips are screaming out in pain, getting a total of 4-6 hours per night on average, prompting me to re-discover the deliciousness that is known as the daytime nap. 9-10 am and 4-5pm are my fave times when I could pretty much sleep through any natural disaster. Looking past the sleep deprivation, my energy level in general pretty much just bites the big one. Swimming one lap in the pool winds me. Going up one flight of stairs is exhausting. Folding laundry, driving to Target, sitting down to pee...all of these things require a superhuman amount of energy that I can't seem to muster. My To-Do list is growing by a page a day and I'm lucky to get 2-3 things done in an afternoon.
I'm also starting to ponder the possibility that I could may be newly pregnant in addition to the almost finished cooking monster in my belly. All of a sudden, I'm RIGHT NOW STARVING for the most unhealthy of delights. My now gigantour-sized melons are hurting all the time. We've covered the exhaustion. It's like the first trimester all over again, including the constant fight between your desire for intimacy with the baby daddy battling it out with the threat of you going all Bobbit on him if he even looks at you the wrong way. Anywho, as I'm nearly falling asleep with the energy output required to keep typing, I'll finish here. Stay tuned for what's sure to be titillating tales from the final weeks countdown to the little man's entrance...or exit depending on how you look at it.
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