Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Down to the final five, peeps. Yowza.
Had my last bi-monthly doctor's appointment - now it's down to every week. I'm not sure what they're going to do each time, although they mentioned something about checking dilation which sounds terrifying. If they're checking dilation that implies that that I might actually be dilated which means that I'm actually going to have to birth this baby, which I know... intellectually. It's probably best that I stay in denial about the magnitude of what's ahead. Best to keep the freak at bay.
Feeling rather grizzly-like recently. The urge to hibernate (and eat) is intense. Emails are going unanswered (but read! I loves the reading!), cards are unfinished, bags are not packed. Making dinner seems like an exhausting proposition at this point. I'm also really, really grouchy. Today I lost my shit on a woman who almost hit me with her goddamn SUV . Did I scream numerous obscenities and use not one, but both hands to display aggressively foul finger gestures? Oh HELL yeah! I had the walk sign! Bitch was on her cell phone! Then she had the nerve to flip me off which... oh man, I'm hopping mad just thinking about it. (My poor kid. Between yelling at potential vehicular manslaughterers and stewing over inconsiderate subway seat horders, I fear he's going to come out an anxious, colicky mess.)
Anyway, the doctor's appointment went well. Possum is six pounds now! SIX POUNDS! That's how big I was when I was born! Considering that he's supposed to gain another 1/2 pound a week, we're looking at an 8 1/2 pound baby! How the hell am I supposed to birth an 8 1/2 pound baby?! I thought we had an agreement: I'd give him a crib and some comfortable onesies and in exchange he'd be a nice, manageable 6 to 7 pounds. Clearly we need to have a talk.
I did get to watch him give the peace sign to the sonogram wand which was fun. At least it looked like the peace sign. Either that or he was going gangsta, hard to tell...