Week 31: Holy crap it’s week 31

Clearly I’m a blog delinquent. I thought about just deleting the whole dang thing, but instead I’ll catch all of you Nuthatch Fans up in a few succinct sentences.

It’s a boy! We know his name but it’s a secret until he gets here. I get bigger and rounder every day. I do not have the brown belly line. I do have some new freckles. I failed the first glucose test (requiring me to shotgun a nasty sugar cocktail), but passed the second, 3-hour version. Phew! My belly button is totally flat and not inside out. I’m assured it will turn inside out at some point.

I do sport the occasional case of Pankles. (Poodle Ankles.) Fancy poodles sometimes have skinny, shaved legs with a giant round poof of fur at the bottom near each paw. No, I don’t have carefully coiffed fur around my ankles (or skinny legs, for that matter), but I do manage to retain an impressive amount of fluid in that general region. Hence, Pankles.

My joints are wobbly and a little sore, but my nails look great. Only one wedding ring fits. I’m the human furnace most of the time. The smell of meat cooking no longer makes me hurl. I will only tie my own shoes in public – which is a giant, entertaining production. However, in private, Jer does it for me. The baby kicks and moves around a lot. He’s changed positions a couple of times, resulting in a Loch Ness-type movement across my belly, but he hasn’t had the hiccups yet as far as I can tell. Hard to believe he’ll be here in a couple of short months!

Week 20: Boy or Girl?

On Friday we have our 20-week ultrasound and are hoping to find out the sex of the baby. With any luck, the kid will cooperate and show us his/her business. After the mooning incident at the 12-week ultrasound, I'm certain that a) he or she is probably NOT shy and b) this is definitely our kid.

In the beginning, I was sure it was a boy. Now I don't really know. Just when I think morning sickness is over, I hurl again. So if you put all your eggs in the "barfing = girl" basket, it must be a girl. And Amy did the hanging needle trick which predicted three girls in a row. However... my gut still says boy. It's just saying it a little more quietly now. I don't care one way or the other, I just hope it doesn't weigh 14lbs and come out dribbling a basketball. And then there's all the wacky dreams I've had - in all of them the baby is wearing yellow and I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl. I even dreamt that the ultrasound tech said it was a girl, and then changed her mind and said it was a boy. And either way, baseball preferences are passed through the mother, so he or she is a Red Sox fan!

Week 16: 1 out of 1 OBs surveyed...

agrees wholeheartedly that the heartbeat of a baby at 4 months in utero sounds like a car driving over a bridge, as Jer so adeptly put it this morning.

It turns out that "pony" and "bongo drums" are the most popular comparisons. In any event, listening to the baby's heartbeat remains our favorite part of the monthly trip to the doctor's office. Whizzing in a Dixie cup is a close second for me.

We also agreed that under no circumstances will we name this baby Griswalda (after today's nurse). She was cool and everything, but Griswalda is out.

Week 16: Why is there fisherman’s rope in the waistband of my pants?

Apparently this is the dreaded in-between stage. None of my regular pants fit, and the rubber band button hole trick is total crap. Sure, your waistband is sort of together but your fly’s still down. And maternity pants are, um... interesting. Seriously, what's with the rope?