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30 Weeks

       

I can not believe I’m 30 weeks. Seriously, does that seem crazy to anyone else?

THIRTY WEEKS!

I don’t know why this seems like such a huge milestone, perhaps because birth can happen in the 30’s, you’re considered full-term at 37, inductions can happen as early as 36, plus, just…thirty?Really?

Perhaps it’s because 30 seems like such a big number that this week has been all about getting ready. Not packing-my-hospital-bag getting ready, but baby-izing our house style getting ready.

Poor Adam has never been harangued as much as he was harangued this week. Multiple trips up and down to the Sex Attic, putting stuff in storage and bringing other things out. Trips to the hardware store and back to get that one last thing I forgot. Playing that awesome game married couples play where the husband moves a large, heavy piece of furniture clear across the room while the wife stands back, hemming and hawing before finally deciding that she liked it where it was before. And then when he has heaved it back into its original position she decides that you know what? Let’s just get rid of it – Oh, can you just move that outside for me honey?

It was worth it though. I think Adam would agree. All of the haranguing and the trips and the moving heavy furniture and the painting. Because now in our guest room where there used to be this:

There is this:

Our house is now indubitably a house where a baby could live. And here’s proof! Drawers full of diapers and onesies and even a place on top to change the little guy (or girl). Colourful bunting and pictures and although I’m still waiting on a few things to round out the collection of wall art, I feel so much more settled. So much more prepared. 

Thank you Adam for all of your help. Thank you for (mostly) restraining yourself from cursing and eye-rolling and sighing loudly each time I issued you new marching orders.

And thank you to everyone who has heard me talking about this dresser for the past six months. Seriously, you wouldn’t know it to look at it, but this dresser has been hours and hours and hours in the making. It deserves (and will get) a post of its own (as will this little part of our Not-A-Nursery).

Physically I am still doing really well. I weigh 131 lbs and don’t have much physical discomfort other than the fact that I grunt like a geriatric man any time I have to bend over or reach for something or roll over at night. Seriously, grunts and wheezes are the soundtrack to my life right now.

The gestational diabetes is still being managed well, although I can feel myself getting frustrated at its limitations. I just want to eat what I want, when I want it, rather than being so constricted by counting carbs and timing meals.

I’ve never dieted or done any sort of food-diarying other than the occasional cleanse and the thought of having to do this regimented routine for the next potentially 10 weeks is sometimes really depressing. But I’ve been good with it, numbers are great and I owe more thanks to Adam for power-walking around the neighbourhood with me at almost midnight Saturday night because I may have given into cravings for sour candy and needed to walk it off, ok?

The baby is moving so much, SO much. I can feel it’s getting a bit low on space though because it’s less kicking and more rolling, poking. I never thought you’d be able to feel this much, I never knew how clearly defined a baby’s shape could be under all of those layers of skin and fat lying in between you.

Tomorrow is the big day, The Ultrasound. The Ultrasound to determine whether my placenta has moved. Thankfully it’s first thing in the morning so I won’t have to spend all day on pins and needles, but I have a feeling I won’t be sleeping much tonight.

I think I have made peace with the fact that a c-section might be a possibility. Despite this, I know in my heart that I will still be disappointed if that ends up being the case, I won’t be able to not feel that, just a little bit.

I so want this experience. I want to have that moment when I call Adam and tell him I’m having contractions. I want that excitement of not knowing when it’s going to happen. I would feel better knowing that Baby G gets to make his/her entrance into this world on their time, not ours. If tomorrow I am told that a c-section is an inevitability, I will probably be taking some time to mourn the loss of these things, and I think that’s normal.

I do however, think this whole experience has given me perspective, loosened my idea of what a birth “should” look like, “should” feel like, and I’m very grateful for that. It’s reminded me that whatever happens, however this little peanut decides to come out, I will be the luckiest lady in the world to be able to sit there after it’s over and hold those tiny fingers, count all those tiny toes.

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