Week 33

Doc says that the baby child is definitely head down already. And since I'm told that babies come out facing your butthole, that means the offending foot that is giving me the liver bruise is his right foot. Same foot of Mr. b's that won't stay still. Mr. b says, "Good boy." Hrmph.

I've gained back 1 and a half pounds. But I haven't decided if that's actual weight gain or just more natural fluctuation. Really, I'm beyond caring. I'm clearly not going to be one of those women that balloons up 80 pounds. I remember joking to a friend long before I even went off the pill that my plan was to gain 12 pounds total--7 for the baby and 5 for the other junk. Little did I know how close that would be!

Mr. b was very cute in the doctor's office. He busted out with a litany of status updates--that I'm hot all the time and he's always having to put on a sweatshirt and that my legs get swollen and I get tired and I'm overly emotional and get sad and upset easily. Doc just grinned at me and said, "Everything's normal then. You're perfect!"

To hammer home the overly emotional point I then had a total melt down in the middle of the night. I was convinced that Mr. b was dead in a ditch somewhere when he didn't get home from band practice until much later than I anticipated. I was in tears, not able to go back to sleep, wandering around looking out the window, willing him to get home.