Welcome to Maternity Monday in my 25th week. I’m still feeling like a pregnancy rock star, although as I round the bases home I’m a little less mythical unicorn and a little more textbook. First, I would like to welcome back my first trimester crap symptom of nausea. It’s been….. at least 6 weeks since you’ve been around so I’m (not) glad to have you back. Second, I would like to also welcome back first trimester crap symptom of fatigue. While not quite as rough (yet) as first trimester, I vaguely remember how this started in February and it was something like how it’s going now. I’m hoping that I could blame it on staying up late to watch rhythmic gymnastics on the Olympics, but now that that’s over I don’t feel like I have any more energy.
Went to the doctor this morning and I don’t have gestational diabetes, so I picked up some ginger snap cookies on the way home and I type this as I plow through my third. He also mentioned something about the 6 pounds that I’ve gained in the last 4 weeks, but I would like to think that’s all due to the water that I’ve been drinking for this heat and nothing to do with me eating fruit like it’s going out of style (or my 4th ginger snap…. yum!!). Whatever, my baby metabolizes sugar appropriately so I’m good and my doctor can continue to justify my dramatic weight gain as “typical due to water retention and extra blood creation” and I’ll go with that plus the fact that my chest is still fighting for a first place finish against my belly.
And before I forget, because my “pregnancy brain” has actually gotten worse, my baby is 13 1/2 inches and a pound and a half. Which is the size of an average rutabaga. Don’t know what that is? Me either. Therefore, I say it’s about the size of….. whatever. A rutabega.
My maternal instinct seems to be kicking in nicely. We started looking at day cares last week. Granted we’ve only seen two so far, one I was ready to sign on the dotted line for and the other nearly threw me into a convulsive, crying, panic attack at the thought of having to actually leave my child in that building with those people. I can’t put my finger on what it is in either place, so I decided that it must just be a mother’s intuition. But then Angel agreed with my assessments, so perhaps it’s just a “parents intuition” that we’re experiencing in Casa de Rivas.
Speaking of the Casa. This weekend I was able to pass off some of my sleeping misery onto those I love the most. On Friday night my beloved fur baby Molly, who is known for her original sleeping positions, was sleeping on her back snoring (I’m not even joking) when all of a sudden there was the sound of knocking on wood followed by the loud thump of something hitting the ground. My poor dog had rolled herself right off of the bed in her sleep and hit the foot board on the way down! Luckily, she appeared to not be injured by the foot board or fall once she was in my lap being cuddled. She’s still iffy about jumping back on the bed… as if it’s the bed’s fault.
Then on Sunday Angel informed me that he had a dream that the baby came early. I started laughing because now the shoe’s on the other foot. In his dream I had the baby on a Thursday in October and was home from the hospital that day with Mini Me because we were apparently taking a road trip to Las Vegas the next day. So Angel said that he was sitting on the living room floor playing with Mini Me while he and I freaked out about what we were supposed to pack for a baby on a road trip. But I really don’t see what the problem is, if we’re taking him to Vegas all we need are clean diapers and beer for the bottle. But it was nice to see that Angel has finally joined the ranks of sleepless nights due to odd baby dreams. Also, I breezed right over it, but I do wonder how he was “playing” with a 24 hour old baby? Does he think this little guy comes out kicking soccer balls? But awww, he was picturing himself being a hands-on dad and I think it’s adorable in any capacity that it comes.
I really need to stop typing and go pick up paint to finish up the nursery. We’re planning on getting the furniture this week/next week and the room is still under construction. Besides, I really need an excuse to separate myself from these damn cookies before I eat the whole dozen and get another lecture on “appropriate weight gain” at my next OB visit.
P.S. I consider “appropriate weight gain” to be the final tally as I cross the finish line at 40 weeks as long as I’m not looking like Jessica Simpson did during ANY part of her pregnancy: