This is such a great week in produce that I have to start there because I can’t wait to tell you about it. Baby H is a PINEAPPLE!!! He’s more than four pounds heavy and almost a foot and a half long! So, this big:
Due to all this growing and fattening up, he is supposedly not kicking me so hard. Um, no, that isn’t happening. I am still gasping on the daily when he nails me in the hip or jabs sharply into my bladder. His heft has diminished his exuberance for vigorous activity not at all.
I am also continuing to grow and fatten up. At my appointment this week, I measured exactly 32 weeks, so maybe I am not growing a mutantly gigantic baby? But instead a baby that’s just right? These measurements aren’t the greatest indicator, but a girl can dream, right?
I am also continuing to grow and fatten up. At my appointment this week, I measured exactly 32 weeks, so maybe I am not growing a mutantly gigantic baby? But instead a baby that’s just right? These measurements aren’t the greatest indicator, but a girl can dream, right?
So, 33 weeks seems to be about the time that everyone starts to think that my pregnancy is pretty much over and before we know it there will be a baby and it’s all going to happen SO FAST and OMG ARE YOU SO EXCITED OR ARE YOU KIND OF FREAKING OUT???!!!??? And, I mean, I guess. It still feels fairly distant and theoretical to me.
I cleaned the house with tremendous zeal yesterday. It didn’t feel like it had anything to do with Baby H’s impending arrival, but I still felt like a nesting stereotype. I mean, I bleached the shower curtain. And at one point I found myself cleaning a light switch. Which can’t be normal. I also excavated the vacuum, where I discovered an entire Reese-ful of fur. It was deeply satisfying to dredge it all out. Don’t you love cleaning jobs like that? When I was little I would purposefully let my Elmer’s glue dry all sloppy so that it would get clogged, so that then I could un-clog it. Which also can’t be normal. Maybe I should have been a plumber. Except I think that’s probably a totally gross job and I actually wouldn’t care for it at all.
Baby H’s doctor-speculated positioning: head-down (based on location of heartbeat)
Baby H’s parent-speculated positioning: diagonally head-down, at best (based on, “if he’s gone vertical, then what the heck is that?”)
Number of times this week that some guy checked out my posterior, only to then see me from the side and be mortified: 1, but that was plenty to entertain me for the better part of a morning
Number of times this week I realized belatedly that I had stood for too long: 1
How long I was sore afterwards: 24 hours. No joke.
Why this happened: I was at a work reception and Baby H’s Auntie V was not there to tell me to stop socializing and sit down already, because hello, I am super-pregnant. She remembers this so much better than I do.
Baby H’s favorite music this week: Jasper playing and singing Taylor Swift tunes
Baby H’s least favorite music this week: “Pour Some Sugar on Me” It was undeniable... he was in the midst of a wild dance party and then for the entirety of PSSoM, he froze all akin to a mime. Not a movement. When the next song came on, he was back to dancing.
And to this I say: Really, Baby H? Because if there is a song that might lead your mother to, say, remove her top and dance on a bar, well, PSSoM is that song. Not that I would ever do that. I’m fun, but not that fun.
Things that made me misty-eyed this week: a sitcom with an adoption storyline and listening to Jasper play “Hey there, Delilah” on his guitar. Yeah, I know... “Hey there, Delilah.” It made me think about how much we are going to love Baby H (SO much) and yes, well. That’s all, really.
I cleaned the house with tremendous zeal yesterday. It didn’t feel like it had anything to do with Baby H’s impending arrival, but I still felt like a nesting stereotype. I mean, I bleached the shower curtain. And at one point I found myself cleaning a light switch. Which can’t be normal. I also excavated the vacuum, where I discovered an entire Reese-ful of fur. It was deeply satisfying to dredge it all out. Don’t you love cleaning jobs like that? When I was little I would purposefully let my Elmer’s glue dry all sloppy so that it would get clogged, so that then I could un-clog it. Which also can’t be normal. Maybe I should have been a plumber. Except I think that’s probably a totally gross job and I actually wouldn’t care for it at all.
Baby H’s doctor-speculated positioning: head-down (based on location of heartbeat)
Baby H’s parent-speculated positioning: diagonally head-down, at best (based on, “if he’s gone vertical, then what the heck is that?”)
Number of times this week that some guy checked out my posterior, only to then see me from the side and be mortified: 1, but that was plenty to entertain me for the better part of a morning
Number of times this week I realized belatedly that I had stood for too long: 1
How long I was sore afterwards: 24 hours. No joke.
Why this happened: I was at a work reception and Baby H’s Auntie V was not there to tell me to stop socializing and sit down already, because hello, I am super-pregnant. She remembers this so much better than I do.
Baby H’s favorite music this week: Jasper playing and singing Taylor Swift tunes
Baby H’s least favorite music this week: “Pour Some Sugar on Me” It was undeniable... he was in the midst of a wild dance party and then for the entirety of PSSoM, he froze all akin to a mime. Not a movement. When the next song came on, he was back to dancing.
And to this I say: Really, Baby H? Because if there is a song that might lead your mother to, say, remove her top and dance on a bar, well, PSSoM is that song. Not that I would ever do that. I’m fun, but not that fun.
Things that made me misty-eyed this week: a sitcom with an adoption storyline and listening to Jasper play “Hey there, Delilah” on his guitar. Yeah, I know... “Hey there, Delilah.” It made me think about how much we are going to love Baby H (SO much) and yes, well. That’s all, really.
Pineapple photo: Baby Center
Lest everyone think that the Halekas boys only like to play, and listen to, sugary pop, I feel compelled to report that Baby H also seemed to appreciate my renditions of Josh Ritter, Son Volt, James Taylor, Cat Stevens, and Eddie Vedder songs. And yes, I realize that my reputation is irreparably besmirched anyway.
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