The foetus is being a tad recalcitrant. Here it is ten at night on Monday and he/she/it (please don't say that too fast) has given no signs of 'going towards the light tonight', as it were. The pep-talk that my wife had with her belly on Saturday while Dex and I were out renting a movie seems to have been ignored.
Ergo, she is now fully convinced it's a boy.
Amy had what will hopefully be her last doctor's appointment this afternoon. That means I got to take off from work a couple hours early, which doesn't bother me terribly. I'm only about half there this past week or so anyway.
Seems she landed herself a big one this time around! Her belly's measuring 42 centimetres, which puts the baby's size at about 42 weeks, even though she's only at 39. (I didn't know this about belly measurements: the distance around from the top of the uterus to the base, in centimetres, approximates the gestational size, in weeks, of the foetus. 42 weeks = big baby.) The doc this afternoon estimated that Amy's got an eight and a half pounder in there. Almost a full pound bigger than Dex when he was born.
When she was going to bed tonight, Amy likened the weight to our Jack Russell with his head chopped off. I was so proud of how quiet I was at that point. Filter firmly in place.
So far, prognosis is good and all signs point to, umm, patience?
The prognosis, at least by the measurement of her belly, also means that this child is the apparent answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. With our current Son Of Awesome Perfection, we know that Spawn2 has big shoes to fill and already seems to be giving signs of greatness with that portentious size.
Amy's been having Braxton-Hicks contractions on an irregular basis lately. That's how taut I wish my belly was. She also got enlightenment on a dizzy spell she suffered on Sunday evening when my folks brought dinner over, though it caused me more than a little confusion at first. (The enlightenment, not the dinner.)
"Hey Si, remember when I got up from dinner on Sunday and had to go lie down on the couch?"
"And remember when you got your wisdom teeth out and you said you felt lightheaded the next morning and then passed out in the kitchen?"
"I didn't tell you last night, but that's exactly how I felt. At least up until the actual passing out part."
"Yeah. And my left hand was totally numb for about five minutes."
"I didn't know that!"
"Yeah well, so I asked the doctor about that today and she said the symptoms sound like the beginnings of a migraine aura." She paused to take a sip of her ginger ale slurpee. Ginger ale heals all corporeal ills these days. It is Amy's panacea par excellence.
I politely asked her to elucidate. "Huh?!"
"It looks like a migraine aura," she reiterated. Another sip of the slurpee.
"What?" Confusion reigned supreme.
"A migraine aura!" The look in her eyes, patience fleeing, told me I had better be deaf or dumb.
I was becoming equally exasperated. "A migraine or a... WHAT??"
"Oh Jesus, Si. A migraine AURA," she said. She set down her slurpee and waved both hands around in a large circle about her head. "They're just preliminary signs of migraine headaches; sometimes happens in the late stages of pregnancy. It probably doesn't mean I'll be getting any migraines."
I was a little sheepish. "Oh. Yeah, well, I didn't know that."
And so we wait.
That's about all this site will consist of over the next (hopefully few) days. That is absolutely all that our lives consist of right now. Ensure that our firstborn has all of his physical needs met, and some of his social, and wait.
Feed and water the dogs, and wait.
Jump out of my chair at work every time the phone rings, and wait.
I'm teaching the dogs how to wait too. With treats. Dex wants in on the action, but there are only two treats.