Ah-ah, we’re half-way there. Ah-ah, living on a prayer. Take my hand we’ll make it I swear. Ah-ah half-way there…Sorry, I’m in a wacky mood this morning. No more eighties songs, I promise. Well, as you can see, the belly, she is enormous. I’m at twenty weeks now, with twenty to go. Supposedly the baby is about 10.5 ounces now. I saw pshaw to that. Last night I swear he turned a somersault and I could feel him in my esophagus! His aunt is a gymnast, but since I’m pretty sure this boy is going to be at least as big as The Luke, I doubt he’ll be doing back handsprings anytime soon. But you never know.
I still get tired very easily, and if I overdo it, I cramp up. So I try not to do anything for more than an hour or so at a time. I’m not sure if it’s age or what, but this one is wearing me out a lot more than Luke did. I’m in bed every night no later than 9:00. That’s so weird to me.
I have appointments with both my OB and my Neo this week. They tried to do the 20 week ultrasound a couple of weeks ago, but he wouldn’t turn over and they couldn’t see the valves of his heart. So I’m going back and with any luck they’ll be able to check that out. Everything else is peachy-keen. Starting in January I’ll have to see my OB every two weeks, and no, I’m not looking forward to that. For one thing the two doctors are right down the street from one another and I keep getting confused as to which one I’m supposed to go to. (What can I say, I’ve got pregnesia big-time!) Plus I have to park in a parking garage each time. Have I mentioned that I’m claustrophobic? And yes, it gets considerably worse when I’m pregnant. Odd, between my heightened sense of smell and ridiculous claustrophobia, I’d make a helluva bloodhound, except forests freak me out.
Had to buy new bras last week. I didn’t have to when I was pregnant with Luke, but my breasts are now officially the size of canned hams. I hope this means I won’t have supply issues when I nurse this time. I just got cheapies at Wal-Mart, no underwire, that crap was driving me nuts. I’ve been itching like crazy, but they tell me it’s just stretching skin. I told Whit if I look like a Shar-pei when this pregnancy is over he better not say a mumbling word. And no, he can’t go running off with some nineteen year old with tight skin. Mid-life crisis my ass.
I was actually feeling kinda bad-azz, you know pregnant at 46 without assistance. Man, I must have some killer eggs. (Actually I already knew that, the women in my family are almost freakishly fertile.) Then I read an article in Oprah about a woman who got pregnant without a uterus! No, I have no idea how the hell she did it. Something about a dood named John of God. (When you think about it, that’s a helluva name, isn’t it? You have to have big ones to call yourself anything “of God.”) Anyway, all I know is, if I’m ever seriously sick I’m off to Brazil to see old boy.
And that’s my official update. Off to Target to find some curtains. Whit’s threatening to put blankets over the windows it’s so cold. I swear, sometimes I wonder if I married one of the Beverly Hillbillies.