On YAY! SEVEN MONTHS

So glad I only have two months to go!

Especially because folk at work keep commenting on how massive I am, so I've been telling them I'm seven months for the last few weeks, so they will be expecting me to go on leave soon...

The third trimester has started to get tougher.  But all of the tricky things feel as though they can be overcome, or at least managed so I don't go totally insane.  I had a great visit to my Midwife last week which helped massively because:

Check out The Lump (as nicknamed by autistic kid at work)     

1) This bubba is no longer breech.  Yay!  Thankyou for turning!  It was likely to happen as it was not regular breech but almost totally sideways.  While things are still uncomfortable it's nothing on being kicked in the groin constantly by pointy baby feet.

2) I am no longer measuring giant - actually, I'm completely average (despite everyone assuming the opposite - I'm just short with poor muscle tone DAMMIT!)  So no longer worried about the only really bad thing that could come of this if I were (excess amniotic fluid hurting babies brain) cos I got no pregnancy diabetes.  And anyway, giant babies shmiant babies.  Big is good (most of the time).  I'll take whatever size baby I've managed to grow and be happy.

3) I have (we think) a solution to my breathing problems which have been getting progressively scarier.  My stored iron has dropped significantly which effects how much oxygen I get.  The more I feel like I'm not getting enough oxygen the more claustrophobic and panicky I feel - which makes the breathing thing harder and compounds everything.  And this is (of course) exacerbated by the much smaller lung capacity due to having a baby living inside me.  So I've started on iron stabbies which should help with a few other problems I've been having.

4) Murray came too and we ended up in hilarious conversations about religion and philosophy and said a bunch of totally inappropriate stuff and were there for almost an hour and it was fun.  Best.  Midwife.  Ever.  I think she's just as black in her humor as we are, which makes her awesome.*

Time wise everything is starting to get busy.  Because my hips are a bit worse, between fortnightly physio, waterwalking, twice weekly stabbies, and midwife visits on top of our usual schedule it means busy times.  We will be relying fairly heavily on family support and are soooo lucky we can do so!

I also have my obstetrician appointment finally - followed by an anesthetist appointment.  I thought maybe this was just standard protocol - two birds one stone bookings wise as I shouldn't need to see an anesthetist unless I need a C Section.  But my Midwife said no, it's not standard (but could just be a staff screw up) so it's a bit weird.  Both my midwife and I still can't see any real reason why they'll tell me I need one - they prefer for us ladies not to have two in less than two years anyway, and Etta was only a Caesar because she got stuck.  There is no real reason I can think of why I can't deliver naturally.  I guess I'll learn the verdict on the 10th of March.  Fingers crossed for natural but hey, all I want is a healthy baby so I'll take that however it comes (touch wood for healthy baby).

Being pregnant, probably because of my anxiety, I get paranoid things will go wrong with the pregnancy.  So I haven't really felt that attachment to the foetus/baby you're supposed to feel. When I find out I'm knocked up, it's firstly all about making sure it's not ectopic so I don't hemorrhage to death.  Then it's all about making it to 12 weeks.  Then it's getting through the 20 week scan without any hiccups.  Then 24 weeks (cos more viable than 20 weeks if I go into labour early), then 28 because that's way better than 24 in terms of development.  I'm almost 32 weeks now - and that was my minimum for feeling like things would likely be ok (cos baby on average will be around 4 pounds, which is far less scary than 2 1/4 pounds at 28 weeks).  So high five to this baby!  Now hoping to make it to 35 and if I do that, maybe I can make 37.  Pretty much after that I'll be happy for the baby to exit whenever it deems fit**.

I know this may sound crazy or wrong to some people, but I'm just being honest - it's just basic self-preservation.  I don't want to get too attached to something that may not happen.  And things going wrong in pregnancy are commonplace, so I need to feel prepared to deal with that - this is how I do it.  And I can say from experience it hasn't made me feel less close to the kid once they're here.  It's because I am aware of my potential to love so much that I hold back until it feels safe.

So yeah, things are starting to suck physically a little more, but I'm finally at the point where I'm starting to consider this baby thing as a reality.  Now I'm starting to get excited about things - we're going to have another little person in our whanau - Etta will be a big sister!

I wonder what this one will be like?  All I can imagine is another little Etta, but I know there are so many possible variants.  Maybe it'll be a short fatty like me, and not a tall skinny like Murray and Etta.  Will it be stick more to statistical likelihoods and have brown eyes?  Will it have my Mum's dark hair?  Will it get my awful English ginger skin? Will it get all the family allergies from my side?  Or manage to avoid them?  Mostly, I just hope it will be as awesome as (but maybe will sleep better than) Etta.

* I accidentally made a dead baby joke and she didn't slap me or look traumatised.

** Except any time past 40 weeks.  40 weeks is definitely enough.  There will probably be murders after that point in time.  Multiple.  I may have to spend the rest of my pregnancy in an isolated shed somewhere if this one goes overdue.