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I stared at her in a rather stupefied manner and said, "Actually, I'm at 36 weeks. I was at 34 weeks the last time I came in."
"Nope," she replied confidently. "The Wheel says that you are at 34 weeks."
The Wheel. Have a mentioned how much I despise that little wheel that the nurses pull out to check my dates? It is wrong every single time and they insist that it is correct - like it is the Almighty Infallible Wheel That We Mustn't Anger. Not only is it so tiny that it is impossible to read, but it is made out of cardboard. Surely there is some other way to figure these things out. Like, oh, asking the patient if she thinks that The Wheel is accurate. Because I can count, people, and I know that I am 36 weeks. You can't just magically "lose" two weeks of a pregnancy, just because The Wheel told you so. Bah!
My blood pressure returned to its normal state when my doctor came in and the first words out of her mouth were, "You are not 34 weeks. You are 36."
Really. Thank you very much.
In other Baby E news, he is all cleared for landing when the time comes. It's a dangerous thing to tell me that information because I want to get all excited when in reality he could come in three weeks, or four weeks, or more. But knowing that he's all set to go is encouraging and I find that my anticipation exceeds my extreme dislike of being poked and prodded and hospitalized. It's a different feeling than with Harriet. I was so focused on the labor and delivery aspect and how well I would perform that I really had no idea how fantastically wonderful and frightening it was to have a newborn. Now I'm most definitely thinking more about actually having the kid and getting to enjoy him than I am about the birthing process. (It also helps to just plan on getting an epidural. Call me an unwomanly wimp, but I love those things and the thought of actually enjoying labor is so freeing. Also, I saw the anesthesiologist at the tennis courts the other day when Steve and I were playing. I was thinking, "That guy looks so familiar. Where have I seen him before?" Then I remembered. Part of me was glad that I hadn't made a lot of eye contact, and part of me wanted to run up and tell him to get his stuff ready and not take so long this time around....)
The issuing forth of Baby E is probably on my mind not because I am extremely uncomfortable or all that sick of being pregnant but rather because the Braxton Hicks contractions are very prevalent and strong throughout the day. I never felt these with Harriet at all, so this is just a new experience all around. Hey, I'm all for my body doing the work without my being in horrible pain. Keep on squeezing!
Baby E has quite the collection of clothing now, thanks to the purchases of grandmothers, aunts, and friends. I didn't know if I would really find a style of boys clothing that I like, but I think that we have settled on classic stripes and plaids, zoo animals, robots, dinosaurs, and happy monsters. Sports will make their way in, naturally, but preferably no fire trucks or trains. Oh well, those will make their ways in I'm sure. He'll be adorable no matter what type of hobby he is advertising. So far H hasn't decided to put Baby E's clothes on her baby doll, but she is ever so busy changing its diaper, pushing it in the stroller, and sleeping with it. Baby E may come as a bit of a shock since he a) won't be as flexible, b) will not appreciate being carried around by the head or dropped on the floor, and c) probably will want Mommy to change his diaper.
I can't believe it's almost February. Can not believe it.
