Well, today I am 37 weeks pregnant. I have a baby-sized baby inside of me. He’s heavy. One of these dumb websites tells me he’s as long as a piece of Swiss chard. Why do all of the baby-size comparisons have to be to things we eat? I don’t want to have eaten my baby.
I can’t seem to get a good self-portrait of myself for these weekly posts, probably because I’m trying to take them using a timer app on my cell phone in a classroom with bad lighting. When we first got pregnant, Ryan wanted to take my picture every single day so that we could make an animated gif of my expansion. But then he started his new job and sorta forgot about taking pictures, so I’ve just been trying to take them myself, with pretty limited results. This one was so bad that I decided tohellwithit and gave it the Use Software to Turn a 21st Century Photograph Into a Terrible Photo from the Early 1980s treatment (aka Instagram, although in this case I used Pixlr). It actually improved the photo, which just goes to show you how bad it was.
I currently have rock-hard abs. Or rock-hard fetus. Something like that. Anyway, it’s the closest I’ve ever come to having a quarter bounce off my abdomen. I’m actually pretty sure you could do that now. Wait — is that a thing? Or am I thinking of making your bed to military standards? That’s probably what I’m thinking of. Oh well.
Tomorrow is my Strep B test, which sounds completely lovely, as does any procedure in which the words “swab,” “sample,” “vagina,” and “anus” appear in the same sentence. I imagine that they’ll take the opportunity to check my cervix while I have my knickers off — or at least, it seems like they’d want to be doing that, given that the kiddo is technically full-term and plenty of people give birth at 37 weeks. That said, I’d be shocked to learn that any progress has been made toward infant evacuation. If I’ve had any Braxton Hicks contractions, they’ve been mild enough to be mistaken for gas or minor twinges.
More uncomfortable by far are my son’s long legs. What’s up with pregnancy diagrams, anyway? They’re all from the side — I can’t find a single one that looks at the uterus (with a kid in it) from the front. This is what all these pregnancy websites want you to think of when they say someone is 37 weeks pregnant:
But they’re missing out on the real story, which looks something a bit more like this:
(If I had the time or skills, I’d animate that so that you could see those legs shoving as hard as they can against ribs and side, constantly…)
What I’m trying to say here is, Kermie isn’t a placid little curled up ball of baby in there — although he has gotten calmer as he’s run out of room. He has really one and only one hobby, and that’s attempting to stretch my right ribcage out as far as humanly possible before his birthday.
I do have some very nice “look, I’m bulbous” photographs to share, but I need a little more time to curate them before sharing here. Like, real photographs, not iPhone crappery. I suppose I ought to take some time to figure out how so many people can take clear photos on their iPhones; mine are never as good as I want them to be. Anyway, here is one picture, taken on Easter, that doesn’t necessarily show off my bulbousness (that dress camouflaged rather than emphasized my shape) but which includes baby’s not-really-namesake, so that’s cute.
I like the word “bulbous.” I grow somewhat weary of being bulbous…
As I write, my friend B is — well, if things have gone according to schedule, she’s recovering from the delivery of their second baby… Very excited for her… Can’t wait to find out whether it’s a little brother or sister…
I think that’s enough for now. Not very inspired. Got to go to a staff meeting now and then grade a bunch of tests. See y’all later.