I’ve reached the weeks of pregnancy that one of Dr. Risky’s nurses calls the “I Can’t” stage: I can’t breathe, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I keep reminding myself that this is a very quick stage because UGH. I feel like I’m hyperventilating with all the quick, short breaths. Plus, my contractions have changed and become more uncomfortable and cramp-like. I almost went in to L&D a couple nights ago; in fact, I would have if I didn’t already have an appointment scheduled with Dr. Risky for the next day (for the record, Dr. Risky didn’t seem pleased that I’d waited. Oops.).
Because I’m not sleeping or breathing well, I’m pretty tired. Mike couldn’t go to the appointment, so my mom and Annabel drove me. They also walked me into the waiting room, and when it was my turn to go back I gave Annie a kiss goodbye and told my mom to take her on a little walk. Dr. Risky’s nurse said, “Oh, bring them back with you!” I wasn’t expecting that, since, as I’ve mentioned before, Dr. Risky’s office has a strict no-kids policy (they see so many high-risk and oncology patients, it totally makes sense).
I’m pretty sure they made the exception that time because a) the nurse saw Annie and my mom, and I usually don’t ever let them walk me in, b) Annie was sitting quietly (although not exactly…properly)…
and c) because my mom was there to contain Annie should she suddenly become all crazy and get the urge to destroy things. Which I knew she wouldn’t get, but one of the other nurses told me a child had actually destroyed a keyboard! Yikes.
I was happy to show Annie off to the office, since they all helped get her to me safely three years ago. She was perfectly behaved, thank goodness, and was good at answering all their questions (“My name is Annabel and I’m free years old and my birthday’s in Jan-nu-nary.”). Annie was also soooooo excited to meet Dr. Risky, even though I’d explained to her that they’d already met three years ago. But of course, the main event for all of us was the ultrasound. Annie sat on my mom’s lap and held onto my foot while she watched the screen.
Dr. Risky was nice enough to narrate what she was seeing: “There’s his head…it’s nice and big…he’s got hair…”
Annie, whispering: “He’s got hair in there?!?!”
Dr. Risky: “Here’s his chest and heart…four chambers beating, good…and his spine…”
Annie: “I see his little hand! And his mouth! And his ear!”
Dr. Risky: “He’s got a full bladder!”
Annie, laughing: “HE HAS TO GO POTTY!”
The Acrobat is measuring way ahead, at six pounds seven ounces. His largeness may not let me literally breathe easier, but even if that estimate is off (as Maddie’s and Annie’s both were in their final ultrasounds), he’s still approaching a size that will help keep him out of the NICU. I also got a good glance at his little face hiding behind his hand and his umbilical cord, and he looked pretty cute – all chubby cheeks and pouty lips, with an upturned Annie-nose.
Your cheat sheet:
It’s basically the same thing.