An Artichoke?
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I’m at 18 weeks! That’s officially halfway to “full-term.” Even though real full-term is 40 weeks, it’s safe to deliver anytime after 36, so they consider that full-term. I’ve got 2 more weeks until the anatomy scan when we find out what kind of genitals this kid has, not that it particularly matters since I plan on doing the nursery in neutrals, but I’m still excited to know already. By the way – if Spot is a girl, Spot still likes Batman and dinosaurs. We don’t love everything pink.
My pregnancy app, which is otherwise very handy, always gives me the size of the baby based on some sort of produce. This week it’s an artichoke. For those of you who, like me, don’t just see artichokes at the store every day, that means that baby is a little over 5.5 inches and about 6.7 ounces. That’s not even half a pound. I’m also given to understand that this kid is moving around like crazy, though I haven’t felt any movements yet.
As for me, I’ve not gained any weight yet, and am no really showing, no matter what my mother says. What I am, is tired. All. The. Time. I’m sure that part of that is that I’m not sleeping super well. I’m waking up a lot in the night and having my fair share of weird dreams. Though my biggest problem right now is being sore. Pain in my shoulders and hips (probably from how I’m sleeping) is part of what’s waking me up at night. I am certainly looking forward to my next visit to the chiropractor. But, all-in-all, I can’t complain. Most of my pregnant (or recently pregnant) friends are having it a lot worse. So, I’ll just try to suck it up and take more naps.
What is going on in your life?
My best friend and my sister both basically slept through their first pregnancies. My bestie is 8 mos with her second child (another boy) but this time she is much more energetic.
I am doing much better, after having a skirmish with depression for a week or two. I had to offload some burdens that weren’t really mine to carry, which upset a couple of people, but they’ll get over it. They’ll have to. When you grow up with good-girl syndrome, learning to say No and make it stick is hard. However Jane Austen was right: the more you do for some people, the less they are willing to do for themselves. And they say “no” to me all the time and expect me to survive.
Slipped and fell in our tiny bathroom Friday; fortunately for me the softest part of the human anatomy hit the floor first, and I dropped in the only place I could fall without seriously hurting myself. So I’m taking it slow; nothing more than a few creaks, some spectacular bruising and a skinned elbow to show for it.
Well, I’m certainly glad that you didn’t hurt yourself worse. We don’t need you injured, especially this close to the holidays.