Today was a day that I was actually waiting for. I will admit I may have over-hyped myself up for it, but I can't help what I am-- a crazy person. Back on September 13, I had a pretty terrible prenatal appointment. And it was only terrible, insofar as the midwife I saw (not my regular) doesn't know anything about me, so she jumped to unnecessary conclusions. Either way, it was not pleasant, and I don't like the woman.
After being reassured by my regular practitioner on the phone, there were a few things I had still on my mind. One: I'm not going to have a puny baby. Not shocking. Two: I may but probably do not have gestational diabetes, and I need to watch what I eat just in case. Three: If my belly measures three centimeters over again, they'll do an ultrasound to try and determine his approximate size. But, even if they do, they still won't touch him until 39 weeks (which doesn't really matter to me; I just want to see his little face, the sooner the better). Jump forward two weeks to today. I have been waiting for today, and as I said, I may have psyched myself out just a teeny bit. After all that, the appointment was very anticlimactic. I learned that my belly isn't big enough today to get a sonogram, which means he probably just had his little booty up in the air last time to freak out the other midwife. And, everything I'm feeling is completely normal, and he could very well be camped out in there for the duration (side note: Matthew had a talk with my uterus the other day, and apparently T.J. told him he's already put up shelves and will be painting the walls next week, indicating a prolonged stay).
In all honesty, I just need to calm the eff down. Two weeks more, and we hit another milestone: the weekly visits. What am I supposed to do until then??!
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