It’s been awhile. But really, there hasn’t been much to say. Well, I suppose I could write each day and talk about my latest adventure in pregnancy, but most of the time these little adventures aren’t really worth writing about. I mean, who needs to hear about the time last week when I woke up at 3am and ate the better part of a gigantic bag of peanut butter M&M’s in the dark while Andrew lay sleeping next to me? Or the moment last night when I realized, in most embarrassing fashion, that I can no longer put my winter boots on standing up? Nobody, that’s who.
Thursday was a day of note. Thursday was “Check-out-the-inside-of-Ezmy’s-uterus” day. It was also the first day that Ewan really decided to make himself known. I’ve been feeling him bustle around in there a bit since xmas time, but up until Thursday, these bustlings have resembled Dairy Extravaganza Days and I haven’t thought much of them. Thursday was a completely different story. It all began when I started drinking heavily – not booze, mind you, but water for the ultrasound. Personally, I don’t find the ultrasound bladder filling too difficult, largely because I do not try and consume 1.5 L of water an hour and half before the ultrasound like they suggest. Instead, I drink water steadily from the morning until 1 hour before the appointment, emptying when necessary. I cut the washroom trips off 1 hour before, drink two glasses of water and I’m good to go. But I’m still full and riding the bumpy bus to the hospital isn’t exactly a treat. Which is why I was excited/annoyed to feel Ewan give my bladder a super solid kick on the way to the appointment. I guess my bladder was in his way or something as he continued to beat the crap out of it all the way to the hospital. I was torn – I mean yayayaya to feeling the creepiest feeling in the world of my darling parasite kicking me but boobooboo to having one’s bladder treated like a punching bag when it’s taking all of one’s strength to hold in the contents. Yeesh.
But it didn’t stop there. So we’re in the ultrasound room, and the poor ultrasound tech is trying to take measurements of the kid; you know, making sure the kidneys, bladder, stomach etc are all on track, that all four heart chambers are functioning, that he isn’t growing a second head, that his cerebellum isn’t in the wrong place, etc. But is my darling parasite cooperating? No. Instead, he is tearing around my uterus like a mad animal, hitting everything in his path and flashing his junk whenever he gets the chance. Awesome. Frustrated, the ultrasound tech tells me to get up and dance around a bit, to see if that gets him to move to a more suitable position. So I dance around like a fool in the middle of the office and sure enough he moves, but not where he’s supposed to. Now he’s facing the camera and hiding everything that needs to be measured. Sigh. We were there three times as long as last time. And when we left, he continued to dance around in my uterus for another hour. He’s got spunk, I’ll give him that.
But other than tales from my uterus, which really excite no one but me, nothing new is happening. The job is the same, although the work environment has improved immensely. Now that I’m pregnant, see, no one thinks I’m after their job and they are super friendly. Sigh. Andrew came back from gallivanting all over South America and we’ve spent most nights maxed out in front of an episode of The Office. I visited the talented Cassy W. last weekend, which was lovely. I’m thinking about packing for the Move to Grown Up House…thinking about it is a start, I figure. But that’s it. Life is ridiculously peaceful, like the calm before a twenty year-lifelong storm. It’s a bit eerie…