State of the Brassy

When I made my two resolutions at the end of December, I wanted to be able to track my progress throughout the year via the blog. I figured I would post once a month through the year. To be honest, one of the things I hate most about New Years Resolutions, as an institution, is how they are often very public at first and then quietly disappear by March. In many cases, the resolutions aren’t just things that people aren’t talking about anymore (you know, to keep all of their friends and family members from getting sick of them) but are related to very public undertakings. Diet changes, weight loss, projects that they’ve made very public… things everyone else can see. The high failure rate of New Years Resolutions makes the whole big thing every January 1st pretty trite, and I figure if I’m going to publicly participate I’d like to not half-ass it.

If you recall, I’m focusing this year on taking better care of myself and getting caught up on old projects. I learned quickly that I had to put myself as priority numero uno on that list, otherwise I was using myriad tasks and To Do items to make excuses for not taking care of myself. If that weren’t enough, the universe (aka my uterus, which is presently approximately the size of a small universe) has decided to force me to put taking care of myself first and everything else is pretty much a pipe dream.

I’ve mentioned before how this pregnancy has been, in a word, challenging. At just over 31 weeks along now, I’m still dealing with some nausea, and I had a minor bout of iron deficiency anemia (common in pregnancy) that totally kicked my butt. For the last month or so, I’ve had a whole list of symptoms, which I’ll try not to bore you with. Yeah, you’re welcome.

What this really means is that my primary occupation for the last 3 or 4 weeks has been Whining and Complaining, which both my husband and mother are so over, followed closely by Laying Around with My Feet Up and Sleeping, which I am so over. Now that my iron stores are replenishing, and we seem to be coming out the other side of some random winter cold that’s been going around, I’m less sleepy and having less severe waves of debilitating nausea-with-a-bonus-headache. I’m still pretty tired, and I’m still having lots of Braxton-Hicks contractions and a few regular ol’ LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED! contractions. Uterine activity is pretty much an all day occurance around here, though Baby Boy isn’t due for another 9 weeks. Since we are not even in the same month as his due date, having lots and lots of contractions means that I have to stop and put my feet up alot. I also have to not d0 things that cause nasty, crampy, painful contractions, such as being active, cleaning my house, nesting, or picking up my toddler. That last one I tend to do a lot anyway, because SHE’S MY BABY. AND SHE’S BEEN SICK.

Anywho, we had an impromptu doctor’s visit last Friday (the 31 week mark). Since I really don’t think the Internet at large needs to read about my nethers, we’ll just say that Momma is fine and Baby Boy is fine. However, things are already preparing for birth ifyouknowwhatImean, and we got an estimated size via Ultrasound. At this point, the “average” baby is 3 pounds. Baby Boy is apparently not average. His big sister Pixie is a tiny thing, and always has been. She was born at 38 weeks and was 5 pounds, 13 ounces. Her height and weight stay fairly consistant and tend to be around the 5th percentile (meaning 95% of babies her age are both taller and heavier than her).

Baby Boy is already estimated at 4 pounds and 14 ounces and is in the 94th percentile. How the heck do we go from a baby in the 4th percentile to a baby in the 94th?! Don’t answer that; it’s rhetorical. I do actually know about this whole genetics thing.

So. I’m miserable, my baby is freaking huge, and I’m not allowed to do the things my biology is telling me that I NEED TO DO in regards to nesting*, and I’m still needing more sleep than I would prefer. And, of course, sleeping in general is just as difficult as last time.

*You know, vitally important things like washing windows, scrubbing the walls, repainting the nursery, and moving furniture all over the house for reasons that remain a mystery to my long-suffering husband.