the great stomach squeeze

Oh boy. It's been a while.

Apologies everyone. I know that the blog is long overdue for an update. Honestly, I was waiting for something super blog-worthy to happen, and the days have been uneventful. But with the due date fast-approaching, I understand that many of you are eager to hear how things are going, even if the news is mundane. I will do my best to post more regularly from here on out. Promise. :)

I suppose the most exciting news as of late is that I had my 34-week appointment last Tuesday. We met Doc L, who was fabulous. He confirmed that Tater is finally head-down (hooray!) and guessed that his back was pressing against the right-hand side of my stomach (double hooray if I can avoid back labor). To prove himself right, Doc L pointed to what would be the corresponding position of Tater's heart, applied a small dollop of goop, and placed the heart rate monitor in the same spot. Sure enough, the heart beat came through loud and clear on the first try. I was impressed. Heart beat was strong, positioning is good, blood pressure is fabulous, and stomach measured 34". It was a quick appointment, but apparently that will change from here on out. No more keeping my pants on. Joy.

Doc L reminded me to pay attention to Tater's movement, the same admonishment we received from Doc G at the last appointment. This warning has me hyper-fixated on Tater's movements, which thankfully have been pretty regular and predictable. The docs have told us that as he's increasingly squished, the movements will be less pronounced, and that has rung true. But we had a small scare on Sunday afternoon.

You might recall that the last scare occurred while Brad and I were in the suburbs shopping at Ikea for a small table to display Brad's turntable. Anyone care to take a guess at what we were doing on Sunday after church? Yup, we were scouring the antique, vintage, and independent furniture stores for a suitable table. It was our first table hunting expedition since the failed and frightening Ikea trip. Clearly, Tater's strong preference is that Brad's new turntable remain forever on the floor in our living room. Perhaps he wants to be able to stop the madness when Brad starts spinning his mint condition copy of The Fat Boys Are Back. Just a guess.

Back to the scare. When we reached our first destination in Ravenswood, Brad did an excellent parallel parking job, positioning the Prius mere inches from the curb. When I opened the passenger door, however, I found that a ginormous snowbank on the sidewalk left me with precious little room to exit. Brad offered to pull the car back out, but I was unreasonably determined to squeeze my huge belly through the tiny opening. I succeeded, but not without discomfort. Dumb.

I was kicking my stubborn self as we shopped for the next two hours, noting that I wasn't feeling much movement from Tater after the great stomach squeeze. So I eagerly agreed when Brad suggested we grab a late lunch, because I was hungry (always) and knew that Tater was likely to start swimming as soon as I put some food in my stomach. Unfortunately, Tater was not moved by the grilled cheese and soup at Beat Kitchen (admittedly, it was a bit bland). I thought I felt him stir once or twice, but I wasn't certain. And for the rest of the shopping trip, he was still.

When we got home I subtly tried get him to move (knowing that the minute Brad caught on he would be incredibly worried). I tried the trick suggested by the nurse at one of our prenatal classes: going to the bathroom, drinking a big glass of water as quickly as possible, and laying down on my left-hand side. No dice. I tried crossing my arms and resting them on the top of my stomach, which always gets him riled up when I'm at work. Nope. I danced, rested, sat up straight, laid down on my back, did a few yoga poses, poked and prodded, all the while silently praying and begging Tater to move. He wasn't having it. (I'd probably hold a grudge too if my mom smooshed me for no good reason.) Eventually, Brad noticed my strange antics and asked what was going on. When I told him about my concerns, he told me to call the doctor. When I hesitated, he started dialing the phone. We left a message for the on-call doctor and thirty seconds later, Tater moved. Brad laid his cheek on my stomach and asked Tater to kick him in the face. Tater complied. Ahhh.

I tried to cancel the page, but apparently that is not an option. Doc ? (cannot remember her name for the life of me) called us and was super understanding about the false alarm. Have I mentioned how much I love the access to on-call doctors? I have. Then why did I hesitate to call them on Sunday? No idea. Stubbornness, most likely.

Tater's been making up for his lazy Sunday, moving and stretching and generally making his presence known. It's so weird that his movements are visible to anyone staring at my stomach. And they are staring quite a bit these days, perhaps because the belly button has officially popped out! I'll be sure to add a picture of it on Saturday, when I am bound and determined to post my 36-week belly shots on time.

Other than the scare, I'm doing great. Thanks to my Dad's generous Christmas present, I had a prenatal massage on Friday. I had no idea that my toes needed TLC, but they did. Happy toes.

What else? I'm trying my best to avoid the pregnancy waddle, which is a surprisingly natural stride in this condition. I miss my ab muscles and being able to get off the couch with minimal exertion. And, as of this morning, I am making a concerted effort to pee myself as infrequently as possible. After getting out of bed, I made the mistake of going to the kitchen before going to the bathroom, and I paid the price for that detour when I sneezed. There's some blog-worthy news for you!

Oh boy.