The number 9

Today’s post is brought to you by the number 9.

Also, by other numbers that may or may not be loosely related to the number nine.

Firstly. I am nine months pregnant. That means I am very uncomfortable most of the time. However, I recently have been really trying not to complain so much, I really have. Most of the time that doesn’t work so well and I’m still whiny. Buuuuut I’m so close to the end. It’s seriously almost here. There are 9 days until my due date. That is a very small number. It is a single digit number counting DAYS and not weeks or months.

Sooooo yeah. Very very close to the end. Very very close to having to do the whole newborn thing again. Oh, and the whole labor and delivery part. Whiiiich was not exactly the funnest thing I’ve ever done. On account of the lack of pain meds, which apparently means that I was able to fully enjoy my birthing experience? Whatev. Alls I know is, it went pretty well last time (I’ve been told), and so I plan on doing that again. Cause I hear that 5 and a half hours of labor for your first baby is actually pretty good, and that it will be less this time around? Okay, cool. I can do that. I’ve been reading up on my birthing techniques. Sitting on my exercise ball. Encouraging this baby to move on down into the birth canal and Get. Things. Going. At my appointment last week, the doc told me that things have started shifting around and preparing to open up in there, but that hey. That means basically nothing. It means I’m pretty pregnant and I’ll be having a kid soon, and guess what, doctor? I already knew that! Also at my last appointment- found out I actually LOST a pound between weeks 37 and 38, and she said “oh that can sometimes signal impending labor” and I was all “yeah, my first wasn’t born until 41 and a half weeks” and she was all “Oh, okay. Maybe not then.” And since it’s been 5 days since that doctor appointment and this kid is still in utero, I’d say that the 1lb weight loss was not, in fact, a sign of impending labor.

Another 9. This one is 9×2=18, which is how many months old my little chickadee is. (I told you some of the 9s were a stretch, didn’t I?). Fiona had her 18-month checkup today, she’s officially a year and half old, and officially still tiny. She measured 30.5inches long (when the hell do they start being “tall” instead of “long?” She definitely stands up most of the time these days.) and weighed in at all of 19.7lbs. (see, another 9!) Sooo that keeps my peanut on the 20% for height, and >5% for weight. I was really rooting for her to hit that 20lb mark at a year and half, but no. Still a bit less that 19 and a half. Which is nice for me, actually, since I am also currently required to tote around 30 pounds of kid and kid habitat in my abdomen. Once again, the doctor assured me that she is totally healthy, we don’t need to worry about any special weight-gain diets or anything like that. She’s just straight up little and that’s okay. Developmentally everything checked out, too. She doesn’t have a TON of words yet, but she’s coming along. She recently learned the sign for “Please”, and how to say “Help” and that has improved my quality of life GREATLY. More on that subject in another post.

That’s actually all I wanted to cover tonight. It’s 10:59 and I am le tired.

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