From the very beginning of this pregnancy I have been told by doctors that I will go into preterm labour. I have a bicornuate uterus, diabetes and a history of preterm labour (35.5 weeks) with my daughter. Here I am at 33 weeks and so far, nothing. Which is a good thing I know but I really hadn’t prepared mentally for much beyond 36 weeks. Everything is going so smoothly, I feel wonderful, I’ve managed to keep the weight gain to a reasonable amount and baby is as healthy as can be. For some reason I have a horrible feeling I am going to see April and then even mid-April while still sporting a giant belly. Isn’t that just the way?
My daughter who just turned three at the end of January is getting very excited to meet her little brother (did I tell you it was a boy? It’s a boy!) She tells me all the time about all the things she is going to do with him:
“I’m going to teach him how to eat. He can’t eat though because he doesn’t have teeth. I have teeth. That’s why I can talk. I like to talk. I am going to teach my baby brother how to talk. I am going to take him on a walk and show him the park and he can go on the swings with me. He’ll like that. I can hold him and carry him and I’m going to tickle him and make him laugh. Then we can have lunch and we can play airplane. I’m going to teach my brother how to dance and how to run and put your finger in someone’s eyes. People don’t like that. You shouldn’t do that. I will say ‘No baby! Don’t do that!’ I’m going to be a big sister because I’m so big now.” And so on, and so on, and so on.
If I believed in karma I would say I’m being punished for being such a chatterbox as a kid but I’ll just blame it on genetics. :)