According to my weekly pregnancy email, Bean now weighs about 4 3/4 lbs and is almost 18 inches long. If he's born now at 34 weeks, he may or may not require a short NICU stay, but he will generally be as healthy as a full-termer.
So basically, he's huge.
Thus following, I'm huge.
Besides the generic update emails, one obvious way I know this is the mirror. They don't lie -- although in this case I think they should.
Another way is catching DH's expression when he looks at my belly. His eyes widen and he pales a bit. He's surely thinking how hot his wife is.
Sealing the deal was a sweet older lady working at a baby store we went to over the weekend. She clasped her hands together and commented, "Wow, you look like you could go any day!" "I hope not, I still have 6 weeks left," I responded with a smile. She looked doubtful. After she walked away, I turned to DH. "It must be this shirt, I think it makes me look bigger." He grinned and eyed my belly, "Yeah, that must be it." Damn.
So much to my horror and delight, this baby is quickly growing big and healthy, and inevitably, he will enter the world one way or another. I think he's already head down, based on the source of his hiccups (he does this about 40% of the day -- and night) and the location of his bum. We think we've found his hard little rump wiggling right up near my chest. I try not to imagine that he's mooning me.
Physically I'm still doing well overall, if more tired and more uncomfortable. Our bedroom is a mix of various stealth operations each night, with me trying to get into the bathroom every 2 hours without waking DH and our disgruntled pooch trying to sneak onto our bed, where she so rightfully deserves to sleep. Emotionally I feel like I am at the very top of a rollercoaster, sitting in the front seat as the car hangs in place, waiting for the tracks to release us so we can go screaming down the enormous hill at uncontrolled speeds. I'm at that place where I am looking around from above going, "What the hell did I get myself into?" Every aspect of this landscape is unfamiliar. Except one notable exception: I'm here with DH and Evey Louise. Give me the two of them and a giant bag of M&Ms, and I know everything's going to be fine.
I'll end by following up on my previous post, specifically the mention of poker night. I appreciate all the supportive comments on the blog and via email. I want to make sure I wasn't too harsh on the group, though. Sure, after Bean is born, I won't be asking the Size Zero Sista to hold him while I go to the bathroom. (Unless drool becomes the latest fashion accessory, at least. Could happen, there are tons of celebrity new mommies.) But there were plenty of other friendly, welcoming people at the party. One girl wondered if she could ask me some questions about what it's like to be pregnant. Absolutely! How much time you got? Another made a point of telling me how "fabulous" I looked. A third remarked that I was so skinny, and she hopes she carries all her baby weight in her tummy, too. Awww, go on... So while the integrity of these girls may be in question due to their dubious compliments, everyone knows a preggo doesn't want an honest assessment of her appearance anyway. Overall, not a bad night.