One more day

Really, 12 more hours.  And then I will be out of August.  Baby girl is doing good at the moment, I've had two periods of easy-to-feel movement today.  So it looks as though I won't have to worry about an August baby after all.

Little victories.

Strong girl.

Thirty-two weeks and some change today.  I made a ticker, just so I can check it here:




Baby girl is wiggling more than I thought possible.  Her heart rate is still strong, in the 150s again this morning.

Midwife at last week's appointment said Psalm-Angel is tough.  I've said I'm not strong, but she sure is.  And she's my kid, too, so she's stubborn as hell.

I know it won't matter in the end, but for now I will enjoy it as long as I can.

I am at that horrible point where I am simultaneously wanting things over with because they are so damned stressful and terror that they will end soon.  I mean, I don't actually want this pregnancy to be over with, because it means my daughter's life will be, but there is an absolute heaviness to the waiting and the not knowing.

And suddenly, there is nothing more for me to say today.

The hardest part, for me...

…is not the knowing what, but the not knowing when.

We know what's going to happen, and we get ever so closer to it with every tick of the clock. And Every day I wake up wondering, will this be the day? And it's so damn hard.

I still don't know what I'm going to do. This is all entirely new to me...

Her little face

Somehow, knowing that Psalm-Angel is a girl has me feeling more connected to her.  It wasn't a piece of information that meant a huge amount to me...until I had it.

Thursday's appointment involved an ultrasound to make sure she's in a position where she can be delivered vaginally.  Though I was told the tech would be the same one who performed my anatomy ultrasound, it was someone different.  This woman was much nicer and gave us three 3D pictures of Psalm-Angel's little face.  She managed to get better photos than the woman at BabyVision, even (though I still think what we got there was amazing).  She seemed surprised by how vigorous the baby is and how much she was moving around.  As always, baby girl is doing just fine as long as she's inside me.

I went into the appointment scared, because I barely felt any movement at all for three days leading up to it.  The morning of, while waiting for Erik to come out of Valero with drinks, I listened to this song on YouTube on his phone, and she gave me a good strong kick, and I nearly cried:




And now, we are back in waiting mode.  The end of the journey is that much closer (and the gestational age on that picture is nearly two weeks off!), and it's going to hurt like fuck, but I'm starting to understand how much this time benefits me.  There is so much I would have missed out on had I gone the usual route.

In other news, one more baby from the support group has been born into God's arms.  No blog to link to this time.  Another girl.

Tuesday is my birthday.  It'll suck; my birthday almost always does.  As long as I don't go into labor on/have the baby on it, though, I'll consider things a success.

I must admit

I am jealous.

Jealous of ultrasound pictures of babies with smooth, perfect bellies.

Jealous of newborn photos with smiling parents and happiness and all the hope for the future that is the norm.

Jealous of belly pictures and professional maternity pictures and people buying baby gear for their healthy baby.

Jealous, even, of positive pregnancy tests, because I know the odds are overwhelmingly in favor of a healthy, normal pregnancy.

I mean, I'm happy these women are having normal pregnancies.  I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

But I want what they have, and it's not a usual feeling for me.