Wordless Wednesday: BABIES!

Don't. Touch. My. Baby.

~
Not that it's a great loss, but I think I've been banned from Walmart.

Why?

I may have lost my temper at a sales clerk who tried to stick a binky in my 8 week old's mouth.

See, I was chasing Boyo away from the twirling bags of death that Walmart uses to bag your purchases. And when I turn back around the sales clerk is leaning over the shopping cart, with her hand over my daughter's mouth.

"Oh," I said startled. "Please don't touch her; I can take care of it."

"Well, you had your hands full," she said.

Look, lady, I don't give a damn if my boy is swinging from the ceiling fan. If I don't know you, my hands are not "full enough" for you to put your hands (which handle money, bags, cleaning products, merchandise and God knows what else) near my daughter's mouth. Or on her binky. That she sucks on.

EWWWWWWWWWW!

"It's fine," I said with a tight smile. "I don't like strangers touching her."

"I was just trying to help," she said defensively.

Seriously? She needed to apologize and move on. What was she waiting for - a thank you? It wasn't happening.

"I understand," I told her. "But I don't like strangers touching my daughter's face or hands."

I don't know why I was explaining myself. I really don't. I should have grabbed my kids, left what I wanted to purchase, and gone to Target.

"There's no reason to get upset," the clerk informed me, her hands on her hips. I'm not making that up. She put her hands on her hips.

"Actually, there's every reason for me to be upset," I snapped.

The manager, who was ringing me up, was looking back and forth at us like she was watching a tennis game. And while I wasn't yelling, I had my full on, don't-f@#%-with-me-or you-will-rue-the-day-(that's-right,-I-said-RUE-THE-DAY!)-teacher voice going on. Even Boyo was behaving himself. He knows what that voice means.

The clerk, however, was dumber than a two year old because she kept pressing the issue.

"Well, you don't need to yell at me," she sniffed.

"I'm not yelling," I said tightly. "But I am about to."

At that point, the manager finally decided to step in. And she sided with the clerk. After she handed me back my credit card, she told me, "Perhaps you should go home until you calm down."

Don't worry, Lady. I don't plan on calming down enough to set foot in your store again.

Loving Your Babies

A few of my friends are pregnant. And The Inevitable Question has come up: "Do you want a girl or boy?" Some of my friends are adamant about one or the other. Others don't care. But The Inevitable Question has raised some interesting conversations - among them, how can you love your children the same?

You can't.

I love all three of my children equally, but I do not love them the same.

I can't.

They are different people and have different needs, different personalities, different mannerisms.

I love Baby Girl with the wonder of newness - since she is only 7 weeks old, everything about her is wonderful and new, everything is to be marveled at.

I love Boyo with a fierce intensity - the same intensity that he greets his life every day. He is constantly going, running, talking, thinking, loving. He sets a fast pace every day, and my love for him races to keep up.

But Girlie... I love her with a zealous passion that I think you can only feel for your first born.

Not that I love her more than her brother and sister, but there is a deeper bond that I don't have with my other two. Why?

She was my first.

She was the first child I carried under my heart and in my arms. She carved out the groove in my arms that the other two nestled in. She was the first baby to rest her head against my heart, in the exact same spot that her brother and sister would later easily find.

She was the first one to keep my up all night, the first one to smile at me with a look of total adoration, the first one that I worried for, the first one that I paced over, the first one that I bathed and fed, the first one that I dressed and snuggled. (It's not all hearts and flowers, though. She was also the first one to make me want to slam my head into a wall or scream at the top of my lungs.)

Girlie completed a part of me that I didn't know was empty - she made me a better person, a better woman.

My daughter made me a mom.

Truly, 2 am is not my finest hour.

~
I didn't really breastfeed my older two kids.

I realize that the Breastfeeding Gestapo will gasp in horror at this and may try to hunt me down. Fine.

I realized something when I tried to breastfeed my daughter. Newborns eat about every two hours. Even at night.

Game over.

If I do not get at least six hours of sleep straight, I turn into Medusa. And even with 6 hours, I will still exhibit Medusa like qualities. Just not the head full of snakes.

So I admitted with my daughter that I was entirely too selfish, and after two weeks she got formula.

With my son, I was able to breastfeed him during the day. He got a bottle of formula at night. My husband fed him.

But with Baby Girl, I really wanted to breastfeed. Plus, you know, we don't have the money for formula. So I sucked it up.

Is it easy? Let's just say it's getting easier. But the one thing that makes it really easy? I WILL NOT FEED HER BETWEEN 12 AM and 5 AM. (Take that, Breastfeeding Gestapo!)

Please do not call the police. I'm not letting her scream hungrily in her bassinet. If she wakes up during that time period, she gets a bottle of breast milk. And my husband has to feed it to her, because I don't want to create nipple confusion. (At least, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.)

This plan has been mostly working. Except for the other night.

I fed the baby at 11 pm. I put her in the bassinet. My husband had fallen asleep earlier, so I shook him awake and told him that he was in charge of the baby.

Then I did the dishes, picked up the living room, and went to bed around 11:30.

Boyo woke up at 12. "I haf a bad dweam, Mom," he told me pitifully when I stumbled into his room.

I sympathized and soothed, tucked him back in, and returned to bed.

At 1 am, I woke up to Baby Girl screaming her head off in the bassinet. I lightly tapped my husband. "Baby needs you," I told him. "The bottle's on the nightstand."

He sat up, scooped up the baby, and held her right next to my head where she continued to scream. He did not give her a bottle. He did not change her. He rocked her and said, "Shhhhhhhhhhh," for about 30 minutes.

At this point, I was imagining punching my husband. So instead I snatched the baby from him and began to breastfeed her.

My husband laid back down and went to sleep. The phrase "I saw red," doesn't even begin to cover it.

I lost my mind. "Are you awake?" I snarled. He snored. "WAKE UP!" He snored again.

I punched him in the shoulder. He startled awake. Just to be sure he was awake though, I punched him again. "WHAT?" he snapped. "I'm awake! You didn't have to punch me!"

"You should be thankful all I did was punch you!" I snapped back. "Did you hear ANYTHING I told you tonight?"

"No, but I'm awake now. What do you need?"

I sputtered in anger. Baby Girl began to fuss again. I thrust the baby at him. "She's done eating. Burp her. Take her into the living room. Put her in her swing. Here's a bottle. Now get the f#@% out of here so I can go to sleep!!"

He sleepily took the baby and left. I laid down and seethed, thinking murderous thoughts, but then I realized that I would have 3 kids to raise by myself. (I'm joking! I love my husband even when I hate him, to quote Crazy Stupid Love. It's just hard to remember that at 2 in the morning.)

And 30 minutes after he left? Girlie climbed into bed with me and proceeded to kick me for 3 hours in her sleep.

I'm beginning to think sleep is for the weak.

Wordless Wednesday

Baby K went to Disneyland for the first time!


She wasn't impressed.

Circus!

We were fortunate enough to be given tickets to opening night at the circus last Wednesday. Girlie actually took a nap that day, which means, of course, that Boyo didn't. Still, we stupidly soldiered on and went to a 7:30 pm show... when bedtime is at 8.

Girlie was happy to sit on Daddy's lap and watch the show... until she fell asleep 45 minutes into it.

She was, however, really impressed when the elephant ate an entire loaf of bread.

Boyo was just happy to have MnM's.

When those were gone, however, he threw an hour long temper tantrum. It was epic. And we were trapped in the middle of the row, so we couldn't remove him. If you were sitting by us, sorry.

As for Baby K, well, let me put it to you this way. The only reason her eyes are open is because of the flash from the camera.


We left at intermission. :(

Maybe next year?

Life with a Newborn

When you have a baby, your mind plays tricks on you. It makes you forget things about life with a newborn... things that if you didn't forget, you would never have any more kids.

Things like:

1. You will get maybe 10 hours of sleep in the first three days. No, not 10 hours a night... 10 hours of a 72 hour period.

2. Newborn babies sound like baby pterodactyls when they cry.

3. Meconium. Enough said.

4. 2 hours of sleep + feeding + 2 hours of sleep + feeding + 2 hours of sleep + feeding does NOT equal 6 hours of sleep. It equals 3, two hour stretches of sleep. This is not enough.

5. I am a human pacifier.

6. Newborns have an innate alarm that triggers screaming the moment your head hits the pillow.

7. Umbilical cords are gross.

8. You know that whole - "Sleep when the baby is asleep" rule? Yeah, you can't do that when you have two other kids.

9. People who say that a breast fed infant's poop doesn't smell are liars.

10. Newborns peel. I forgot that that they peel. My daughter looks like an alligator.

But the reason you have more kids, even after you forget 1-10 listed above? Because of this:

Welcome Little One!

~
Born at 11:59 pm on July 14, 2011



... At 7 lbs, 12 oz and 19 inches long...


... AND after 4 weeks of bed rest...


...Baby K has made her grand debut!


Welcome to the family, little one! We are so glad to meet you!

T - 18 hours

~
In 18 hours, I am going to be induced.

This has been a loooooooooooooooooooooooong day.

It feels like seconds are minutes, minutes are hours, hours are days, and today is a week long.

The thing is, toward the end of a pregnancy every day feels long. Every twinge, pain, gasp, contraction brings on a "Is this it?!" thought process. But it normally isn't and time still drags on, with you waiting, waiting, waiting...

I'm not good at waiting.

My husband and I went to the doctor today... he checked me. Baby K is not "engaged" but I am 1 cm dilated and 100% effaced. So tomorrow at 8 am, when he is the doctor on the floor, he will induce me.

He seems worried that the pitocin won't work. I tried to reassure him - I was given pitocin with both of my other kids and once they got that fun drug pumping into me, I gave birth within 7 hours. But he is laying out all sorts of alternate plans, in case the pitocin won't work. It's mildly frustrating/irritating. It's my body and I know it will work, but he doesn't seem to hear me.

So we wait. And I'm antsy. My mom is here to help with the kids - so my husband and I got to go to breakfast and a movie. But now it's 2:30 in the afternoon and he and my mom are out running around with the kids and I'm bored and thinking about tomorrow.

I know I should rest, or read, or relax. But I just can't seem too. I'm a bundle of nervous energy, waiting for tomorrow morning, waiting to meet my daughter, waiting for something to happen.

How am I going to get through the next 18 hours?

And we finally have a plan....

~
The doctor's visit yesterday showed that Baby K is doing great. She's happy, moving, growing, and healthy. And, for the first time in a month, there is amniotic fluid on both sides of her, which makes my OB very, very happy.

She has also "dropped" (right on top of my bladder) and is getting into the ready to be born position. Her tush is up, her head is down, and her back is facing my stomach.

I'm ready to rock and roll. Doctor said she's not quite there yet.

So bed rest continues (son of a b#$%@) because as much as I'm losing my mind, it's working. I went to the doctor yesterday, prepared to demand either an induction or a lift from bed rest. I got neither.

I, however, am not doing so great. My blood pressure is slowly climbing and my blood sugar numbers - while they still aren't as low as they were before I went into the hospital - are covering a wide range -- from 80-190. This is not good. They should be consistently between 90-120.

So we have an end game in sight -- if she doesn't decide to be born on her own by next Thursday, my OB is forfeiting the game and going in after her.

Either way, I'll be holding my sweet little girl in a week.

I'm not sure what is worse - the boredom or the guilt...

~

Yesterday's doctor's appointments went well - Baby K was moving and grooving, she has gained a whole pound, my blood sugars are above 90, my diet is on track, and my AFI was 7. My doctor was pleased that I had "passed" being on bedrest at home for 5 days but reminded me that we had to remember what got us to this pass, so bedrest continued. Although he did modify it a bit so that I didn't have to lie in bed all the time, but I can't really go out of my house.

I gave him my litany of complaints - my hands and feet keep going numb, I keep seeing spots in my peripheral vision, my blood sugar numbers are high, and my back and sides keep hurting.

My doctor's response? Good. He said that all my complaints told him that I was following his regime of bedrest (hands and feet going numb = blood flow to the placenta, spots in my vision = vertigo from lying down, back and side pain = growing baby, and high blood sugar numbers = a working placenta). So I got no help from that corner.

Bed rest will continue for another week. After that, I'm over 37 weeks, so I'm hoping we can ease up on the rules a bit. It's more than my being bored - I feel horribly guilty.

I feel guilty that throughout May and the beginning of June I promised my kids, "We'll do that when Mommy is done with work." And now we can't.

I feel guilty that their routine has been thrown to hell and they don't get to see their friends often.

I hate and feel guilty that my husband is doing 90% of the childcare and house cleaning when I can't help and that he's not getting the breaks he needs.

I hate and feel guilty that my sister is coming over and cleaning my house and helping my husband set up for the baby instead of doing it myself.

I hate and feel guilty that my friends are feeding my husband and kids when I'm home.

I lie in bed and feel guilty and worried.

I worry about my baby girl, even as I feel her rocking and rolling inside me.

And I'm worried about me - I struggled with postpartum depression after the birth of my son, and I'm afraid that it's going to rear it's ugly head again after Baby K's birth because I'm so bored and guilty and frustrated and worried now.

Added to that, the support system that I had put into play for after the baby is born has been used while I'm on bedrest, and my husband has to go back to work in the middle of August.

Financially speaking, I have to return to work August 1st. Since I work from home, it shouldn't be a problem, but the longer I have to stay on bedrest, the shorter the time seems.

I'm worried I'm going to be on my own after the baby is born, which makes PPD worse, especially since Boyo and Girlie don't start preschool until the middle of September.

I've always been a get up and go, I can take care of everything personality. And now I can't do anything... I hate this.

Home Sweet Home

~
I'm HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEE! :) :) :)

I'm still on bedrest at home. Which means I can lie in bed on my left side. After an hour, I can flip over onto my right side. I can lie on my couch for a few hours a day, sit in the lounge chair in the yard, and sit up at my computer for 30 minutes 2X a day. I can get up to shower, eat, go to bathroom, and go to the doctor. I will be seeing the doctor 4X a week, but at least I'm HOME!

Being home means I get to lie in bed and watch Tinkerbell with my daughter.

Being home means that I can lie on the couch and race cars down my tummy with my son.

Being home means I can read stories to my kids and give them kisses before bedtime.

Being home means that I can make sure they stick to their routine, eat right, and worry less.

Being home means I can be supervisory eyes on my kiddos while my husband takes care of stuff around the house. (Not that I can do anything if they are bad, but I can yell for him that it's important so he doesn't have to come running at every squeal and shout.)

And how did this wonderful event come to pass?

My AFI this morning was 9! Nine! That's three whole points above six!!

And the doppler test they did showed that the blood was flowing through the umbilical cord without a problem.

My NSTs showed that the baby is moving and healthy.

My blood sugar levels have been above 80 for the past 3 days. They are still spiking pretty high after I eat, but as my doctor put it - "Highs don't concern me as much as lows do. Highs mean you have a fat baby. Lows increase your chance for stillbirth."

I am, however, spilling ketones, which means that I'm not getting enough nutrition in my diet, which means the baby is not getting enough nutrition. The doctor wants to see if that changes after I spend a few days at home and get to eat normal-ish food rather than disgusting hospital food.

And Monday, after spending 4 days home on bed rest, I have to go back in to the office so they can run every test again - NST, U/S, Doppler, blood work, and meet with my OB, endocrinologist, and dietitian.

I'm planning on enjoying the next three days, lying on my left side.

A Letter to my Thirteen Year Old Daughter

Before my children were born, I decided to write a letter to them when I was pregnant, one when they were born, and one every year thereafter on their birthday. Given the concerns over premature labor this week and last, I decided it might be a good idea to write Baby Girl's letter now.

To my darling daughter:

What do I hope for you, my 13 year old daughter?

I hope you are strong enough to define yourself. I hope that your father and I have given you the skills you need to be able to do so as your enter the upcoming, turbulent teenage years. And I hope you realize that it is not only okay for you to change who you are, it is expected! I hope that the changes you make are the ones you want, though, and not the ones your friends want.

I hope you realize that as you enter into this wonderful and confusing aspect of womanhood, you are going to "trip and fall." And I hope you know that, even though it will kill me inside, sometimes I am going to have to let you fall. And I especially hope that your father and I have taught you how to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and move on.

I hope I can see you for who you are, and who you want to be, rather than who I want you to be. And if you think I'm failing in that aspect of motherhood, I hope that we have the type of relationship where you can tell me.

I hope you have beauty. Not outer beauty (that is overrated or can be bought), but the type of beauty that emanates from within, that only those who are truly kind and caring possess.

I hope that when your brother and sister try to push you around, you fight back. (No bloodshed, please.)

I hope that you can smile in the face of difficulties, right before you dig in and finish the job.

I hope you know that even though you are my third child, you are just as special and loved as the first two are.

What do I wish for you, my beautiful 13 year old daughter?

I wish you intelligence - not just the kind that comes from books, but also the type of intelligence that comes from your experiences, if you are brave enough to learn from them.

I wish you fairy tales and happy endings.

I wish you struggles so you learn what is really important.

I wish you tears so you know how to treasure true happiness.

I wish you a love that will make you smile every day.

I wish you only enough goodbyes to make you appreciate your hellos.

I wish you the life you want.

I hope and pray and wish you enough.

I hope you know you can come talk to me about anything.

I love you,
Mom

And we are still waiting...

My U/S this morning showed that my AFI is still 6. And that the placenta is starting to show a lot of calcification which the nurse said means it is "maturing" (i.e, old).

The doctor said that she can't send me home when my AFI is the same number that it was when I was admitted. Added to that, my blood sugars keep falling to 40-50 at night which is really bad for me and the baby. We don't know why that is happening... if it's changes in diet, the placenta failing, fetal growth, or just one more thing that is wrong.

So I'm stuck.... they will run a full U/S on Thursday to "grade my placenta," check my AFI, monitor Baby K's growth and HR.

The good news is that Baby K is moving and has a normal heart rate; the NSTs show that she is doing great and unperturbed by all of this. However, if something goes wrong, it will go downhill fast so that's why they want to keep me here.

Still, I'm depressed since I'm not home with my two little monkeys. And Boyo is terrified of doctors and the machines (wouldn't you be if you were on a ventilator as a baby and have been poked and prodded your young life?), so he cries for me at home but then he cries when he comes to visit because Momma is hooked up to all those scary machines. And Girlie keeps asking when Baby K is going to pop out so Momma can come home. (Although she did realize that the nurses are the keepers of the jello, so she is excited to come visit me now.)

And as someone who has always been a "get up and go" girl, I'm bored out of my mind. I want to go home. I know Baby Girl needs to "cook" a bit longer but I am ready to be done. And I would be lying if I didn't say that I was terrified because all the doctors keep saying "We will discuss induction at 37 weeks."

Yeah, that 10 days from now.

I am not strong enough to be away from my kids like this for 10 more days.

Bed Rest

~
Here is what you can do on bed rest:
-Watch a bazillion movies/TV shows
-Read three magazines.
-Read four books.
-Sleep.
-Write your daughter's thank you cards.
-Blog.
-Worry.

Here is what you can't do on bedrest:
-Play at the park with your kids.
-Tuck them in at night.
-Hug them when they call you up, crying because "Momma, I need you."
-Give your husband a break.
-Feel useful at all.

This blows.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be scared or frustrated.

~

So, since my adventure yesterday regarding my disappearing amniotic fluid and my three hours in labor and delivery, I went back to the doctor today. The amniotic fluid is still holding at 6.1. My doctor's concern was something that everyone has overlooked up until now - the baby hasn't grown in a week. And she should be growing a half a pound a week.

So at the doctor's today, he told me that sometimes, with gestational diabetics, the concern is not that the baby is too big - it's that the baby stops to grow and is too small, that the placenta will fail. And that there comes a point where it is better to get the baby off the placenta and onto the breast/bottle.

I had been so worried about having a big baby that I had no idea that a complication of gestational diabetes is a chance of the placenta failing.

He doesn't think that he needs to induce me right now. That being said, he wants to monitor me closely - as in, twice a day. Guess where he can do that? Yup, at the hospital.

I'm on bed rest at the ever-lovin' hospital.

When I asked for how long, I was told either two weeks or until the baby comes, whichever one comes first.

Two weeks. In the hospital. On bedrest. When I have a 4 year old and a 2 year old at home.

Freaking out is not a strong enough term.

He did throw me a lifeline - that if my amniotic fluid grows, if the baby grows, they will send me home to be on bedrest there. However, the chances of that happening are probably not great.

Thank God that my husband is off work right now, so I don't have to worry about the kids.

And thank God for my sister and my friends, who are on call in case my husband has to drop everything and run to the hospital so he can help me have a baby.

Thank God for my friends who are feeding my family while I'm gone, who texted/called me to say that they are praying/thinking of me, and who have offered to watch my children. I appreciate all of you soooooooooooo much.

So now I just have to rest, take care of Baby Girl, and hope to God that I don't go out of my mind with boredom.

Hmmmmmm.... I wonder if my husband is going to get a baby for Father's Day?

~
I had my second fetal diagnostic today. The gap in Baby Katie's brain is shrinking - hurrah! And then the nurse asked: "Do you happen to know what the level of your amniotic fluid was at your last ultrasound?"

Being a total controlling freak, I did. "Ten centimeters a week ago. Eight on Monday," I told her.

"You are measuring under five now," she informed me. "Let me go get the doctor."

See, under five is too low. Thankfully, I am at the point in my pregnancy where having a baby right now would not be detrimental to her - hopefully. Baby Girl would be small, and she would probably have to stay in NICU, but on the whole, both Momma and Baby would probably be okay.

The doctor came in and measured my amniotic fluid. She got a 6.1. Then they asked me if my water broke. "I don't know," I honestly said.

"Have you had any back pain?" the doctor asked.

"Of course I have, I'm 35 weeks pregnant."

"Contractions?" she persisted.

"My last non-stress test showed I was having Braxton-hicks."

Apparently, I answered the questions wrong, because I ended up strapped to a machine at the hospital in Labor and Delivery at 3 in the afternoon. The doctor just wanted to "keep an eye on me" to make sure "my membranes weren't leaking."

At that point, several thoughts began to swirl around my stressed out and panicked brain:

1. My kids were with a sitter who was expecting me home at 2:30.
2. My last day of school is tomorrow.
3. I had to create, print, and mail 24 report cards by 5 pm today.
4. The baby clothes are still in storage.
5. The car seat is still in the box.
6. The changing table is still in Boyo's room.
7. I didn't have a hospital bag packed.
8. My mom, who was coming to watch the kiddos when I give birth in 28 days, is in Denver.
9. And I really had to pee.

So, being the anal retentive planner that I am, I flew into full organizational mode. I called my boss and explained the situation. Report cards and last day of school, check.

I called the sitter and my sister. Between the two of them, they watched my kids. Check.

My husband said if we had the baby tonight, he would go home and move furniture, pull down baby clothes (and wash them), and set up the car seat. Check.

I wrote out a detailed list of what I would need for the hospital bag (not the pink shirt, the fuschia one), for my husband. He rolled his eyes. I called my sister and read the list to her - she packed the bag. Check.

It's not 4:30 and the doctor came in with test results. Negative to the water breaking. She did an exam. It all looked good. So now what?

My amniotic fluid levels are still low. I am on bed rest for the time being. I have to go back in for another ultra sound on Friday. The doctor's exact words: "Hopefully we can cook you through the weekend, and you will have another ultra sound on Monday. Try to drink water. Not that drinking water has anything to do with your amniotic fluid level, but we like to tell you to do something so it sounds like we know what we are talking about. Go home and make a dent in your couch. Your husband is in charge. And don't worry."

She just put my husband in charge and she expects me not to worry?

I'm kidding(-ish). I know he can handle it. But my Type A, anal retentive personality won't let anyone other than me be in charge.

So all I can do is wait. And not worry.

I asked how long I would be on bed rest; how long they would wait until they took the baby. The doctor shrugged. "Depends on the test results tomorrow."

Great.

HURRAH!

~

Baby Girl's brain is GOOD!

As I mentioned last Friday, my OB had some concerns about Baby Girl's brain -- there was a "gap" between her brain and her skull. So I went in for a fetal diagnostic today.... and after about half an hour and all sorts of measurements, the perinatal doctor said that Baby's brain looks good!

The good news is that her brain looks good and there are no other "brain-al" abnormalities. The bad news is that they still don't know what the gap is. The okay news is that babies typically have a space between their brain and skull, but that space is normally 1 cm. Baby Girl's measures 1.06 cm. (So that is the medical definition of a "smidge"...)

.06 doesn't seem like that big a difference to me, but to a teeny tiny baby, who knows? So they are going to monitor it... I have another fetal diagnostic in 4 weeks, and then they will do a head ultrasound when the baby is born. But the perinatal doctor seemed to think this would clear up on its own.

On another note, Baby Girl's tummy is measuring at 34 weeks (not the 31 weeks gestational age it should be measuring at) because we are having problems keeping my blood sugars under control. But before I could even flip out over that measurement, let alone process it, the doctor said that all that meant was that I would have a "Buddah-esque baby."

And I got a new due date -- one week earlier than what they had said originally.

All in all, a fabulous day!