Looks like I am the proud mother of a healthy 7 lb fetus who is perfectly comfortable right where he is despite my repeated pokes and jabs and injunctions to "Move baby! Mama has an borderline clinical anxiety disorder!"
(He usually retaliates by kicking me in places no one should ever be kicked. Although he is vertex, so it's probably more scratching and punching than actual kicking)
I also learned that he is still a boy before we had to discontinue the ultrasound when I started seeing little shiny gnats flying around and my hands started to go numb. I felt better, and very silly, once I was allowed to sit up. I felt a little bad for the poor ultrasound technician, who was obviously some kind of morning person, who had me, definitely not a morning person, especially after only five and a half hours of heartburn and teething toddler filled sleep, as one of her first patients for the day. She was very nice. I was very 2nd pregnancy please hurry no need to look for his face again that's very kind, but I can't feel my hands and I can't see and I'm going to throw up.
Most people don't respond to "Let's see if we can see your baby's face!" with "I think I'm going to throw up."
Most people also don't threaten physical violence against their doctor out loud in the waiting room to their husband if she tells them that they are anything less than three centimeters dilated.
I really need to calm down.
Ryan assures me that I was very polite, but I think he is scared of me. The cankles create an illusion of strength.
Based on my exam, my doctor estimates I have at least a week left. "Still about one centimeter!" she said brightly before dashing off to deliver her FOURTH baby of the day (at 9:00 am). "Oh good!" I said, muttering something nonsensical about that being better for Charlie anyway, you know me, I hate to complain. She struggled to understand my logic, but it was hard, seeing as there wasn't any. Unless another week of boring, grumpy Mama is just what Charlie wanted for Christmas.
So now I am now at home consoling myself with donuts and Christmas music. Dr. Advisor IMed me to see if I could take on some consulting work and I had to turn him down because of all the really important waiting around I have to do instead. The idea I had while pregnant with Charlie of placidly working on my laptop in the hospital (post-epidural, of course) while in labor was a little optimistic, I now realize.