Forgive me: I forgot to post this when I wrote it on March 26th.
Let me paint a portrait of six months of pregnancy for you.
You've got a lady, sizable baby bump, she's standing in front of the TV in an undershirt that's juuuuust a little bit too short for her (and nothing else, not trying to be sexy here), licking the most giant spoonful of frosting she could manage.
That's how Chris found me after work the other night, zoned out, worrying only about my perfected cream cheese frosting. And a lot of it.
It's kind of insane how hungry I always am. Tonight was the second time that I told Chris I was going to grab a snack from the kitchen and proceeded to make an entire sandwich. And then ate that whole sandwich. But yell at Chris when he took a bite that took an entire oval pickle, leaving a gaping pickle hole. I then asked him to put away the sour gummi worms so I wouldn't eat any more, and he said "No, because you're going to eat more. And if you don't eat those you'll just get another snack."
I can't deny it. He's right.
Yesterday, we took a small private plane ride around Corpus Christi with Chris' classmate. Mom and I had to laugh at how funny we are because the plane was built in 1963, you know, the year she was born. She called it "almost vintage". Although South Texas is by no means beautiful, flying at 200 hundred feet along the beach was pretty neat. I couldn't snap a photo, but at one point we flew out over a totally rusted tugboat. It would have made a gorgeous photo, had I been ready. Had I not been having bladder spasms in the backseat. Had I not been just a teensy bit airsick.
Note to self: don't fly with a couple of student pilots. Instead of just enjoying the flight, they will probably pretend to have engine failure and do landings. Yeah, like put the throttle to idle and do a couple of landings. Then while up in the air, point out good spots to land in an emergency. I later asked Chris if he thought about those things when he was just flying with just he and I. He did, but he never voiced the thoughts out loud. I preferred it that way.
We had our fair share of scares this week. Thursday, Chris and I went to the doctor for a baby check-up. All was good, I was measuring on track and the baby had a healthy heartbeat. Unfortunately, our doctor and sonographer noted that I had low amniotic fluid. Normal is typically 9-25cm, if you google it, and I was at 8.45. The pregnancy had been fairly easy up until this point and pretty carefree. So, naturally, Chris and I went from giggling at our new pictures of our baby to silent, and somber. The doctor was fairly calm about it, he just said that my fluid was low and he was sending me to a high risk OB/GYN to check the baby's kidney function. Amniotic fluid is, essentially, the baby's own pee, so we start to worry about kidney function when we have low fluid.
Luckily, we were able to see the high risk OB that same day, but a few hours later. Chris and I drove home in silence. I was buried in my phone, googling everything I could and trying to figure out how this had happened or what we could do about it. I sat outside for awhile, trying to get some vitamin D to improve my mood and chugging water. Our appointment was at a bigger hospital in Corpus Christi. I couldn't say much, I think the nurse could tell I was very nervous and I was thankful for how sweet she was being. I won't forget her curly, red hair.
The sonogram tech was also very sweet. She was confused as to why we came to see them, though. The baby's fluid measured at 12.4! Well within the safe range. We had to laugh at his punky little butt-he was sick of the ultrasounds I think, as he punched the tech's transducer when she poked him for the hundredth time. Even she laughed. The doctor came in to look as well, and I thought it was very cool that he was trained to use as the ultrasound as well. He said he had no concerns at all, and said we didn't need a follow-up, that I would be fine.
It was such a relief knowing that our darling boy was fine.
