Care to Weigh In?

Yet another doctor's appointment today. It went well - the baby is doing well, moving around like a crazy girl. And, a bonus - I lost, LOST!, a pound after several weeks of gaining at every appointment. Always nice to hear.

It got a little weird when my doc said "Oh, wow!" when he saw my belly, then proceeded to compare its size with other patients who were having twins. I have achieved belly size of someone who is over full-term at not quite 33 weeks. Yippy for me. He said I was a ways off of his "record" patient who got up to 50 cm with her EIGHT POUND TWINS. Which, thank God. I'm sorry, I really wasn't out to set any records, especially as the man has been in practice for over 20 years and has delivered over 3,000 babies. I'm fine with being somewhere in the middle, thank you.

He then went on to tell me about the delivery of another patient who had polyhydramnios. He said "Yeah, there was a lot of water. It flooded the delivery room."

Translation: I am fucked. The man is going to have to sit in a boat to deliver Little Miss.

The reason - my doc tends to be very reserved, so in most cases you can multiply the severity of what he says by about 5. Also, he told me that the other patient didn't start having fluid buildup until very late in her pregnancy - I started earlier and likely will be gallons ahead of her.

Oh, yeah. F-U-C-K-E-D

And so, for the class involvement. Mr. Me and I have a bet on what we will get to replace when my water breaks and I flood my immediate surroundings

A. Our bed
B. Our couch
C. My car, or at least a seat
D. Some miscellaneous section of carpet
E. My office chair
F. Some other random place/thing that I've not thought of

Any guesses? Mr. Me is most frightened for the bed, while I am scared to death of something happening at work (though, I can't think of a better way to get away with destroying office property, hee hee.)

Spousal Support

I gotta give it to Mr. Me. He's been awesome through all of our recent trials - very supportive, and volunteering to take over a lot more of the housework and Little Man care than before. He does daycare pickup in the evening, and has dinner on the table almost every night when I get home from work. He also does bedtime duty way more than his allotted 50%. He coddles me appropriately and deals with all my moans and groans and flatulence and irritability like a champ.

Tonight, though, he was off his game. He was irritable, both with me and the Little Man. He called before I left the office to request I pick up some KFC so he didn't have to cook. He didn't get very far with the house cleaning project we had lined up for the evening. He whined for hours about the temperature in the house - which we do keep a little on the cool side due to my unstoppable heat flashes, but still.

This pattern continued into the evening, with him falling asleep on the floor and snoring loudly, but refusing to go to bed and getting angry with the Little Man for his occasional loud outburst. The pinnacle of the evening was when he opened the fridge to get a drink and a container of spinach fell to the floor and splattered all over. He ranted and raved for probably five minutes and stormed off to the bedroom.

And though he was acting like our two-year-old, I got it. He had had a bad night. He had had it with being the steady and supportive one. He needed a little love back. So, I cleaned up the mess, and I put the Little Man to bed. And I listened - without laughing - to him bitch and moan about the fact that Spinach! Got on his socks! Which was the only thing keeping him warm! The horror!

And afterwards he was in a much better mood. Which just goes to show that a little love and a big spinach cleanup can work wonders.