I'll say it again: I promise I wasn't taking any of it for granted. I have been loving running, and after the Achilles pain, I kept my longest runs at 6 miles and mostly ran around 20 per week, plus computrainering and swimming. I was perfectly happy with that. Then the dominoes started falling. Our pool closed for two weeks, so swimming and doing handstands became more difficult. Next the sickness that my sharing husband brought me took over.
And then came last week's doctor's appointment. Hopping up on the scale fully clothed and shod and usual, it announced a slightly lower number than the week before. Never before have they mentioned my weight, good or bad, and it had been somewhat steadily increasing over the weeks, depending on the outside temperature and my shoe or boot of choice. The nurse mentioned my weight drop, and I explained I'd been sick and lacking much of an appetite. I only felt slightly scolded. When the doctor came in and mentioned it as well, I started getting a bit defensive and blamed my lighter clothing. They do realize I'm not naked on this thing, right?
As usual, a quick, grainy ultrasound was performed, and I asked about the baby's size. I have been a bit scared of the potential baby size. I was over 8 pounds and Jeremy was almost 9.5, and averaging that plus considering it's a boy with the possibility of a head the size of mine had me a little nervous. Also, he's breech, and I'm hoping he still has room to turn. Then of course I want to make sure he's growing well. At a 31 week measurement, he was measured exactly at his due date. This time, 6 weeks later, he was only 2-3 weeks bigger. Immediately I blamed myself and my lack of weight gain, sickness, exercise, etc. I am totally aware that her estimate of 5.5 pounds GIVE OR TAKE 2 POUNDS is a gross estimate. But after all this time feeling good about my exercise and the benefits to the baby, this voice in the back of my mind is asking if I have done something wrong.
I tortured myself for a few days over this, but have tried to see the best in it if she is accurate. He still may have plenty of room to turn, and should come out easier, plus over 5 pounds is not a low-birth-weight baby. Jeremy, the head medical advisor of the household, has assured me that I have not caused this by exercise. And honestly, my doctor's forte is most certainly not ultrasonography. She prints out pictures for me that I literally can't make heads or tails of. Seriously, what is this? Part of his head? Thanks for that keepsake. It'll go in the scrapbook.
I was recovering from the particularly nasty cold, still stuffy, but not in as much pain, when J and I both seemed to get a stomach bug. I might have to blame it on a delicious burger we shared the night before. Of course, just like the last sickness, his lasted about half the time mine did. Lucky for him, he was out of town at a beautiful wedding that I had to miss while I was up all night with stomach pain.
Of course this put a damper on my running again. I didn't bother getting on the trainer and burning calories I wasn't taking in. The weather turned windy, dusty, then cold for a couple of days, and we even got rain. The mailman even asked me why I wasn't running one day.
Finally, on Sunday, everything turned around. Jeremy came home, I ate normal food, the sun came out, and I went for a 5 mile run. The saboteurs tried, but they couldn't ruin the last few weeks of pregnancy for me. Back at the doctor today, I held my weight steady (even without resorting to boots), my fluid looked good, and we are scheduled for an external cephalic version for tomorrow morning. I'm optimistic that this baby will be easy to turn and that this potentially excruciating procedure will be tolerable to me, and especially to the baby.
The bright spot in last week's sickness and anxiety was the army base's pool about 40 miles away. It was clean and bright, twice as big as ours, with a slide and climbing wall. I took my beach ball with me and stayed in for a 3000m swim.
So glad even polyester suits can stretch like that.
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