32 weeks… Shakedown Breakdown.

“Ever wonder what your baby is doing in there these days? She’s busy blinking, looking around, grabbing things, making faces, practicing his breathing, peeing and listening to everything around her—pretty much exactly what she’ll be doing for the first three months of her life, sans the adoring audience and the flashing camera.”

-from 3D Pregnancy

32 weeks is a milestone; according to the American Pregnancy Association, babies born at or after 32 weeks in the oven have “a very high survival rate and usually do not have long term complications”. This is good news. We are only five weeks from being considered not-premature… Only 8 weeks from asking for tips about what do do if she hasn’t arrived yet.

This week has been full of the ongoing, dramatic saga of unsolicited comments that can roughly be summarized as “you’re so little” vs. “you’re so huge“. Ken has concluded that it’s only tiny, never been pregnant people who are under the impression that I am enormous. That makes me feel slightly better. Awkward moment of the week goes to the person who cornered me and said “Ah – looks like you’re having a boy

“Well, I’m not”, I cheerily replied.

stunned silence follows. “Oh, well it looks like you are… “. Ummmm – okay. I have no idea what that means; however, my general social commentary for the week would remind people that if you’d like to encourage a conversation to proceed, try open ended questions – it’s the difference between “Are you about to pop?” vs. “How far along are you?“. It’s the difference between my late-pregnancy hormonal self feeling like you have a genuine interest in chatting with me vs. me wanting to kick you (insert smiley face here).

Life at 32 weeks continues to be shockingly normal. We are still going out, going for walks, and even played 9 holes at a pitch and putt over the weekend.

This is the Taupe Panel Tie Tunic and Cropped Zip Denim maternity jeans. We had packed for an overnight with Ken’s parents on the island – another found bonus of maternity clothing is how easy it is to throw it in a duffel bag overnight, then just pull it out and wear it! I tied the tie above my bump, but it’s long enough to go around and be tied at your back, or even be used post-baby to wrap a few times to define my waist as it returns (it’s coming back… right?)

Overall, we had a great weekend. It was nice to leave the city for a while and just spend time with Ken (and his parents)

I’m finding that’s what i’m missing the most, lately. Just time with Ken <3. There’s only a few weeks left for it just to be the two of us, and so much of that time is consumed by work and other commitments – the weeks are just flying by! PS: the deer in the above picture was in someone’s front lawn – and the cyclists were doing a 900m/lap race downtown that we arrived just in time to watch the final 12 laps of.

That’s it for this week! Mostly uneventful, with occasions of slightly crabby- which may explain a slightly shorter, less personal post today. I could have written pages about how pretty-much everyone is driving me crazy (not you… everyone else :) ) but I have a feeling that wouldn’t be fun to read. Maybe I should have? It’s probably a realistic symptom of how it feels right now. Being 32 weeks pregnant feels like, “Why can’t people just mind their own business?“, “Why can’t people talk to me about anything else other than the shape of my body?“, Why do people feel that it’s appopriate to repeat “Whoa – that’s fast!” four or five times when they find out that we’re having a baby this summer after being married in October… Why isn’t it appropriate for me to respond with “Wow – you seem to be waiting a long time!“, Why do people need to verbally assess my lunch every single day, Why don’t people realize that I feel busier and more hectic about the next 7 weeks (until I start maternity leave) than I have about any time in my working life? Why do people have to make that noise when they eat? Why don’t I have enough time/energy to lift some weights so that my upper arms don’t look so chubby? Why can’t the person next to me just STOP TALKING? Why is it okay for everyone else to react to every little thing so personally, but I have to act like nothing bothers me at all – not even the constant, never-ending, reminder by Everyone that I’m getting bigger every day? Why does the overly-involved purolator guy insist that my name is “Ms. Cooper” ? (it’s not… really). Why is it that asking someone to clarify what they mean by their skeptical-sounding repetition of “oh – do you feel ready?” makes me the bitch?

Maybe I just need a nap. Or a glass of wine. Or a soak in a jacuzzi tub. Or to be with my family.

What’s incredible, is that any pregnant – or previously pregnant – woman I mention this overall social angst to, nods vehemently and has experienced the same… or worse! What’s frightening is that apparently the brutal comments can actually get worse after the baby arrives. (I had one recent new-mum tell me that she is constantly being asked if there is “something wrong” with her 2 month old, and being told she is way too small AND hearing from other strangers moments later that her kid must be a “good eater” because she’s so big.)

No wonder we all end up in therapy – we’re criticized from pre-birth, on!

We have our next group prenatal class on Monday, will find out if the baby has flipped over yet and know more about what happens next!

32 weeks

baby size: squash – 2.5 to 3.8 pounds and she measures about 15.2 to 16.7 inches.

mummy size: 5 foot 11.5 and 175 pounds. that’s +1 from last week, +26 overall.

biggest change this week: there has been lots and lots of kicking, moving, squirming, wriggling (from the baby). Not necessarily “new”, but big enough that people can see it happen from across the room.

3 thoughts on “32 weeks… Shakedown Breakdown.

  1. Amen, you just said basically everything I was thinking (with regards to annoying people and their stupid comments). I guess I don’t need to write a post this week! Oh, you might get a kick out of this: last week a male stranger asked me if I was having a boy. My deadpan response: “No. Are you?” He looked so shocked!!

  2. Pingback: 33 weeks… The problem with being a princess. « ruffelles

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