Today I had my 36 week appointment. Not that it was much news to me, but it was confirmed that you are now head down, way down. In fact, the doctor was quite surprised how well you've managed to wedge yourself into my pelvis. Me? Not so surprised. I'm just hoping that hearing it from the doc's perspective reiterates the fact to your father that, no, in fact I can not bend in half to put my own shoes on without having to either contort myself or cut off my own oxygen supply. He seems to think I'm exaggerating such nonsense.
We also found out that my blood pressure is elevated. Nothing dangerous, just higher than my previous 8 month standards. This earned me the right to lay on my left side for 15 minutes while I waited for them to come back and retake my BP. Nothing changed. I'm crossing my fingers that this may mean you too are becoming more stressed in there and will be forcing your way out sooner rather then later. The doc said nothing about that but I can have hope.
My dear, you have 3 weeks to vacate yourself from my uterus or else we are coming in after you. December 30th at 4pm, that's the time at which we will be using deliberate force to bring you into this world.
Believe me, I am hoping beyond hope that you come sooner then that. Tomorrow will be nice. Or even if you decide to jump on out this Friday, so I don't have to dress my fat ass up for the boat's Christmas party, that will work well, too.
No matter when or how you choose to make your appearance in this world, just know that there is light at the end of the tunnel and, for that, Mommy is eternally grateful. As I'm sure you are all warm and comfy in there, I'm done. And knowing that there is now a set and scheduled date for you to be extricated, I am suddenly less stressed. At least for the moment.
So, my lovely child, the ball is now in your court. December 30th. That's it. You get to freeload no longer. I see the light. I'm well aware the light is powered by a speeding train but I don't care. December 30th. December 30th. December 30th...