Non-smoking section
Yesterday I had what should be my final ultrasound of this pregnancy, which also means it should be my final ultrasound ever. You hear that? EVER. As in not again, no way, three-strikes-and-you're-out, we are done, for real.
WeeBey was chill, just hanging out for inspection, so we got a great look at everything. Everything except my cervix because they don't give a shit about my cervix anymore and it could be fully thinned out and apparently that's just fine because they refuse to check it. And my mother thinks I am being flip about this pregnancy -- I am just taking my cues from the medical professionals.
I almost fell off the table when the tech finished her measurements and concluded that WeeBey weighs in at a whopping 4 lbs 14 oz right now and is in the 66th percentile overall. I'm sorry, what? If the baby gains the average half-pound per week, and I go six more weeks to 38 weeks, that means the baby will pop out weighing 8 pounds. Nonononono. I don't birth big babies. My babies were petite little peanuts (6 lbs 11 oz and 6 lbs 8 oz). What the hell am I going to do with an 8-pounder?
The tech did admit the femur length, which was in the 86th percentile, is probably skewing the weight upwards. That makes sense because both Jack and Emmie were incredibly long on ultrasound. Looking at their tall, skinny father, I can't imagine why. But I am planning on birthing another long, skinny child and there's nothing they can say to convince me otherwise.
Perhaps the low fetal weight will have something to do with all the smoking I am doing. What, you didn't think I smoked? I don't. But some random dude walking past me on the way out of the hospital totally thought I did.
There I was, just minding my own business as I hurried to my car, when a man carrying all of his earthly belongings in a hospital bedpan accosted me on the sidewalk. Clearly, he had just been discharged as he was still wearing his pajama bottoms and his hair had not seen a comb in a few days, although maybe it's just that wino-chic look all the kids are sporting these days.
"Do you have any cigarettes on you?" he bellowed.
I looked behind me, thinking he surely couldn't be talking to me. The one in the tight maternity shirt that made it explicitly clear I was knocked up. Nope, no one around but me.
"Come on, give me a cigarette," he yelled.
I incredulously open my mouth and point directly to my stomach.
"Sorry dude, I need them all for my unborn child," I said, while rolling my eyes. He muttered some expletive and kept walking.
I should have asked him if he knew just who he was talking to. People can't treat the Best Stay-At-Home Mommy Blogger like that, they need to have a little more respect. That's right -- thanks to my fine readers and supporters, I won my category! I now go up against all the other category winners for the Best Overall Blog prize. I'm not going to lie to you, many of the other blogs are awesome and I read and adore several of them. But I really want to win. I am competitive like that.
So won't you get out the vote for SnarkyMommy again on TheBump.com Mommy Blog awards this week? Voting is underway from now until Oct. 26 and you can vote as many times as you would like. If I win, everyone who votes for SnarkyMommy gets a pony! I know! How awesome would it be to have your own pony? I mean other than the fact you would have to find someplace to tie it up at night and it would shit all over your yard and whinny all the time, it would be awesome. Have I ever told you I am afraid of horses? I am. Deathly. They're huge and could trample you to death and anything that large should not move that fast with a human on its back. Especially if that human is me. But this is about you, my readers, and not me. So ponies for everyone!
WeeBey was chill, just hanging out for inspection, so we got a great look at everything. Everything except my cervix because they don't give a shit about my cervix anymore and it could be fully thinned out and apparently that's just fine because they refuse to check it. And my mother thinks I am being flip about this pregnancy -- I am just taking my cues from the medical professionals.
I almost fell off the table when the tech finished her measurements and concluded that WeeBey weighs in at a whopping 4 lbs 14 oz right now and is in the 66th percentile overall. I'm sorry, what? If the baby gains the average half-pound per week, and I go six more weeks to 38 weeks, that means the baby will pop out weighing 8 pounds. Nonononono. I don't birth big babies. My babies were petite little peanuts (6 lbs 11 oz and 6 lbs 8 oz). What the hell am I going to do with an 8-pounder?
The tech did admit the femur length, which was in the 86th percentile, is probably skewing the weight upwards. That makes sense because both Jack and Emmie were incredibly long on ultrasound. Looking at their tall, skinny father, I can't imagine why. But I am planning on birthing another long, skinny child and there's nothing they can say to convince me otherwise.
Perhaps the low fetal weight will have something to do with all the smoking I am doing. What, you didn't think I smoked? I don't. But some random dude walking past me on the way out of the hospital totally thought I did.
There I was, just minding my own business as I hurried to my car, when a man carrying all of his earthly belongings in a hospital bedpan accosted me on the sidewalk. Clearly, he had just been discharged as he was still wearing his pajama bottoms and his hair had not seen a comb in a few days, although maybe it's just that wino-chic look all the kids are sporting these days.
"Do you have any cigarettes on you?" he bellowed.
I looked behind me, thinking he surely couldn't be talking to me. The one in the tight maternity shirt that made it explicitly clear I was knocked up. Nope, no one around but me.
"Come on, give me a cigarette," he yelled.
I incredulously open my mouth and point directly to my stomach.
"Sorry dude, I need them all for my unborn child," I said, while rolling my eyes. He muttered some expletive and kept walking.
I should have asked him if he knew just who he was talking to. People can't treat the Best Stay-At-Home Mommy Blogger like that, they need to have a little more respect. That's right -- thanks to my fine readers and supporters, I won my category! I now go up against all the other category winners for the Best Overall Blog prize. I'm not going to lie to you, many of the other blogs are awesome and I read and adore several of them. But I really want to win. I am competitive like that.
So won't you get out the vote for SnarkyMommy again on TheBump.com Mommy Blog awards this week? Voting is underway from now until Oct. 26 and you can vote as many times as you would like. If I win, everyone who votes for SnarkyMommy gets a pony! I know! How awesome would it be to have your own pony? I mean other than the fact you would have to find someplace to tie it up at night and it would shit all over your yard and whinny all the time, it would be awesome. Have I ever told you I am afraid of horses? I am. Deathly. They're huge and could trample you to death and anything that large should not move that fast with a human on its back. Especially if that human is me. But this is about you, my readers, and not me. So ponies for everyone!
Labels: Blog awards, Pregnancy
posted by Amy at
7:03 PM
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