Well, we're up to week 27. Thirteen loooong weeks to go (at least!?).
Every week seems to take an eternity to crawl by. I know there are a lot of parents out there who would probably tell me to relish the last few weeks without being ruled by Baby, but frankly, I'm already ruled by the little sod! Last night as I lay in bed trying to find a comfy sleeping position, he tap-danced on my intestines, can-can'd on my colon, boogied on my bladder, and was getting intimate with a little stomach salsa.
Don't get me wrong, it's nice to know he's still in there and going strong, but I wish he'd take up a less energetic pursuit. Chess, perhaps?
Thinking of dancing .. and feet in particular. I seem to developing a more and more distant relationship with mine. I can still contort myself enough to put on shoes and socks, but I'm starting to get concerned about things like toe-nail clipping. At what point will this happy past-time elude my grasp? Is it really okay to make one's husband do the clippy work?
Not much else to report. I'm still not exercising anywhere near as much as I should be (my aerobic 'step' is eyeing me accusingly as I type), and probably eating way more sugar than I ought. I went for the diabetes test on Thursday, so once I'm given the all-clear (fingers crossed!), the chocolate binge can resume guilt-free! At this point, I'd go as far as maiming someone for a packet of M&Ms.
Ooh, I've also just weirded myself out watching a whole bunch of 'pregnant stomach movement' videos on YouTube - to the accompaniment of many astonished profanities provided by hubby. There are some VERY vigorous babies out there, that's all I can say, and I'm suddenly grateful for the fact that Bean here is too puny to make much of an 'outside' impression as yet. Yet another thing to look forward to. Hurrah.