I think third trimester exhaustion has arrived. I'm tired. Not right now, of course, when it would be convenient, but throughout the day. Occasionally it hits me that I have roughly five weeks left of childlessness before my life changes for all time.
The Dude and I (Mostly me because that's how I roll) have been budgeting with care, trying to get the last things together, and otherwise putting the finishing touches on the nursery.
|The rug, doing what rugs do.|
|Matching crib sheets.|
No, the toys won't be in there when baby comes.
Interestingly my back hurts a lot less. I quit my exercise routine early December, the start of my third trimester. I think the working out did me a lot of good, but now I'm just relaxing, taking it easy and making sure I stay hydrated, fed and rested. Also, with all the stuff we've needed to buy, there just simply wasn't the money available for the gym.
I've been noting the largeness of... me. I'm huge. I thought I'd be this size when I was ready to give birth. Oh ho ho, no. I have 5 cm of curvature to go. I learned from my midwife that from the top of the uterus (The fundus) to my public bone, I should measure in centimeters how many weeks I am. This thing is going to stick out a million years.
There's still soooo much movement. Baby's still doing somersaults, jumping jacks and generally living large. Decreased movement? Ha. No. Whoever's in me is not letting a smaller space slow him or her down. There's a party in my womb and no one else is invited. I'm beginning now to detect actual limbs, not just a bulbous mass warping my insides.
One thing I've not yet tackled is daycare. Yes, I work from home. No, I can't do both at the same time, not unless my child is born with a mute button and can be silent and independent for hours at a time when I need to meet tight deadlines. I should really start making calls... Maybe I've been putting it off because I'm kinda freaked about the reality of finding quality care we can actually afford.