June 19, 2002 - 1:26 p.m.
Well, the week's hiatus has not been the result of anything dramatic to report. I'm still pregnant and there's still no end to that in sight. Yesterday I visited my doctor once again, faced the astonished comments of the nursing staff and my doctor's patient cheeriness. Another week and he'll consider inducing, but for now I just continue to wait.
Ah - and he dropped this bombshell on me at the end of my visit as he reviewed my file. Since Zachary was only 5.5 pounds at birth, it would be reasonable to expect this baby is slightly larger. "No," says my doctor, "this one is much bigger."
I withhold inquiry on the definition of "much" and he rambles on. "Not a 10 pound baby, of course, or even 9." Well, that so much is good news, though it would carry the advantage of losing half my pregnancy weight gain in delivery.
"But..." (And I know I'm cringing now.) "He's probably on the high side of 7. I could be wrong, but he's not a 6 pound baby."
All in all, I took it rather stoically. An 8 pound baby may sound like nothing much to other women, but to a 5', petite woman with a family history of nothing over about 6.5, it sounds h u g e. And I was really hoping to avoid tearing this time around. But he's not going to get any smaller and he has to come out (whether he believes so or not), so there's not much sense in dwelling on it.
What I do wonder, though, is what the hell in is the water down here that grows such big babies?
Zachary is on the road to another growth spurt as well. Picky though he is, he's eating everything familiar in sight. He's also discovered the wonder of utensils and has so much fun eating with a fork now that it's pretty easy to get him to sit at the table and have a decent meal. He's still on his own schedule and can't wait for Daddy to come home for dinner, so the traditional family meals are a little ways off, but at least he's eating - even if it's mostly pizza and cheese sandwiches (with a fork, of course).
He's also allowed to drink from a tumbler at the table and he's taken to it rather well. We've only cleaned up two spills so far. Last week, he happily downed his milk, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand with a dramatic "Ahh!" and slammed the empty cup, upside down, back onto the table in front of him.
Unless his Daddy's let him watch Silverado sometime recently, I have no idea where that came from.
