Your due date is getting closer and closer, little one, and as of today you're officially ready to welcome the world. (Although we could do with another few weeks to prepare and you would be better off laying down a bit more fat.)
Thirty-Seven weeks. I remember way back when you were only twelve weeks grown and this seemed like a forever away. And now it's arrived and you're finally nearly here.
We had your 36 week scan last week and you shocked us all by being a small baby! You're only in the 42nd percentile, and even given an error margin of 20% you're still hardly past the 60th percentile. As your brother and sister were four kilo whoppers (9.3 pounds the three of them) this was unexpected to say the least, particularly with my gestational diabetes. I've gathered up all the 0000 clothes and have some hopes that this time I'll have a baby who stays in them for more than two minutes!
Having a small baby was never in my calculations - I assumed you'd be big and I'd consider having you induced to ensure you weren't massive and dislocate your shoulder on the way out. But a small baby? I have no idea about when you'll chose to come or what your birth will be like. I'd previously thought a water-birth impossible... but now I've got hankerings...
Your sisters and brother are getting increasingly excited about your arrival (or about the toys we've promised you'll bring with you...) Giggle-Bear pats my tummy and says 'baby' and sometimes your name. Or sometimes she'll pat her tummy and say 'baby.' She's still not very keen on the idea of sharing the milk but she's coming around to it.
We had a beautiful stormy grey day yesterday - I took Wolfie for a walk just as night fell and the rain pattered down and the wind moved all the trees - a spindly eucalypt creaked over just feet from us and I actually felt slightly chilled - it was wonderful! Of course, I was just wearing a summer dress, which quickly became sodden, so it wasn't really all that cold - but it was so lovely to feel the wind and rain and the slight bite, and all the scents of the mock orange and wet grass intensifying as I waddled along. Your daddy assures me this Summer will be one of rain and toads, snakes and lizards, so I am hoping for many storms. Tropical storms almost, almost make up for the seven months of swelter that follow your birth.
We are almost, nearly ready for you. Your bassinet is up and made, the hospital bags are pretty much packed, your grandparents have booked their tickets up from the south. Of course your daddy still hasn't applied for paternity leave, and he's discovered he's got two major assignments due around when you're born, but that's par for the course.
You are kicking and punching, head-butting and rolling like crazy. While I'm not so fond of the five minutes it takes me to lever out of bed (and that's after we swapped our futon for a proper bed) I do love feeling the sweeps your tiny hands made and the kickings of your feet. It seems so strange that you're a full grown baby in there, with your own little fingernails and tiny toes. You're hearing, tasting, seeing shifts of light and dark, taking in the world as you swim gently in your little fluid-globe.
Tonight we have prenatal yoga. I love the time just to be aware of your movements, to consider your being - and to talk with other mums who creak and waddle and impatiently wait!
Soon, bebe, soon. We're so overjoyed that soon you'll be with us in the world and soon we'll get to meet you.