32 weeks

We went to the OB yesterday, and we will have dates with the little guy every week from here until his birth. My OB is a one-man practice, and we were on our way to his office Wednesday when he got summoned to the hospital (I assume for a birth). So we rescheduled for the next day.

Because we didn't have any childcare available for Thursday, we took the already-born boys with us.

Dietrich's reaction: "It was a little fun. It was cool. I liked the part where you could see almost all of his body."

Lev's reaction: "He had a mouth."

Baby's practicing his breathing (a good sign), has a heartbeat (quite necessary) and is measuring 31 weeks 2 days, which is a little bit behind, but just a little bit, plus it's consistent with how he's been growing for months now.

People are commenting all the time on my belly, which is funny because I don't feel THAT pregnant yet, especially from the front. There's a lot more growage to come in the next eight weeks.

31 weeks

I've reached that point in pregnancy where people assume that I must be weeks, not months, away from delivery.

"How much longer?" "Two months." "Two weeks?" Nope. Months.

"Are you sure there aren't twins in there?" As this must be one of the most-ultrasounded pregnancies ever, yes, I am sure.

But, hallelujah, we've made it to this rather-rotund point!

We had a scare two weeks ago, at 29 weeks. First, I felt really strange on Friday morning. Spaced out, like you feel during late labor (but without contractions). That feeling went away after a couple of hours, and the rest of Friday and Saturday were normal. Until midnight, when I tried to go to sleep and felt so much pressure that I felt sure that my water was about to break. After two hours of trying to get comfortable, I called my OB, who suggested I head to the hospital to make sure I wasn't dilating. That was one strange drive. I truly thought that we were about to meet our little guy.

Thankfully, I wasn't in labor, but I did have a massive UTI that had snaked its way up to my kidneys. That earned me a 32-hour vacation in the hospital so that I could have IV antibiotics.

The nurses were quite apologetic, "We're so sorry, we're going to have to check you in." "We're so sorry, we can't find a vein to put your IV in." "We're so sorry, we have to wake you up at 4 a.m. to take your temperature."

I was a broken record: "Oh, that's OK. The baby's fine!" They also monitored the baby every eight hours, and it was so fun to hear his quick little heartbeat filling the room for an hour at a time.

The big boys came for a short visit. In the 10 or so minutes they were there, Lev managed to push the nurse-call button and adjust my bed into such an odd shape that it could hardly be called a bed anymore. Sweet Dietrich brought me his new Wonder Woman action figure to sleep with.

Next week, we start going to the OB every week to make sure that the baby's getting adequate oxygen and nutrition. My frequent prayer for our little guy: "Give him this day, his daily bread."

We've gotten into a good rhythm here. The kids know what to expect each day. Dietrich's Ukrainian lessons via Skype seem to be helpful, and both boys love having easy library access. Eric just started teaching a class on apologetics at the church I grew up in, and the boys are doing swim lessons this week and next. The pace of our days is quite manageable, especially when the temperatures don't top 100. When they do, I start to wonder how I'll make it through the next nine weeks.

Of course, now that we've found a good rhythm, we're gearing up for a change: Eric starts traveling in a little more than a week. First to Michigan, then on to Ukraine for the first three weeks of August. Here's hoping he doesn't miss a birth!