Looking at the ultrasound pictures while waiting for the doctor:
Nick: Oh look... she has your liver.
Me: That's not her liver.
Nick: (silence, turns the picture sideways, then) Oh Jesus! (throws the picture at me).
Yesterday we had our 36-week ultrasound and I'm pretty sure this baby thing is actually going to happen. J.T. (my trusty OB) was spewing nonsense about a birth plan and I just continued to change the subject to things that didn't involve me and mind bending pain hanging out in the same room.
Against strong protest from my constituents in the southern states I have made the executive decision to bite the bullet and try to push this baby out the old fashioned way. I've almost gotten the rioting, looting and pillaging under control.
The catch is that because I had a C-section with Ellie my doctor won't induce so we have to let "nature take its course."
Apparently we can give nature a push by doing things that are 100% contrary to what my body feels like doing right now.
Things like actually leaving the pancake cocoon I fashioned for myself on the couch and taking down the 6-foot retaining wall I installed down the middle of our bed.
I liked it better when I was 16 weeks and the idea of pushing a baby from my loins was in the oh-so-distant future and all I had to focus on was eating chili dogs and trying to poop.
Now I'm freaking the fuck out while I watch the executioner sharpen his axe from the window of my cell.
The good news is that she's still definitely a girl and they're estimating her to be a little smaller than Ellie. But there are a lot of things smaller than newborn Ellie - like a fireplace set or a Volkswagen - so that piece of information is not really THAT much of a relief.
The bad news is that she looks a lot like Gene Shalit.
But Nick says that's actually a good thing because he won't have to worry about beating little punk asses when she turns 15.