This week I started training the woman who will cover for me while I am leave. She is very nice, and very experienced, but it is emotionally trying for me to have her accompany me through the day. Not only am I creature of habit, and used to doing things a certain way (I so relate to my spectrum kids in this regard), but I cannot help but feel a bit guilty for 'leaving' them, albeit temporarily. Some of them have made such dramatic and impressive strides, and I don't want them to lose a single bit of progress. I realize that this sounds a bit egotistical...but I have been with some of them since the very first day they began receiving services, and I know them and their personalities and quirks like the back of my hand. I simply cannot convey to her every single little (but important) thing to look out for, though I am trying. At the same time, I don't want to overwhelm her with an avalanche of detail and minutiae. Oy.
Bunting is an active little thing, squirming and wiggling around all day long. Periodically I look down and see various lumps and bumps protruding from my stomach, now that is bizarre. And really amazing. But increasingly becoming old hat; I look down and think "Oh look. That is his foot. (stomach jiggles) How neat." As his energy level increases, mine decreases. I continue to be blessedly free from aches and pains, but my need to nap has increased dramatically. It gets dark so early now, and has been drizzly and cold, so I have begun using the elliptical at the gym instead of jog/walking on the trail. I get some slightly panicked looks when I show up and hop on the machine; late evening seems to be the province of young men who lift weights; the sight of my waddling, gravid self seems to strike terror in their hearts. Devilishly, I admit to greatly enjoying their reaction. Shamefully, I will also admit to enjoying the wide spectrum of TV choices offered. We have not had cable for years, so the opportunity to watch Sarah Palin be interviewed by Barbara Walters or watch a documentary on Nixon or an MMA fight (the popularity of which I find even more perplexing than NASCAR) or a decade old rerun of "Frasier" is actually quite novel.
We had a checkup on Tuesday; weight gain continues to be healthy, blood pressure normal, urine is clear (free from sugar or protein), fundal height is appropriate. "This is not a small baby"- so sayeth the intern who measured and palpated me. My sister and I were both close to 8 pounds and 21 inches long (and Mama was much tinier than I ), so this is no surprise.
F has begun to have dreams about Bunting. Oh, I cannot wait to see him with his son. Cannot. Wait.
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