It's 20 weeks and halfway to go. The time is going by much too quickly for my taste at this point, and I wish that it would slow a bit. For one thing, who knows if we will do this again, and I want to be paying attention and getting all I can out of the experience. Also, I need to absorb it all, and I need a chance to form my desires for the next five months, and then express them in an understandable form so that I can make sure that they are realized.
On the inside, McFetus' skin is thickening, which is good because mine never really did. I hope that the eventual child will be able to withstand adversity, criticism, and judgment better than I ever could. Or do. It sounds like Pete had fun as a child, and he even looks back at 11 years old as his best, most happy time. The idea of being 11 makes me cringe with insecurity, vague and unsubstantiated fear, and worry. I don't know why, but I was a nervous child. Were I a child today, and I actually expressed that nervousness and worry, I would probably be recommended for medication (not that my parents would allow it; I doubt they would).
That protective skin is developing into the epidermis, dermis, and subcutis (mostly fat). Pete had a recent dream that it was olive in hue, and I don't know where that came from, as I almost expect the child to be translucent, it will be so white. In that dream, he also named it "David King McCauley." (I must have been unconscious at the time). That's interesting because he thinks it's a girl; most everyone does, if they have an opinion one way or another. I think "boy", but I have no reason to think that. It's certainly not some sort of creepy "feeling"--I don't believe in that sort of thing. The only way to "know" is for the ultrasound technician to tell us, and even they have been wrong before.
My skin is stretching over an increasingly larger surface area. In the past week, my stomach has really expanded. There's no doubt about the Pregnant now, no hiding it--not that I was. The book says that it is 6 inches long and nine ounces. Ours is actually 12 ounces, and maybe a bit longer, but I did not get that information from the ultrasound. I don't feel "fat" anymore, which I did for awhile. I think that was more about exhaustion and bloating. I actually feel pretty good. Also, I have only gained about 5.2 pounds total so far (I was 157.2 yesterday), so I think that the extra fat I was already carrying pre-fetus has redistributed itself, and my boobs make up the rest.
The hair and nails are continuing to grow, but we did not see a halo around its head, so no word yet on the red afro. Our midwife did say that she hopes it gets my haircolor. We concur.
My Mayo Clinic book stumbled over its choice to call the fetus a baby throughout the text, and it had to do a little backtracking this week during this sentence:
"If you could sneak a peak at your baby this week, you would see a fetus remarkably baby-like in appearance." (my emphasis)
In other words, this is not a baby, it's a fetus, but because we have been calling it a baby, now we have to differentiate and let you know that it finally looks like a baby, but really, it's a fetus. The ultrasound tech, our midwife... they call it a baby, too, and I let it slide. No need to take up the time explaining my preference there, but I get to say what I want here. We are so used to calling it a fetus that we don't find it weird. At least I don't. Other people still do. Usually, they laugh when we say it, like we are trying to be cute. Pete's the only one who gets to call it a baby, but Pete is also the only one who gets to talk to my stomach.
Also in my book, I read something that infuriated me so much that I have apparently read it out loud to Pete twice. Regarding the quickening (which will never not make me think of Highlander), the book reads:
"these early movements remind you of the reality that your baby is a separate, unique individual, allowing you to imagine what your baby will be like."
Oh, rrrrreally?
Separate and unique? Individual?
In that case, I think it's high time that the little separate, unique individual got off its greasy little butt and helped to make some money for its new room.
Semantically, that sort of crap lends itself to the devaluation of women in favor of the elevation of "the unborn," and contributes to all sorts of behaviors and assumptions that are not helpful--the idea of pregnancy as a condition to be treated rather than a normal life process being one of them; the erasure of the actual woman being another. I don't feel that I am so delicate now that I am pregnant that I must be handled with kid gloves. In fact, lately, I have been feeling more like myself than I did during the first trimester when I was so exhausted I could lift a fork. I still don't like being referred to as "Mama" or "Mom" or "Mommy", as those are roles I do not currently have. Again, Pete is the only one who gets to do that, and then, I prefer "Mama", and I prefer that it not happen too often.
The book also bothered me a bit when it started talking about when the internal movements of the fetus would be felt by people on the outside:
"you and your partner..."
Ok, good. Good. They used "partner." That's not gender specific...
"... will both be able to feel your baby's movements--he by placing his hand on your abdomen."
Oh, you lost me.
So yes, my partner is a man, and twenty years ago, this may have read "your husband" instead of "partner", but the reality is that plenty of women have babies together, and we should be over the idea that the "other" in this situation is always going to be male. That sentence denies lesbian couples and it also denies single women who are pregnant.
I had no blood taken out of me on this last visit to the midwife, which was nice. I don't think I get the vampire treatment until my glucose test at 28 weeks. I'll be back in in a month for a regular little "how's it going let's weigh you and listen to the heartbeat" visit, and in the meantime, I need to get those aforementioned desires and wishes in order as well as look into and sign up for classes like Infant CPR as well as Childbirth.
Oh, and we have to get financing for the house because Squirmy is not showing any signs of getting a job.
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