Since my weekly appointments I have gotten the good news that I am both GBS negative (which I was all praise hands about) and that the proper birthing position has been obtained. There was some doubt as to his orientation, some grumbling about butts and heads and how they're all too similar, and so I was afforded a late-term ultrasound that rewarded me with this snapshot. The praises of modern-day technology and 3D imaging I will sing of once more.
How amazing is that shot?
Is he not the most precious little baby you ever did see? And he's not even actually here yet! It was with a grateful and very relieved heart that I was told (and viewed) he is indeed head down and ready to make his entrance, albeit on his very own timeline of which I am clueless towards.
Aside from a random set of contractions that I experienced after a drive to my Aunt's baby shower a few weekends ago (after which we determined long car rides just aren't my jam for the rest of this pregnancy) nothing has happened or occurred or arose or materialized that would bring forth a baby into this world.
He continues to grow, as do I, and I continue to wait and pray for his safe arrival whilst concocting satirical responses to the myriad of looks, glances, and words that I receive from the outside world. The grocery store seems to bear the brunt of society's disdain towards pregnant women who have more than one child, and so with each week that passes and thus each ensuing grocery trip I brace myself for the comment(s) in regards to my 'condition' and the number of children that I already possess - as if there is a limit on such a commodity. Thick skin has become a symptom of this pregnancy to be sure.
A sampling of the past few weeks of Ferris' growth
(though most of the shots you've probably seen through my Instagram already)
Soon, and very soon - he'll be in our arms.
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