I talked the doctor into checking me last week, just because I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. Was I dilated? Was the baby about to fall out any minute? Because it sure as heck feels like I’m sitting on his head.
So she checked. And she was surprised to find that I was dilated 2 cm and 50% effaced. If you have no idea what that means, consider yourself lucky and go and see a movie already. Because it means that you have no children and you should have a drink with lunch, totally.
If you recall, I walked around 4 cm dilated with Auggie for over 2 weeks. So it’s not like we haven’t been down this road before. Plus, we had to evict him by force! My labor never did start naturally.
All along, I’ve been like, ‘There’s no way that you are inducing me again.’ It feels like I got induced for all the wrong reasons last time (doctor was going on vacation, 3 days overdue, 4 cm dilation was making everyone nervous), but now that I’m this close, and this huge, I can totally see why I did it. I’m so ready for this to be over, so ready to meet this little baby who has been making such a ruckus in my belly these past many weeks.
So that’s the story with that.
Other news: Coco is still doing just OK. We can’t seem to get her diabetes regulated, so we just keep upping the insulin dosage. She’s losing weight, though, which she really needed to do, so that’s good. I feel like an Italian mother, though, looking at her. “You’re nothing but skin and bones! Eat! Eat!”Â In actuality, she looks better than ever.
If we can’t regulate her diabetes, we can’t treat her Cushing’s, so we may never get that option. I just want her to have a happy life, however much of it she has left. Of course, I was also hoping that we would have her squared away by the time this baby arrives, but that doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.
In the flurry of all this baby excitement, I completely flaked on Father’s Day. No cards, no gifts, just a lame “Happy Father’s Day”Â on Sunday morning. Before Tim cooked breakfast as I slept in.
Auggie has had several semi-successful forays into big-boy pants land. Last week, he was pestering me to let him paint, so I explained that only big boys who went potty in the potty all the time were old enough to paint. He immediately walked into the bathroom and was like “bring it on!”Â So we’ve been touring the potties of South County for the past four days. I swear, this potty training stuff is way harder on me than it is on him. And not just because I’m hugely pregnant either (although that doesn’t help), but because every 30 minutes, you’ve got to pester them about whether they need to potty (they never do), every 60 minutes, you’ve got to usher them into the potty to try anyway (often after a threat or promise of a reward). I get the feeling that if it’s this hard, he’s not ready.
I guess that I’m just feeling that I’m not going to have time to do this when the new baby is here, so we might as well lay the groundwork now. He was so resistant to even trying on the big-boy pants before that I feel like we’ve made some real progress in that department, at least. This kid is so resistant to change. Any new shoes take days or even weeks to work into his wardrobe. To say that it’s frustrating is an understatement for sure.
My geez, I’ve prattled on here, haven’t I? I just want to get all this down, since it might be another good while until I get the chance to post again…