Lucidia Lohman

38 Weeks… The Countdown Begins

12 days to go. Well, at least that’s what I hear Mom saying. She goes “12 12 12 12 12 12… get out.” That makes me laugh. Then she mentions “eviction notice” to Dad, and he laughs. I still don’t know what that is.

Has anyone heard of this thing called “Thanksgiving”? Wow! And I thought Whoppers were good! Nothing compares to turkey, stuffing, gravy, jellied cranberry, and sweet potato casserole! Absolutely nothing! I think Mom ate her weight in turkey legs. I like turkey. And then Dad made turkey rice soup. Wow. That was great.

Friday we walked around for a long time until we found the perfect Christmas Tree. Over the weekend we decorated the whole house for Christmas. I can’t wait for Mom to put pictures up. We did a great job. I wanted to decorate the womb, but there’s no room in here… not to mention no light. Dad puts lights up outside, they decorated the tree, and Mom decorated the inside of the house. Something about family coming down. Then Mom cleaned everything—and I mean everything.

But then she pulled a muscle in her neck last Wednesday, and she hasn’t been sleeping really well. Dad’s been taking good care of her, though, but I worry about her. She needs sleep, because I sure won’t give her any after I get there.

Mom’s dilated 1 centimeter. That’s it. But I’m pushing on that cervix real hard, and I’m pushing that bladder, too. Mom goes to the bathroom just about every hour or two now. The doctor said last week I’m weighing in at seven pounds, thirteen ounces. I thought Mom’s eyes were going to fall out of her head when she heard that. So I’m probably over eight pounds now, and I’m pretty sure Mom’s feeling every ounce. That’s probably why she keeps saying “Get out” over and over.

But yeah, only 12 days left until my official due date. Mom keeps showing me pictures of babies who were due in December but came a few weeks early. I think she’s trying to make me jealous, trying to coax me out of here a bit earlier than expected. It’s not working, Mom. Keep it up, and I’ll stay in here ’til I’m 30. I’m gestating, Mom; I’m not in a pressure cooker.

This is Mom’s last week of work, I think. I’m frying her brain, so pretty soon she’ll be absolutely useless to everyone and everything except the TV and Wii. She’ll probably play Tetris until her eyes fall out.

Otherwise, everything is going great. I’m moving like crazy, kicking and punching organs as much as I can before I make my grand entrance into the world. 12 days, huh? We’ll see about that.

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