There’s a slight chill in the air. Isa is moving around like nobody’s business. Her heart rate is just where it ought to be (doc said she was thumping away at 150 bpm today). And, as an added bonus, my blood pressure hasn’t shot up yet!
So it looks, so far, like we’re on track for a December 8th delivery. I’m counting down the days (54) until I meet her and also the days until I leave work (36) and can focus my energy on preparing our apartment for her arrival. Here’s me yesterday:
The fat ball of hair in the picture who seems to be mesmerized by the size of my belly is Rico, one of two cats who will be extremely excited to meet a little baby in a couple months. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Even though today marks 10 months since we lost Malcolm, staying positive about bringing his sister into the world has been pretty easy as of late. I thought I would be a lot more stressed out about the possibility of something going wrong, but I think I’ve managed to shut down that part of my brain. Mostly out of self-preservation, I think. I’m picturing everything going smoothly and our little girl at home with us in just a few short weeks. I’m picturing her in her “baby’s first Christmas” pajamas (a hand-me-down from her brother who never got to wear them). I’m picturing everything that is good and happy and calm.
All is well.