No one but the occasional close work friend has dared to touch my growing belly. I credit the years in NYC and a lingering standoffishness when it comes to personal space. But all kinds of patients have offered their two cents.
"Is that a bambino?"
Yes it is.
"Boy or girl?" As though it's your business.
We didn't find out.
"On purpose?" Seriously? No, we just forgot that piece of information.
Yup, on purpose.
"Good for you. What have you got, one month left?"
Nope, three. Thanks for playing.
"Wow. It must be a boy."
Okay. Thanks.
Never mind that I was just as active in the womb and came out at about nine pounds at birth. I'm amazed at how emphatic the gender stereotypes run, even in a conservative area like this. But regardless of gender, I'm rather certain this child will come into this world dropping the f-bomb.
Only in the last week or two has the weight started to actually affect me. I notice my back while sleeping and if standing static for too long. Still running, but my longest run of the week is down to 7 or 8 miles at most, and I'm guaranteed to need a side of the road pee stop by 40 minutes in -- one of the good parts about rural life. I've also had to switch back to Hoka running shoes because of my right ankle. I could only sigh in resigned agreement when a hospitalist made notice that the waddle had infiltrated my walking.
But, baby is healthy, and all things considered I'm in a really good place. Passed my glucose test with a read of 58, which is one of the lowest my OB has seen in her career. (135 and above is the cutoff for gestational diabetes.) She credits the running. The fact that moderate amounts of sugar still can make me nauseous also helps.
Now to survive one more day of work, then I'm off to MO for Christmas.
