In an attempt to coax baby to get her sideways head down and keep it there, I had been wearing a pair of bicycle shorts purchased when I was 21 years old and a skinny skinny thang. Apparently it's not uncommon to suggest that women wear an abdominal binder when there's concern about baby shifting position? It sounds kind of medieval to me. Tonight baby bounced back to transverse WHILE I was wearing those crazy shorts. Which is a good news/bad news thing, I guess. The good news is I'm not going to bother with the @%#$ shorts if they don't even work. The bad news is I still need her to get her head down and keep it there. At least she seems to have plenty of room in there.
Late pregnancy has never made me physically miserable, though this time around I am hoping for a speedy end to the symphysis pain. Emotionally, though, it smacks me around like a champion boxer in the ring with a meek and helpless bunny. (Don't ask me why the boxer is competing against a bunny. Just go with it.) Coupled with winter blues and Christmas stress, it has left me something less than a font of Advent joy. (<-Understatement alert.)
I have been telling people my due date this time, which was an act of madness repeated willy-nilly. When people know your due date, they expect you to deliver on or near it. They say, "Are you still here?" and "Didn't have the baby yet, huh?" and other questions that -- oh, how to put this? -- provide me with myriad opportunities to grow in charity and patience.
Must I really grow in charity and patience?
My uterus woke up today, after a long snooze. Maybe as it begins to clamp itself down, the accommodations will get less spacious and my little Olga will not be able to complete any further routines on the uneven bars. Let's hope so.
Elwood P. offered to do the dishes and get the big boys to bed so I could go to bed early. I am going to do a quickie search for a St. Elizabeth novena and take him up on it.