Weeks, that is. Pregnancy is going well -- baby is quite active but not yet big enough to do the simultaneous ribs-cervix punches that make a person wince. I keep comparing this pregnancy to my pregnancy with Alex because the due dates are so close together. Despite my being 26 then and 38 now, I'm much more comfortable this time around: no back pain (12 years of toting around various small children can do good things for a person's upper body strength), no tender veins in my legs. I am finally (FINALLY!) free of nausea, or at least close enough that I'll take it. Seriously, if you had told me in April that I would be throwing up into my third trimester, I would not have been a happy camper. But even a couple of weeks ago I had to be very careful about when I took my vitamins or they would attempt to make their way back up to the light of day.
My one minor complaint, probably related to the nausea, is anemia. For two weeks I walked around in a state of dog-tired bone-tired plumb-worn-out exhaustion. I was not surprised, though I was annoyed, to hear that my hemoglobin had fallen out of the normal range. It's always borderline (I've heard that's a common redhead complaint), and so I had been careful about iron starting in the second trimester. I had not been so careful about taking my multivitamin, figuring that it didn't do me much good if I threw it back up, and I am hypothesizing that I needed more folic acid and B6 to make all those new red blood cells. This could be, let me stress, a completely bogus hypothesis, but I am already feeling better.
Yesterday was the feast of St. Francis, one of my favorite saints, and I was trying to think of a good way to mark it as a family. You can't really celebrate his feast day with a fancy dinner since he was all about loving Lady Poverty. So instead we had a simple but special dinner, with homemade pasta. This is my 8yo cranking the pasta machine, and a bonus belly shot from the middle of week 30.
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