I moved my baby ticker back to the top of the page. I'd like to point out that the "month 9" graphic is enlarged, and as of today I have 30 days left. Hopefully it's a little less than that, though. I'm due in the middle of Steve's finals week, plus he has to leave the week afterward to work in Utah. I'm hoping for a punctual, if not an early, child and a superhuman recovery.
One of my friends left a comment a few minutes ago about how she was not jealous of my physical situation right now. Honey, I wouldn't be, either. Feeling like you've been run over by a bus when you scootch out of bed in the morning, and then feeling like a 90-year-old the rest of the day isn't something to be jealous of. Luckily I haven't been run over by a bus. And I'm not 90, either, and in a couple of months I'll be feeling more like myself. A tired version of myself, but I'd take tired over the bus any day.
On a lighter note, I took Sophie in for her 18-month check up. Like the last three appointments, she's average height and between the 5th and 10th percentile for weight. She's growing at a normal rate, though, so no one's worried that she's so little.
They wanted me to have her blood checked again for iron and lead. When I took her in 9 months ago for the same blood draw, she was amazingly calm. She didn't make a peep and just watched the needle go in and out. I, on the other hand, couldn't watch. I was worried that because she was older this time, she'd cry, but she didn't. Even though her arm got bumped (ahem, by me . . . I feel awful) , the needle slid out of the vein, and they had to poke her in the other arm to finish. Still no crying, whimpering, or even a quivering lip.