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Trick or Treat?

It’s a good thing that I don’t get paid to write this thing, huh?  I mean, who disappears for nearly three months without a word.  Well, other than the words I’ve written on Twitter or Facebook.  Or BBM and texts and emails.  But yeah, barely a word.

Well, if you are moving to a new continent (not new to me… but new to live for Lee and the midgets) and then doing the look for a job, a house and car thing, then you sprinkle a bit of stressing over when the hell your stuff from Point A is going to arrive in Point B … you might slack in other areas too.

Especially if when you arrive you start feeling ill.

For the first weeks we were here, all I basically said was: I’m freezing! Am I getting a cold? Is that an earache coming on? Fuckity Fuck Fuck.. we have no doctor.. I can’t be sick!!  Ugh, my stomach hurts.   I need to sleep.  My back. My ovary.  I think I’m going to be sick!!

Then I peed on a stick.  I mean there was no way right?  I mean there is a way.  But chances were super-duper-practically-totally impossible.  Only, less than 2 minutes later I was met with THIS:

yes plus

 

YES +?!  + what?!  Plus a new car? Plus more babies?!   A simple YES would have been cool.  Though, to be honest, a NO would have also been most excellent.

So I tried to do the math.  Only one date fit and it still made no sense.  But there wasn’t any other possibility.  Unless out of nowhere I’ve developed a crazy sleepwalking habit where I slang my wares to random strangers in my sleep.  Only I think someone would have noticed.  I HOPE someone would have noticed.

With our shaky history, we didn’t want to say much.   Plus we were just about to take on a huge mortgage and having started basically from scratch when we got here, the reality of adding an extra mouth to feed and diaper was and remains TERRIFYING.  And that economic car that we bought with the astronomical insurance because I am ‘new’ … in the land where I got my license …  it doesn’t fit three car seats.

So we kept it pretty quiet.  I didn’t even get any medical personnel involved until last week, when I went to my first midwife appointment.  There we discussed the fact that stomach was out of control and I couldn’t believe how much it had grown for only 9 weeks.  So I got sent to have a dating scan to make sure that there was only one and that nothing was going crazy up in there.

It’s so not like in England.  I had to go to a generic lab where they were doing x-rays and ultrasounds for a variety of things.  They don’t have the flat screens for you to watch and they don’t tell you what they are doing as they click away on their keyboard right next to you.   Luckily for me I got a chatty technician and after she was done the official stuff, she gave me a look at all the vital parts and I made a comment about that looking more baby like than I thought 10 weeks would be and she came back with …

That baby isn’t 10 weeks.  That baby is 14 weeks.

Plus One Chillaxing

Say what?

How?

Who?

Huh?

I couldn’t figure out the math or how on earth that was possible.  I still can’t get over how it is.. but it is.

And holy shit! I have a whole less month to prepare.  This is crazy.  I am crazy.  I need time to spread out the crazy.

I sat up like a bolt of lightning. But I got drunk! Like stinking drunk! She said what was done was done and the baby looks fine and healthy.  Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t decide to start shooting up as my last hurrah before leaving England.

So I walked out of the appointment yesterday on a cloud.  A cloud made of crack.  YAY no twins!  But where’d I lose a month!?  Why the hell am I still SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO nauseous?!!?  Am I going to fit into the seats at the ACC on the 17th of December when my presence is required to cheer on my Canucks when they skate into town?  And what kind of car fits three car seats, that isn’t a minivan?!  Does it exist?!

That last one was serious.  Does it exist?!

So here, for all of the Internet to see is the tiny person we’ve been calling +1.  Though Noah has put in a demand to change his/her name to Hamster.

Hamster Brotherston.

Bebe Frontin

I know. That shot makes the baby look like a Mii. S/he has their Halloween costume already!

This one make me worry about the stomach to butt ratio.

Babys Got Back

That is one tiny bum! Perhaps this baby will finally inherit the long leg, normal thigh, non-J-Lo butt combo that has escaped the other two!

I guess we’ll see in April!

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the look of silence

Have you ever stood in the middle of Toys R Us surrounded by the crying, the pleading and the laughter of children? Have you ever stood in the middle of Toys R Us and all of its atmospheric madness whilst knowing that you were having a miscarriage?

I have.

Although I’ve been pretty open about things here, I’ve never gone there. Unfortunately, that is where I am right now. A zombie with a short temper, painful stomach aches and all consuming nausea.

It’s almost funny. The exact things I am feeling now that are letting me know that my body is ‘cleansing’ (as the registrar put it) itself, are the exact things I felt when I was pregnant with Noah. Only at that time, the midwife was reassuring me that the sicker I felt the better it was because it meant things were ‘working’ and that the sicker you are, the stronger the baby is.

So when we found out about this baby, all of my nausea and dizziness made sense. The inability to travel in a car without wanting to throw up and crying at everything on television. Even the commercials. And we let things sink in for a couple of weeks before we truly accepted that this was our new reality and our life would change, but we’d figure it out and although I struggle at home with Noah and Amy I’d convinced myself that I’d be better with three. It makes no sense, no, but the fact that I wasn’t scared was a relief. It wasn’t a feeling I felt through the pregnancies that resulted in Noah and Amy, or the ones that didn’t result in anyone.

Sure, I panicked at first. We didn’t believe it. We held the test under every different light source we could find, turned it sideways, shook it like it was an Etch-a-Sketch and finally gave in and went for the one that would say it in words. And it said it. We didn’t know how to tell anyone, because we knew that the excitement that most people had when we announced BoB and Cheese wouldn’t be there. That made me sad. But I got over it and had moved on mentally because something kept telling me that things were all going to be fine. Even if it meant that all of our holidays from now were going to be taken in the car .. to public parks .. or dumpster diving.

Sadly, my confidence was based on rubbish theories that mean absolutely nothing. Without crossing into the way too much information territory, I ended up at the doctor on Saturday, and from there I went to the hospital for an ultrasound. The last time I had an early scan it was not good news. I knew right away and I accepted it quickly. Helped only by the fact that my grief levels were maxed out already. At the doctor’s office they did a urine test to confirm what I knew and she said that the levels weren’t low at all so I went off looking to be told to go home and stop worrying.

When I got to the assessment unit there was a mother, a mother-in-law, mommy to be and daddy to be all looking at their scan photos and talking about how they could relax now and were so grateful to see that everything was alright. I took it as a good sign and went into the scan room confidently. They tried the normal route and we could see the baby, but the registrar said sine it was early there was too much interference and he needed to scan internally. I was already thrilled because at the last early scan we saw where the baby was supposed to be, but wasn’t. As soon as he did the internal I looked at the screen and I didn’t have to look at his face. He started to say “If you look here; there is the baby, there is the fetal pole and this…”, but I cut him off. I looked at him and said “But there’s no heartbeat”.

I should have been a doctor. When there is something wrong to be seen on an ultrasound, I can see it right away. He kept trying, and I couldn’t stop looking, but we knew. He apologised, I cracked a joke, he left the room and I broke down to the nurse while I got dressed again. It’s funny how uninhibited you are in front of someone when it comes to babies.

Due to the long weekend and the fact that I wasn’t bleeding, I was sent home to see if “this cleared naturally” though I had to book an ‘official’ ultrasound for the coming week because they were only the assessment unit. Thanks. Exactly what I needed after seeing what looked like a perfectly formed, blueberry sized, human with paddles for hands. Another chance to take a peek to see what if anything is left. Can you think of anything more exciting?

Especially as in the meantime I just get to go on cramping and feeling like I am going to throw up everywhere, without much of anything else happening .. all whilst trying to make sure everything is in order so that Amy has a super awesome 2nd birthday on Saturday like she deserves!

I think it is safe to say: Worst Long Weekend EVER.

*and once again a massive thank you to Lee who picked up ALL of the slack (and there was a lot of it) around the house and made sure that The Midgets didn’t really lose out on having fun with their parents both at home. Obviously not the easiest time for him either, but he totally stepped up while I totally turned into a giant ball of moaning grump on the sofa. You totally deserve to have a secret girlfriend, so go ahead and get Garcia’s number!

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Papercuts on my brain

I currently live in a state of unrest.  A war is raging in this house between The Boxed and The Un-Boxed items.  And now that we are going with these shippers who do the boxing for you, we are in a dangerous state of limbo.   All not helped massively by the horrid real estate processed of England.

Our house is ‘sold’.  For the 3rd time now.  Same buyer, but still no completion date.  How do people ever successfully move like this?  Do you live with all of your possession in boxes until someone says “GO!” and then you find a truck, pack it and get out by noon?!   Are we the only people to have sold their house who have two children?  Who need to cancel pre-scool places with 2 weeks notice, cancel utilities for the right date, or sell a car without leaving us transportationless?!

And how about when you say you are going to buy a house, know beforehand whether you can afford to progress with that sale.  Don’t just say it because it seemed like a good idea that day, but 3 weeks later you wake up and say “nah, forget it”.  I don’t know who you are, but I hope karma does.  Asshole.  Or in this case, plural.

In the meantime we are still wrestling with the Travel Insurance people over our cancelled flight LAST AUGUST.  We are still waiting on an appointment with the Infectious Disease Pediatric Specialist to figure out when she is going to see Amy and wondering when we are supposed to book flights.  The day before we leave?!

As though this has not made me emotionally volatile as it is, I’m sick AGAIN.  Since Noah’s birth I have rarely developed a full on cold and now two in the space of a month.  My finger tips look like I have been wrestling with a shark and my brain feels like it has.  And I found another grey eyebrow.

Not all is bad though.  Just when I am feeling my lowest, I can whisper in Noah’s ear and then turn my from upside down when he looks at Lee and says “Daddy smells like stinky socks”.

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In Need of a Super Power

I have so much to share. So many photos are waiting to be uploaded to various sites. Unfortunately, I have no energy. Seriously. Like none. As in my eyes are tearing up with The Tired as I type this and there is a good possibility that I will fall asleep before I finish the entry.

THAT is how great the past week has been.

These over-sized Louis Vuitton steamer trunks I am carrying beneath my eyes have been so worth it. Either that or they were a non-returnable birthday present from Mother Nature. If the latter is the case, there’s going to be a fight. Once I get a little more energy.

Last weekend we took Noah to the doctor because he told us he needed one. That and he had an ear infection. We’d all been suffering some form of sinus cold and had issues with the ears. He got antibiotics which we had to smuggle down his throat and he was instantly better. Aside from the needing to blow his nose thing, but he plays with bird poo, so it comes with the territory.

I, on the other hand, have not fared as well. My earache appears to have manifested itself into some sort of temporary deafness. But not total deafness. I can hear the ocean and other noises, but anything on my right sounds like I’m eavesdropping from the room next door.

Worse than that, is this more than slightly disgusting taste/smell in deep, dark inaccessible regions of my nasal cavity/throat. As if my body felt that I wasn’t responsible enough to figure out when to blow my nose, it has given this odoriferous reminder that smells like 1000 rotting skunk carcasses somehow crawled into my sinuses when I distracted by one of the midgets spilling their cereal milk all over the floor. And the only thing worse than smelling 1000 rotting skunk carcasses is tasting 1000 rotting skunk carcasses.

So nearly two weeks in I’m getting worse and the doctor’s only advice to me was to take ibuprofen. Unless they have a new kind of ibuprofen that smells like The Yankee Candle Co. Christmas Cookie when you pop it up your nose, then I’m not seeing how this is going to help the situation. Last I checked, ibuprofen didn’t help toddlers understand why their struggling to breathe, swallow or exist mother isn’t happy clapping about their recorder playing, furniture drumming or wrestling.

And then when I was changing Noah’s diaper earlier, a mini marble of poo rolled out and landed on my thigh.

Because that’s the type of day today is.

So hear me loud and clear, Monday 11th of April: JOG ON!

P.S: Carcasses should’ve totally been Carci. So much easier to type.

I am the first to admit that I am not the best person for this whole Housewife/Stay At Home Mother job.

I’m lazy.  I’m selfish.  I have the patience of a really impatient thing.  I’m tired.  I’m grumpy. If I get to shower before bedtime, I’m ahead of the game.  And if I shower AND brush my hair, well things are going REALLY well that day.

But there are times where I know that I will miss the screaming, cupboard slamming, crying, total disregard for what I’m saying, tantrum throwing, eggs smashed on the kitchen floor days that I have with these two midget monsters and just laugh.

There are also times where I see them staging an intervention and putting me on some show like Hoarders or How Clean Is  Your House and I can get my domestic goddess ass into gear and make it look like Molly Maid lives here.

But mostly I surf the wave of mediocrity and hope that one day it will click.  That I will unlock the secret to being good at everything I need to be good at and that I will actually enjoy it too.

Until then, I will fool them all and make them forget my ever growing list of shortcomings with things like this:

Mmmm Cake

Marble Madness

On the days where to retain sanity, I have to put all of my energy into the midgets and none into the house,  it is easy to gloss over the non vacuumed stairs by saying “I didn’t get around to much of my To Do List, but I did bake a cake. With Raspberries on top!”

Magic Cake

And All Is Forgotten

See, Noah agrees.  And how could he not.  After a brief rendezvous with the Icing Spatula.

Sugar High

My Mommy Is The Best ..... Sometimes.

And if a marble cake with chocolate glace icing and raspberries doesn’t do the trick, then bust out the tacos.  Seriously.

Easy Peasy Mexcanesey.

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Back It Up

After my roaring start to the year – one whole blog from me and one from Amy – I stalled. Not because I am lazy either. At least not this time. This time I had a genuine reason. I mean I had stories I wanted to tell. Stories so great that they needed photos. And I got some photos. And then I put it off one day because I realised one of the stories shows what a true marshmallow head I am and I debated keeping that one to myself. While I tossed the Should I Shouldn’t I ball back and forth in my mind, I sat on Noah’s bed to sort through the Toys to Keep and Toys to Donate and then stood up.

Only I didn’t stand up, because on the way up some sort of monster put a headlock on the base of my spine and forced my mouth open to release an almighty yelp. I knew this pain. The last time I had this pain I was on the phone with my Momma and my aunt and Noah was about 8 months old and wanted to be picked up and I went to get him and ended up falling to the floor along with him. And I pretty much stayed there until Lee got home to help me to bed.

Well this time I tried to push through it. I vacuumed the stairs. I changed the midgets. I fed them. I let them know that whatever they wanted to whine about was going to have to wait because they were dealing with less than half a parent with less than half her usual depleted amount of patience. And then Lee came home again.

Let me tell you. If Lee had a habit of not coming home, these children would have packed their belongings and did the whole I Divorce You, You Incompetent Excuse for Mother a long time ago. Luckily they have a great father. A great father who proceeded to change every diaper for the next 4 days whilst I cried, moaned, squealed, whined, broke, unbroke, crawled, rocked, hobbled and everything else possible to try and get fixed. I even endured two bruise resulting sports massages. To be honest, by yesterday I thought that I was going to wake up this morning and hop out of bed like nothing had ever happened. Tonight I am sitting here with a bag of peas on my back, afraid to go to bed in case I seize up worse, and am so over this.

So if anyone was thinking that they really wanted to drag Noah to preschool tomorrow in the rain while he cries to be hugged and go home, you are so welcome to do so. Otherwise I should get to bed because it is going to be quite the journey as I crawl there with the midgets on my back, only stopping to shake him free at the front door.

Oh yeah, so having a one woman pity party here.

So there are more posts to come. And I will get around to telling the other stories, but for now I am going to walk around the house aimlessly in hopes that this back sorts itself out.

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Where In The World…

…Is This Baby?!

I can say with certainty that the past 5 days have felt longer than the 40 weeks leading up to them.

Especially when you’re carrying THIS around:

39+5

That was last Sunday.  I was not overdue then.  I am now.  I am also even bigger than I was then.  I’ve got a baby’s head pressing down in a place that doesn’t really enjoy the feeling.  Around three times a day, contractions start and as soon as we think “okay, here we go…”, they disappear.  The only way I can describe it is frustrating.  Sometimes I just break down and cry, other times I can’t help but laugh.  I was silly when I fell for everyone saying that BoB was going to arrive early.  I allowed myself to get excited to finally meet my little daughter or son.  And every night when I go to sleep now and wake up still unable to walk like a normal person with no end in sight, I am just crushed.  Over and over.

It doesn’t help that as tired as I am, sleep is not that easy to come by because rolling over means putting my body through a lot of pain.  Getting out of the bed to pee 3+ times a night is even worse.  Everyone keeps telling me that it will be worth it whenever BoB finally arrives, but it is getting really hard to look at the positives anymore.

Randy is somewhere in England at the moment, so hopefully this baby will stop waiting for the big arrival.  Everyone is here that is coming and yeah okay, it might be warm and comfy on the inside, but it’s only comfy for one of us…and that is not me.

What this baby doesn’t realise is that the longer he or she waits,  the chances of me getting sad increase and I need all of the energy I can to get this little fatty out.  He/She has no idea how hard it is to try and keep focused and positive and it scares me that all of the work I’ve put into this will just disappear if I keep on waiting longer and longer.

Plus, I’ve seen my insides before…and they’re far less attractive than my outside.  It’s true, I’ve got it on video!

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Black and White ..err Pink

I have returned from the dead.  At least that is how I was feeling, and kind of still am.  Over the past 24 hours I have learnt that being 7.5 months pregnant with gastroenteritis style issues is nothing compared to being 8.5 months pregnant with the same ones.

This week has been another one of ups and downs.  I started the nesting thing and things I’ve been meaning to do for ages actually got done.  It was great.  Leaving the house wasn’t high on my agenda if I didn’t have to go which has been good because it means that I don’t really shop for anything… anything that I cannot get online.  This week I’ve placed three online orders.  That is more than I placed in all of 2007.  Though to be fair, they were not spur of the moment purchases and they were thought through, so BoB has not actually aided in my Need To Shop, but added a whole new Let’s Stop And Think About This aspect that I never had before.  We now have our Moby Wrap (which Lee can tie a whole lot better than I can, though a non massive tummy seems to help), and some books for the First Year; Lee’s is awesome, mine is … a bookend now.  The third delivery is due to arrive on Tuesday… MY GLIDER! Woo Hoo!!

With the arrival of the glider, the nursery will be complete.  Well, as complete as you get without a baby in it.  The photos are in their frames just waiting to be hung.  A task we were going to do today, but my sudden addition to the Disabled List meant that things had to slow down.  That’s okay, because I am happy just looking at the photos in their frames at the moment, and until I can nap in the glider and admire the art work, there is no one to look at them on the walls.

This week we also went and met the consultant and the midwife at The Horton. The consultant made us a bit nervous at first because he didn’t seem to be the friendliest man in the world when he was calling people, but once inside his office everything was alright.  He took a look at the results of BoB’s Growth Scan and has requested that we have another one on the 14th to check on BoB’s growth as Milton Keynes General didn’t bother guesstimating the weight at the scan from two weeks ago.  We’re crossing our fingers that BoB will be under 4kg at the next scan because that seems to be some magic number that he is going to be looking out for.  Though when this child moves, it is hard to believe that he/she might be anything less than 15 pounds.  Especially when that lovely bang on average head of his/hers decides to headbutt my cervix.

The midwife was also nice and answered a lot of questions for us.  She offered to take over my care as I’ll be delivering there and I hadn’t been given another midwife appointment with my regular midwife.  She also explained more in detail what the growth scan will be looking for which boiled down to: Is BoB Just A Porker or Is The Belly Outgrowing  The Rest For Some Reason.  To be honest, I thought that it would scare me to hear that there was any alternative to BoB just being a a fatty, but she was pretty calm about it and didn’t seem panicked at all.

In fact, everyone we’ve dealt with at that hospital has been great.  When booking our next (and last!) ultrasound and consultant appointment with the receptionist, even she was really nice to us.  And honest.  She booked it for the 14th and said “we’ll see you then, if not before”.  To be honest, as realistic as that is, I hope that BoB doesn’t arrive before then.  I’m still getting the house, and my head prepared for this.

You’d think that I’ve had a LOT of time to wrap my head around this, but there was that bit where I was loopy and spent my time thinking about everything else other than what was happening. Plus, BoB is due to be here in 16 days.  SIXTEEN… one six… as in Trevor Linden’s jersey number… How did this happen?… Where did time go!?

Before that ultrasound I have another appointment…at my house!  Carrie my midwife from the start of this pregnancy is going to be doing a homevisit on Friday because I cannot fit in to the schedule at the GP’s office.  And what is my biggest fear!? I have no idea how to make coffee or tea.  I should have paid attention to when Jay was trying to teach me or when my team at work was trying to force me to drink caffeine beverages so that I could be the Coffee/Tea Wench.  Maybe it will work out that she has an allergy to caffeine and will be happy with some 7 Up or water or juice.

Right, anyway, I think lack of sleep is making me loopy and far more babble prone than usual, so I will throw up some photos taken tonight to show that this little dude/dudette is continuing to grow and grow even though he/she may be big enough already!

Please excuse how I look, but there is only so much I can do to cover the amount of sick I’ve been feeling.

Please also note that the pink photo was taken about 20 minutes before the black photo.  Upon reviewing the results of these photos, I have decided that I shall wear nothing but black for the rest of my life!!!

BoB and I at 37weeks 5days:

Big Pink

Front On 37w5d

BoB's House - Left Side

BoB's House - Right Side

Some babies look like they are drowning in newborn sized diapers.  I put the diaper up against BoB’s bum and was suddenly relieved that we have stockpiled on the tiny diapers!

Covering BoB's Butt

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I want off of this rollercoaster

As this pregnancy winds down, it would appear that my short temper (my colleagues refer to it as my Pregnancy Tourettes) and urge to cry at a drop of a hat has made a return.  Everything is starting to make me sad.  I was looking at the movie listings today and decided it was best that I not even entertain the idea of a movie because what if I cry during it… and what if I cannot stop.

Oh and I’m also starting to find things too funny.  How can something be too funny?  By making you laugh so hard, your already sensitive bladder threatens to fail you if you so much dare to chuckle/guffaw/even breathe one more time.   Yesterday some people were worried that I was going to laugh the baby out.  Today I put yesterday to shame.   I couldn’t breathe at one point because I was laughing so hard.

Maybe I am starting to panic internally.  I mean sure we’ve built a pretty nursery and BoB should have enough clothes to get him/her through the first week.. but I’m suddenly starting to realise that it doesn’t mean that I am going to be any good at this.  I’ve always been great with other people’s children, but I’ve never had my own baby at home with me 24 hours a day.  I don’t even know what I am supposed to do.  I’ve never sat down and thought about it because I thought it would be something that came naturally, and now…now I realise I am at a complete loss.  What if I can’t breastfeed… I haven’t so much as looked at what kind of formula they have here in England, never mind which would be best for the baby.   How am I going to handle the lack of sleep?  Am I ever going to recover from exhaustion of labour?  How am I going to get the baby to stop crying at 3am when Lee has to get up a few hours later to go to work?!  Sure, my Mom is coming to help out for a bit, but what happens when she leaves?!?!  Are there things you are not allowed to eat when breastfeeding??  Do I read a book and start living my life by the rules laid out within it, or do I wing it and risk making a massive mistake??

Yes, I know that every parent makes mistakes, but I want to try and make as few as possible.  I just have no idea how to go about it.   Is it even normal to be more afraid of actually raising my baby than managing to get an entire human out of my vagina, which contrary to what “they” say may not be made for this kind of thing.  I’m having a hard time picturing it.  Ugh, now I am feeling nauseous.  It’s not a pretty image.

All of this internal stress and panic is starting to show and yesterday Lee took photos of me to put up here, but I couldn’t put them up right away.  I could see the tired, I could see the stress… worst of all, I could see the roots.  My hair has not been touched since July (by a hair dresser that is).  I’ve not had the benefit of being in a country that has much sunshine either, which always makes things better because it can give a few natural highlights.

Perhaps when I get through the endless stream of appointments next week and have a chance to have my legs waxed, get my massage and pedicure and possibly fit in a hight lighting session, I might start relaxing.  If not, I might just be happy with the external improvements and hope that I don’t screw this baby up too much.

I can only go on what I know… and that’s scares me.

Picture Time!

All taken at 35 weeks and 2 days  (that’s 1 week and 5 days until fully cookedness)

35w2d: on the front line

35w2d: The side with BoB's bum

35w2d: all hands on BoB

35w2d: Being supportive

This last one is me actually pointing to either side of BoB’s “healthy bum”:

35w2d: BoB's Bum

And a BoB update from his/her personalised ticker:  I am a little less than 19 inches tall & all my organ systems are complete & being finalised. I’m 35 weeks and 3 days old, only 32 days to go!