As I waddle my way to the finish line at world’s slowest speed, and with a slight limp from Relaxin-filled hips, I find myself wondering what’s going on in there. Do I really need a […]
As I waddle my way to the finish line at world’s slowest speed, and with a slight limp from Relaxin-filled hips, I find myself wondering what’s going on in there.
Do I really need a third trimester?
If my baby’s organs were pretty much developed by 16 weeks, what, besides weight, is there left to do in there? And if weight is the only issue, we have a Dairy Queen not too far from our house, and that is something I could easily remedy.
But, because everything has a reason, even trimesters, here’s what’s going on during months seven to nine:
He’s gaining weight.
During the first six weeks of the third trimester, my baby doubled in size growing from around 1.5 to 3.5 pounds. He also grew from around 14 inches to almost 17 inches. Of course, I don’t really know if these numbers are right. I’m just assuming they are because the idea of him being bigger than the statistical average makes me want to get an epidural now.
He’s staying healthy.
My baby’s growth this trimester indicates how his health is doing. So, if I had an ultrasound tomorrow his head, stomach and thighbones could be measured to calculate his approximate weight (ideally under 10lbs) and his size (hopefully, smaller than a hippo).
He’s listening very carefully.
His hearing is improving daily, which means he hears everything that’s going on in our house. This makes me 99 percent sure he will pass his due date in the hopes of avoiding the constant daily drama over who gets to wear the princess, pink dress-up slippers as long as possible.
He’s losing his fur.
The thin layer of hair (lanugo) that covers my baby’s body has started to fall off. It’ll be replaced with vernix, a protective, white coating, not unlike car wax.
He’s gearing up to be ready by 37 weeks. Just in case.
Once I reach 37 weeks, I’m considered to be at full term. This is the point when I pack my bag, sit by the door and wait four more weeks for my water to break. Assuming it breaks again this time.
Until then, does anyone want to go with me to Dairy Queen? I’ll let you wear the princess, pink dress-up slippers.