Who Am I?

The title of this post reminds me of the Children's Encyclopedia that dad used to read when he was a kid, in which every volume featured a "Who Am I?" article -- or wait, was that "Where Am I?" Crud. He can't remember.

Anyhow that's all besides the point. Mom's OB appointment on Dec. 1 came and went, and do you think she remembered to ask the physician the one most important question on her mind? Of course not. Pregnancy seems not only to allegedly affect tooth composition, but seems also to have obvious effects on mental capacity. End result -- my gender remains a mystery, not only to everyone else, but to myself, too. ROAR.

To make matters worse, it seems I may be subject to the rigors of labor. Woe Is Me. Here I was expecting a nice, big incision to be opened for me at a scheduled time and place, and now instead I'm going to be jammed out head first down that cramped tunnel they call the birth canal. Not all hope is lost though -- mom has been offered the option of a "natural" delivery, but may opt for the C-section anyway if, ultimately, she feels the risk of complications during delivery (uterine rupture, for one) are too great. I dunno -- I just don't want a cone head!

Freakin' Canadian Healthcare

So dad's pretty stoked about me being born in Canada, but in the meantime, I suffer the consequences of having to navigate an overloaded healthcare system. All this time mom's been wanting a specialist for her and me, and only this week did I finally get an appointment with an OB, and even that isn't until December! Geez, I'll practically already be born by then! Ethan, Isaac, and Lilly all got regular checkups while they were gestating -- at least once a month from the first trimester on -- what's up with my second-class treatment already?

Eat that Gary!

Lately there seem to have been misunderstandings regarding my viability and growth: Ectopic pregnancy -- not. Irregularities in development -- not. Miscarriage -- not. Low hCG levels -- well, maybe that, but c'mon, if everything's working okay as is, why should I have to spend time coaxing my corpus luteum to suddenly start producing more hormones just to improve my percentile rank in the Gaussian distribution? There are much better things to do -- like working out.

I'll be the first to admit that, in my confined space within the placenta, working out has its inherent dangers. Like two weeks ago, when, during a particularly vigorous session of high-impact aerobics, I accidentally put my foot through the amniotic membrane and caused a bit of leakage and bleeding. Well, the hole was patched up quick enough, but the damage was already done, suspicions were raised, and before I knew it, another imaging technician was blasting me with ultrasonic pulses and pushing me around with her wand for the second time in a month.

Being ultrasounded may not be the most comfortable experience, but in using the pictures above (first taken at about 12 weeks, second taken around 15 weeks) to evaluate the success of my workout program, it is rather gratifying to realize that I've probably quadrupled my body weight in only THREE WEEKS! Sure beats the workout program Gary's using, who thought a gain of 10 lbs. over four months was great -- well, all I have to say is you can eat that Gary!