Ignore the messy flat in the background.... five loads of baby laundry a day has slowed down my other housekeeping chores (err, as has a certain fantasy novel, The Wise Man's Fear, ahh so distractingly & absorbingly good).
But anyway... I'm huge! Right? Although I'm only going to get bigger!
AND I went to the osteopath the other day (for my increasing pelvic pain) and he was feeling where the baby's head was... and baby boy is already 2 - 3 cm engaged!! Now, the osteopath used to be a nurse, but he's not a midwife or OB, so I'm not sure exactly what he meant. I think it means baby's head is already 2-3 cm down into my pelvis - aka he's already "dropped." Which would explain why I haven't been experiencing the trademark breathlessness of the 3rd trimester (despite my very short torso.) It also explains the increasing pelvic pain. His head pressing down on my pelvis isn't helping my pelvis' stability issues.
I have a midwife appointment on Wednesday so hopefully I'll know more about the implications of his having already dropped by asking her. Although she's only a tad bit brighter than a ton of bricks sooooo I might not. I do have an appointment with an OB in mid-November though. Which is a real long ways away. I don't have any alarming symptoms (not even any Braxton-Hicks!) so I think baby boy is really just, as the osteopath put it, testing out his exit strategy - and everything is a-okay.
Sometimes I do think he's trying to bust out. He kicks and punches so hard! Last night he was kicking and punching - at. the. same. time. It feels like your belly is housing a seesaw instead of a cute little bitty baby. I always thought those little striped jail-bird baby onesies with the slogans about 9-months behind bars or whatnot were crass and very white-trashy. Well, I still think they're crass and white-trashy, but I do see the relevance now.
We're off to Paris this weekend! It will be a marathon of doing a lot of sitting and eating and absorbing the beauty that is Paris, by um, walking only 15 minutes at a time at a very, very, very, I-can't-believe-my-husband-isn't-going-stir-crazy-and-old-ladies-with-canes-are-passing-me pace. But there will be croissants. And other beautiful pastries. And chocolate. And crepes. And aren't you glad I don't have gestational diabetes?! Because I am!