This is my new mantra – every morning, as I roll all of my weight onto my elbow in order to sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Petite and powerful I whisper with every kick, blurb, roll over. Petite and powerful, she dances 30 minutes after my first glass of orange juice, waves to her future big brother through the opening in my bathrobe, under an expanding belly that looks more like bread dough about to overtake the bowl.
Petite and powerful is what I hoped, silently, on our way to the specialists’ office last Friday afternoon, when H took wrong turn after wrong turn, making me wish we had relied on my car and sense of direction. Petite and powerful I thought, feeling the warm sticky gel on my abdomen, while saying to the 5th tech, “Bicornuate uterus, placenta at the top of the left fundus, very active, though she lost a quadrile in weight last month”. Petite and powerful held her own this month, staying in the 30’s percentilewise, giving her father and mother breathing room – though keeping her mother chained to 120g protein a day.
At this stage of the game, it means she’s about 4 lbs, and that the best signals we have from her are the powerful – her movements are hardly ever delicate. She muscles around just like her brother, looking for space to stretch. She sometimes sends an arm or leg low in my womb, as if she’s going to kick her way out. When she’s quiet for a long stretch, I go back to the fridge for a juice, sip a cup, and wait.
Yesterday, the nurse at my regular OB’s office confirmed my thinking – all I have to do is make it through the next 4 weeks, eating plenty of protein, keeping off my feet, and avoiding stress. To that, I add “petite and powerful”, and feel 1 November coming to meet the both of us, bringing her out to meet the world.
By the way, the love and support we’ve received since my last post has been a godsend. I think it kept both of us growing, supported, and strong. My love and thanks in return.