24 weeks = Viability. Of course I do not want them to come yet. It is the thing I obsess over now, yet, if they came there would be no medical question of whether or not to try and save them. Everything possible would be done to support and save them because they very well could make it. But, if you’re listening babies, keep cooking. Stay in there til the last week in June, that’s what we’re hoping for.
I’ve had a stretch of feeling pretty good. Less tired, free of nausea, diabetes under control. Hallelujah! This has coincided nicely with some beautiful spring days, cherry and plum blossoms, daffodils, birds singing.I have lumbered my large body up some hills in the gorge, and got to sit barefoot and bare armed in the sunshine the other day watching my son stand in a freezing creek throwing rocks to his heart’s content. My pasty arms tingled with the warmth filtrating my hairs, penetrating beneath the skin, drying out my bones. Behind me a cascade of misty pearls dropped from overhanging moss, half of it evaporating before it hit the ground causing rainbows. I felt that sunshine all the way into my thumping heart, trying to get air into my squished up lungs. One baby wiggled up against my ribs, another kicked at my pelvis. Joy.
The flipside of my more active days is that I get very tired and grumpy by evening, and the Braxton Hick contractions come more readily and with greater force. My kid doesn’t generally let me sit and put my feet up for long periods of time, so this can be hard to manage, but we’re getting through. This sun. It is such a luxury to sit in the backyard and be warm and dry, to let Caden play barefoot in his sand box or make structures with sticks and buckets and hoses and just be comfortable relaxing outside. We are settling in now for a long stretch of spring rain, and I’m glad my skin and heart got enough sun to carry me through.
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