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20 week obstetrician appointment was today. Everything appears to be wonderfully, banally normal. The resident didn’t measure my uterus, just poked my belly button, said “Yup, right at the belly button. No need to measure.”

It took him a while to find the heart beat, but since just fifteen minutes prior Babby had appeared to be under the impression that my uterus was a trampoline, I didn’t worry this time.

…Well, except for that tiny voice in my head that said “what if those movements were Babby’s DEATH THROES??”

But that doesn’t count.

Anyway, 156 beats per minute, which is good.

The weirdest thing is that they seemed totally unconcerned about my weight. I keep expecting them to yell at me and tell me to stop being such a fatty, Fatty. But when I brought up my concerns about my inability to eat things that have protein, they just said to eat what I could (like yoghurt), exercise to balance off the extra sugar I’m taking in, and assured me that according to their scale, I was only 4.5 lb heavier than last month, which is fine.

…Leaving me completely baffled. I’m pretty darn sure that when I got on their scale (and they use the little slidey scale kind, for some reason, so I had to do fast math) it said I was over 180 lbs. Pre-pregnancy I was at my heaviest ever… 165 or so.  That seems like a heller amount of weight gain considering that Babby isn’t even 1 lb yet. I do NOT think I’m carrying 14 lbs of amniotic fluid/placenta. Mind you, they only weighed me first at 12 weeks, and I think I put on nearly 10 pounds during those early months. So maybe I’ve hit, like, a fat plateau.

Anyway, in other news, Perfect Husband has decided that the Babby is a genius. We were downtown Friday night, eating in Cafe Crepe and making fun of the throbbing, pulsing, derivative music that kids listen to these days. After he came back from paying the bill, I said;

“Uh… don’t read too much into this, because I’m sure it’s a coincidence, but while you were gone, I swear I felt a bunch of twitches that seemed to go to the rhythm of the music, and then, when the bass went BUM BUMP! I felt a tiny bum-bump! Right at the same time.”

“YES!” he said, punching the air, “That’s MY CHILD!!”

He may be a little concerned about our child inheriting my inability to count time.

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