32 weeks

Not much new to report on the pregnancy front, thank goodness. After much agonizing, I realized that the fact that I was hoping Baby Brother would remain breech, thus taking the to-VBAC-or-not-to-VBAC decision out of my hands, was telling in and of itself. So at my 30-week appointment, I told my OB that I wanted an elective c-section...and she said that given the baby's still-breech position, chances are it would have been out of my hands anyway. We can't actually schedule the surgery yet, since the hospital doesn't open up the OR schedule until 6 weeks in advance, but it's looking like July 24 is the day. (My doctor does scheduled surgeries on Tuesdays, and wants to get me to 39 weeks but not past 40.)

Sometime in the last week, I hit a wall. Between the sudden heat here in Big City, and my increasing size (I'm already at the weight I was when Bat Girl was born, and based on photographic evidence have a much bigger belly), I'm suddenly exhausted, achy, short of breath, slow-moving, waddling...just physically spent. I remember feeling DONE in the last month or two of pregnancy with BG, but the one advantage of being on bed rest was that I didn't have to haul my ass to work, or try to bathe a 5-year-old, or ever stand up for more than a minute. Luckily the contractions are still erratic, though I do have a lot of pelvic pressure, so I'm trying to hydrate and stay off my feet as much as possible.

The big news is that we are moving! A larger (3-bedroom) apartment opened up in our building, and with a little cash passed to the building super to grease the wheels, it looks like it's ours. The only hitch is that we won't be able to move in until June 30...3 weeks before this baby comes. My husband is basically handling the entire move solo, since I will be next to useless. The good thing about moving one floor down is that we don't even really need to pack--just pile things into carts and dollies and wheel them into the elevator, though we'll have to get some help with the larger pieces of furniture. We're using part of our tax refund to buy a sofabed--the first new couch I've ever owned in my adult life. I slipped down the rabbit hole for a little while researching flame retardants etc. but since I don't have $7000 to spend I'm just throwing up my hands and buying something from a chain store and will maybe throw an organic cotton slipcover on it to make myself feel better (and to protect the couch from baby fluids, in case you were wondering about the wisdom of acquiring a new couch and a new baby at the same time).

Last week I took my old breast pump in to be inspected at the local embarrassingly-named everything-lactation store. (Side note: Why must all things breastfeeding-related be so terribly named?) For $10, they examine all the parts, tell you what needs to be replaced, and even use a little pressure gauge to make sure your pump is still sucking adequately. Despite its history of hard use, my pump was deemed to be in excellent working condition, and all the parts ready for action, down to the little teensy membranes. I had some PTBD(TM) flashbacks when I heard the wheeze of the motor, I must admit. The milk lady recommended that if I needed help establishing supply, I should rent a hospital-grade pump to start with...not sure if I will, but I'll consider it.

I'm going into the whole breastfeeding thing with no expectations, basically. I'd like to give Baby Brother some breastmilk, but I'm not willing to kill myself over it. No domperidone, probably no herbs, and definitely no pumping around the clock. I'll pump to help establish supply, but if baby won't take it straight from the tap I really don't want to be attached to the pump all day long. So I'm pricing out formula too, and we'll have it on hand before we even head to the hospital. No torturing myself, that's my vow.