Tummywatch Tuesday: 26 Weeks

Moving right along to 26 weeks. On the precipice of trimester 3. The final stretch. Wow.

I can’t believe that this is when the real growth starts. None of this laughable, half-assed growth that merely hinders my ability to put on shoes and pick things up off the floor. Now we’re headed for serious growth. Planetary growth. Lap-shrinking, seam-testing, waddle-inducing growth. Woo. Hoo.

Despite three chiropractor appointments, my rib and lower back pains aren’t going away. And due to my tense dura and whatnot (highly technical translation from spine doctor language), my chiropractor thinks it best that I see a massage therapist a couple of times to loosen things up, so my body’s more receptive to her adjustments. On the one hand: Dangit, body! Relax. Loosen up, already. Be helped. On the other hand: Yay, massages! Plural! If I must. Hopefully this combo will do the trick and I’ll be relaxed and open and receptive from head to toe, inside and out. That would feel really, really nice.

According to Parents.com’s week-by-week babytracker, our little girl is now the approximate size of a zucchini. Last week, I made offhand mention of all the baby clothes littering the living room. What I neglected to relate was: The clothes, people! My god, the clothes! I had an inkling of the power baby girl clothes back when I was on a mission to find a sweet Easter outfit for Roy. Every store I went to, it was the same story: A never-ending wonderland of adorable girly thingamajigs in the cutest patterns and latest styles. Then, in a slim plot of floor next to that, a rack or two of pleated tan slacks and lame cable-knit sweater vests for boys.

These stores aren’t stupid. They’re out to make a buck. They know what I only recently discovered: Normally sane people are helpless in the face of cute girl clothes. They regress into a puddle of oohs and ahhs and, consequently, whip out the credit card. It’s nuts. I truly thought I was immune. I’m not very girlie, not a shopper and not all that sentimental, either, so I’m safe, right? Wrong. Their magic works on even thrifty, tomboyish, level-headed me.

I’ve held it together pretty well so far, resisting the splurges; limiting my indulgences to maniacally fawning over the crazy adorable hand-me-downs and other gifts we’ve received. Little girl will be able to spit up and blowout as much as her heart desires. There will always be an even cuter outfit waiting. One more trimester to go before the real ooh-fest begins.

 

Zucchini photo credit: Kristada Panichgul

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  1. by anti jen

    On October 26, 2011 at 9:30 am

    As a fellow tomboyish miser, I will say that for Zadie’s first Christmas, she had not one but TWO brand-new, full-priced holiday frocks. One in leopard print, the other like a tiny girl Santa.

    As I checked out on the day I bought them, I figured what the hell. I only get a wee baby girl once. Sure enough, by the time she was two, she wanted no clothing suggestions from me. I’m glad I indulged when I could!

  2. by Eve

    On October 27, 2011 at 9:53 am

    Oooooh. Enjoy the massages. I went every week in my last trimester. It was heaven. The gal I saw had these enormous man hands. When I went for my last appointmentat 41 weeks, I had new person-without warning. It was a man, with tiny hands. After 10 minutes I started to sob. I asked him to stop and I left. Maybe I should have taken that as a sign of things to come. hmmm. Anyway, GO! Enjoy them!

    BTW, I took Milo to the chiropractor right after birth. Long story, but super helpful. Even when I was doubtful.