I passed my weekly appt. Yay! This means one more week of continuing to gestate. One more week to try and let Robbie grow big. One more week to lay still and rest. One more week to lose my mind wondering...

The doctor says that I should just keep coming every week. Be prepared for being kept at any time. She's starting to get that Doctor look. You know the one. The one that's kind and concerned. I don't know if that's worse than the kind and worried or not- right now it's all the same for me as far as immediate consequences. Either way I'd end up flat on my back in some hospital bed and in an endless state of waiting. I don't like waiting. I've never been what you could call patient. Pregnancy only points that out as I get further and further into this no-man's-land of uncertainty. If this were a normal pregnancy I'd be getting larger and uncomfortable right about now. Instead I'm tracking my gain/loss of weight in ounces. Obsessing over every bite. Obsessing again over how much I need to eat to gain something and how much of that will be expected to carry over to the baby. I know that so far this baby is smaller even than his sister. Who was, if you recall, pretty damn small herself.

So we carry on carrying on. I'm trying to let go. Live every day one at a time. Stop obsessing because that's only going to raise blood pressure and make the glucose wacky, and that's not what we need. I just need to slow down and keep drinking those fluids and keep everything as calm as possible. And then I can keep being pregnant for another week. I can keep gestating. I can keep praying that this boy grows big.