Ooschie - that's what I've nicknamed him (it's a German boy's name that means "waterfall") - is getting rather big and kicking the shit out of my guts. Conversely, when he's not kicking the shit out of my guts he seems to be pressing on them with his tiny feet, preventing the shit from coming out of them. I also found out that the random seizing of my ute into a rockhard balloon is the early Braxton-Hicks contractions. They don't really hurt yet, but trying to walk in the midst of one is somewhat akin to eating a huge meal, then chugging a liter of water, then getting up and trying to walk. Whilst wearing a thick, elastic band around your waist.
My energy waxes and wanes a lot. I get winded just walking through the house carrying a stack of towels, and feel like I need about 12 hours of sleep on the weekends. I'm trying to stay active so the rest of the pregnancy is smooth sailing, but I've also begun counting down the number of weekends I have left to sleep in.
Getting Oosch all fired up is a fun and easy task. Drinking a swig of juice or grabbing my belly and giving it a good, stout shake both work to get him to perform for my friends. "DANCE FOR ME, COLIN!" is one of my new favorite things to yell at him. When he kicks too much Scott likes to scold him in a babyfied stern and patronly voice, "Ooschie! Be nice to your mother!" and then we collapse into giggles at our horrible fetal mistreatment.
Anyways, now that I've entered the third trimester (I've gained about 25lbs) - the home stretch, the final countdown, if you will - I will try to update more frequently. No more procrastinating! We've got the nursery at about 50%, and I'll show you all the cuteness when it's assembled.
p.s. When I was putting this post together and he heard a snippet of the mp3 I was embedding, Scott said he was totally gonna play this song in the delivery room, but I told him I'd rather hear Eye of the Tiger.