In which I rave about Dr. Fantabulous once again

I had an appointment with Dr. Fantabulous yesterday; everything is going great - from the baby's perspective, anyway. At 28 weeks 4 days, baby is measuring 28w6d and weighs 1350 grams (2.9 pounds)*, is nicely head down (Small Boy went head down early too), and has plenty of amniotic fluid to swim around in. We got a close-up of baby's face with the 4D ultrasound and if I had to guess based on the facial features of a 28 week old fetus as revealed by ultrasound - a sure bet if ever there was one, right? - I'd say this kid is a boy. It looks exactly like Small Boy. I think it's got hair already, which according to some "old-wives' tales" would account for the Mt. Etna-like heartburn I've been enduring since, oh I don't know, let's call it the dawn of time.


So baby's got it good. I, on the other hand, pretty much want to die every day between 8 pm and 2 am. Every pregnancy symptom in the book comes crashing down on me - heartburn that has me on my hands and knees gasping for air, headaches, backache, hot-flashes, Braxton-Hicks-a-palooza, and, as you can imagine, a resulting inability to sleep. All day long I'm fine - the baby rolls around a lot, now and then a lady-like little burp escapes me, maybe I'll get a little contraction now and then - but without fail night falls and Bam! Misery. There's nothing wrong; it's just a rough pregnancy. Dr. Fantabulous is not at all worried about me (he's obviously not pleased I'm so miserable, and is prescribing me any and every pregnancy-safe medication he can to alliviate my misery, but he's not concerned about my underlying health) or the baby or the health of the pregnancy. It's just rough going.


My next appointment is in four weeks and that doesn't seem like such a long time. Just four weeks until Dr. Fantabulous tells me again that everything is going great. I have to say, it's slightly embarrassing how reassuring I find Dr. Fantabulous's mere presence. Seriously, it's like he's doused in Stress-be-Gone or something. He walks back to the waiting room, calls my name and shakes my hand and whoosh go any worries I might have been harboring. I know how lucky I am to have stumbled upon him - to think, when I first started going to him his main qualification was that he speaks English! Now I can't imagine anybody else delivering my babies. As long as he's in the room, everything will be fine. He's my petronus.


* I find it a bit astounding - can something be just a bit astounding? - that it took baby 28 weeks (okay, 26) to gain 1300 grams - a nice healthy weight which puts it smack in the middle of the growth curve for 28 weeks - but it's supposed to gain another 2000-plus (that's 4.4 pounds) in just 10 to 12 weeks. Yikes.