(In which I try to be interesting, but eventually end up talking about pregnancy, again.)
This little alcove is just next to my office building – what you see is actually the back corner of a courtyard, nestled in between 2 tall buildings, with wrought iron cafe tables on cobblestones and a beautiful waterfall backdrop. The waterfall drowns out the city noise of honking cabs and construction, and the high solid walls on each of the other 2 sides give a sense of security, and intimacy. You could almost imagine you were in a European city, discovering a tiny cafe in a quaint little corner of the old district.
I’ve walked by it at least twice a day for more than a year, and yet I’ve only sat in it once. (The day my new camera arrived and I couldn’t wait until after work to take it on a test drive.) It’s really a shame.
I’m sharing this with you because I have very little knitting progress to report – the past few nights I’ve been working on shopping for all the remnants of things we still need after the shower, and getting the new bedroom set up (I had no linens on hand for a king-size bed before now). By the time I finish the absolute minimum of what I need to get done, it’s pushing 8 o’clock and Eric and I are scrambling to assemble dinner in the simplest manner possible. A few rows of knitting is all I can manage before I slump into the luxurious expanse that is our new bed.
Oh, wait, I haven’t told you about our new bed? It’s awesome. No, it’s more than awesome. It’s freakin awesomelicious. I never thought that we would need a king, or that it would make such a huge difference (no pun intended!) but it does. Apparently, my awkward, lumbering attempts to roll over take up an alarming amount of mattress width. Now, I can struggle to turn, or stretch in any direction without pushing a dog off the bed, or elbowing Eric in frustration.
We are all much happier.
As for the baby, he seems fine. Kicking and moving like mad, but no way to tell up from down, despite how hard I try. I spend (way too much) time trying to figure out hands from feet, head from rump, and quite frankly, if my guesses were right, then he would be impossibly convoluted in there (like a Mr. Potato doll put together by a drunk Picasso). So, I’m trying to sit back and accept whatever comes and not worry about making a decision until we know there’s one to be made.
One thing’s for sure – there will be no attempts to deliver this baby breech. Not only did 2 doctors speak up on this point, but a few others of you were quite adamant about this as well. Your words confirmed my own inclinations, which were then set in stone when my childbirth class instructor (a doula and a huge fan of the Dr. Sears books) said flat out that it would be impossible to find a provider in NYC who would deliver a baby breech.
A relief for me, because the Dr. Sears books (which I like) would have me press the point (depending on what sort of breech) and try to find a provider who would at least attempt to deliver breech. I get why, but it was not the route for me, regardless of the situation.
Anyway, enough rambling from me. Hopefully good knitting content next time.