Some of you (most notably those who are related to me) have expressed dismay at the fact that we have not found out the newest James’ gender. I’m not sure why this surprises you, as we never find out what we’re having. And no, we still aren’t releasing a due date or name choice. We’re mean that way.
Nevertheless, I have heard your pleas. In order to appease the masses, I have consulted with a psychic. I know, I know, an ultrasound would probably be more accurate. But it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. So without further ado, Madame Zaritska predicts that….
The day you deliver, outside will be sunny. Your baby will arrive in the mid morning. After a labor lasting approximately 17 hours, your child, a boy, will be born. Your baby will weigh about 9 pounds, 1 ounces, and will be 16-1/2 inches long. This child will have light blue eyes and barely there black hair.
What do you think? Is the psychic correct? Official polling will begin in one month.
And just so you can make an educated guess when the time comes, here is some additional pertinent information (I’m giving it to you now, because these stats will be way too humiliating after another month of growth):
I am currently in my 7th calendar month (almost out of it) and 8th lunar month of pregnancy.
I have gained 20 pounds, which doesn’t sound too bad until you realize that I hadn’t gained any weight at all at the 20 week mark. Don’t judge me. It’s good to be able to eat again.
My girth at the widest point is 39 inches. But I was fully dressed at the time I measured. The clothes had to add at least an additional 10 inches or so.
Baby is head down and almost completely on my right side, facing left. Heart rate is in the upper 130s to low 140s. The wee one is active enough to not cause panic attacks, but not so active as to make me miserable.
And that profile picture of me above. It’s the only one you will EVER see of me pregnant. Ever. I decided that I need at least one profile shot for posterity, since this is the last time I will ever be with child. I mean it this time. Seriously. No more babies. I don’t care how cute they are. This is it. The end. Finite.
I’m not kidding.