I went to the gym today, making for a gym-going trend of two. Afterwards, my heart felt all a-fluttery and I felt dizzy, and was convinced something was wrong, but everyone assures me it's normal. Turns out I have twice the volume of blood pumping through me ("but where is it all going?" I asked my friend, who glared purposefully at my belly, duh), which makes my arteries and veins work overtime. Plus, my blood oxygen is going to Sluggo first, then me, so my "aerobic capacity is limited." That's kooky! Every time I think I should be tougher during pregnancy, I find out something like this, and I want to go lie down and gestate quietly.
But I'm petrified of labor. Pals online assure me that adrenaline and hormones will push me through, but my sister said, after her second child's birth, that labor was the most animalistic thing she'd ever done, and she was sure she wouldn't be able to do it a third time. And she's super-workout girl. I have GOT to train for this. I'll just slow down and use the elliptical that doesn't have the arms -- or only use the arms half the time.
Today, apparently, Sluggo is the size of a lime: two inches. I love limes! He also weighs half an ounce, and is starting to pee! And responds to my touch, which I knew from last week.
I've got more to say about female hormones and this book called "the female brain," but I can't process my feelings about it -- I just get angry. More on that when I can get a handle on it.
Tomorrow, crack o' dawn: genetic counselor. Wish me luck, gentle readers.