Dear Baby Mac,
We are starting our eighth month! We’re on the homestretch here.
Although, from everything I have read, this is when women start to get uncomfortable. I remember Danny telling us how Lori had bought a body pillow about this time.
I didn’t get a pillow. I just drape myself over your dad.
So far, he doesn’t seem to mind.
You’re about four pounds, and while we get everything ready for your arrival—like buying those teeny little diapers and adorable onesies and prepping the nursery—you are getting ready to be born. You’re practicing breathing, kicking, sucking, and swallowing.
Chelsea and I have been talking and texting a lot. It’s nice to have someone to go through all this with. I was worried about her last week because she’d been having fainting spells. They were concerned about gestational diabetes, but it turns out, her blood sugar was just getting a little low, so she has to make sure she’s having snacks in between meals. After a long search, she and Joey found a really cute house about five miles from where we live in one of the neighborhoods they really liked.
We purchased a super-safe—as in your father researched them for days—car seat. So, we’re ready for your trip home from the hospital.
I haven’t been jogging as much. I was having some shortness of breath, and it freaked your dad out. But the doctor says it’s just because my uterus is pushing up against my diaphragm, which is completely normal. He says, once you drop in preparation for birth, it will go away.
Speaking of that, you’ve been giving me a lot of swift kicks to the ribs. I don’t know what all you’re doing in there, but you must be having a good time.
I’m a little worried about something though.
I’m afraid, when you’re older, that you won’t mind me.
Why? you ask.
Because I’m failing as a dog parent.
Angel NEVER listens to me.
