We're well into the toddler body obsession over here. It's Naked Time all the time and lately we've been discussing how everyone poops. Mama poops! Papa poops! Dampa poops! (Sorry Dampa.)
The hippos poop. The meow poops. Yup.
Toddlers are not for the squimish.
In other news, I'm 34 weeks pregnant tomorrow. This pleases me greatly as 34 weeks is a milestone in terms of preemies. 34 weeks sees less respiratory and sucking/eating problems and even better chances of survival. It's still premature. Its still got a list of problems and hurdles and I'm still hell-bent on making it to 37 weeks, but 34 weeks let's us breathe a tiny bit easier.
I'm usually a glass half empty kind of person, but in this situation, I can't bellieve how lucky we got. If I hadn't had contractions one night during week 31 that made me call the doctor on call and if I hadn't requested that the midwife give me an internal at 31w5d and if she hadn't given me the fFn swab test, I wouldn't have known I was in danger of going into labor and I wouldn't have had the steroid shots. And I probably wouldn't have paid so much attention to the contractions that sent me to the hospital.
If I hadn't paid attention to those early contractions, by the time it became impossible to ignore them, it would have been too late. We could have a 32 weeker right now that would not have had the benefit of steroids. And she probably would have been born at our local hospital that does not have a NICU capable of handling a 32 weeker.
Things could be very different right now.
But everything lined up just right and tomorrow I am 34 weeks. And we're not safe, not entirely, until I hit 37 weeks. And 37 is really only considered term for twins. She is not. But we made it two more weeks. That's something.
