28 weeks of this pregnancy is a bit of a milestone for me. Little Friend arrived on the scene at 34 weeks after I passively fought a bed-rest battle against severe pre-eclampsia for four weeks. I’m trying (really, really trying) to keep my head in a happy place through this pregnancy as I’m praying (really, really praying) that we’ll avoid the dreaded disease this time around. But somehow, making it to 28 weeks pregnant, a gestation at which babies can be born and thrive with some extensive NICU help, feels like a safe-ish place, even if the dreaded-case scenario develops in the coming hours/days/weeks/months ahead.
This morning, I came downstairs with an extra spring in my 28-weeks’ steps and informed Big Friend that today marked the 28-week finish line.
Then, as I walked away, something about my retreating derriere prompted Big Friend to say, “Hey! It’s Fat Tuesday today!”
Hmmm . . . I’m trying not to read too far into that comment.
It does create a rather inconvenient craving for donuts.
Donuts which I’m sure will settle nowhere near the vicinity of my derriere.
Happy 28 weeks to me (and Little One).