When she took me to see the doctor yesterday we had a grand ole' time.
Mom's doctor is in blue; no clue about the b-day baby -- it's not me.
First we did some fetal monitoring (aka, non-stress test) and mom played some music for me while she read another breastfeeding book. Man, she loves those nursing books.
Well, no, not really, but she feels obligated to read them even thought they all say the same thing. She's pretty sure reading about it and doing it are not the same thing.
Then we talked to the doctor for a little while. And everything looks good to go for my due date. Mom signed a lot of paperwork for the hospital -- stuff like, if she's hemorrhaging, please give her a transfusion; and we want to have a natural birth.
We left the cutting/no-cutting paperwork alone for now since Mom and Dad don't quite see eye to eye.
And the good doctor told mom about how I turned around and am heading towards the exit.
So all the poking around her ribs and sides are from my feet and bottom, not my head. So, she's been rubbing my knee or butt for a week or so. Oops.
See, I am such a good boy.
And: I heart mom.
PS: I love Dad, too!