I’m lying here, with my ass in the air, pretty much, staring down at my globular protruberance of a belly. Really, I should get some pictures of this, except that I think that would be a clear admission of “The ship of sexiness has sailed.”  So, I’m typing this while I’m in a breech tilt position, because the wee one is, at 33 weeks, determined to keep its head out of my groin. I can’t say I blame her, exactly, as it’s been a weird place lately. But it would be nice to have a normal, vaginal birth, ok? My birth center won’t deliver any breech vaginally (the cowards!) Fine. So I’m doing way too many things to make this wee bit TURN.

I’ve been to the chiropractor 4 times now, for a thing called the “Webster Technique.” (Insert joke about Emmanuel Lewis.)  I also went to my old acupuncturist for some “turn around, breechy kid” moxibustion last night, and am going back tomorrow. And then, of course, I’m lying here with my ass in the air, thanks to Spinning Babies.

With all that aside, though, only 4 percent of full term births actually present as breech, so I probably don’t really need to do anything. I’m just being an over achiever or whatever.

Oh, and at the last ultrasound a week and a half ago, the wee one’s size was now considered in the normal range at 30-something percent. (Cue theme from thirtysomething. Nevermind.)

I should really be asleep.


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