Lime has officially made it to 35 weeks gestation, which is great news. It means that pretty much no matter when he comes now, he will be ready to enter the outside world with a minimum of complications, and that his entry can be facilitated by the midwives rather than by an OB. He passed two more non-stress tests, one Thursday and one this afternoon (pro-tip: maternal consumption of chocolate chip cookies and iced coffee immediately prior to testing produces excellent results). His Dopplers, which measure blood flow in the umbilical cord and in his brain also look excellent. Next Monday, he has his 36-week growth scan to see where he stands, and based on that we'll begin a discussion about when he should make his grand entrance into the outside world. Based on everything I've heard so far, the doctors here would like to see him delivered sometime around 38 or 39 weeks, although assuming he continues to do well I will advocate for waiting as long as possible, to see if he might decide to emerge of his own accord.
Looking back on my pregnancy with Lemon, I find it sort of ironic that the pregnancy in which Papa Bear and I discovered that we were CF carriers was by far the less stressful of the two. Of course we were shocked by that news, but once we'd absorbed it, we basically just marched ahead and luckily things were totally straightforward thereafter from a pregnancy and delivery perspective. In contrast, this time around, the constant surveillance keeps Lime and his condition on my mind at all times, and I never sleep particularly well on the nights before his tests. I try to trust my "mother's intuition" that he's doing fine, since he is a _very_ active little guy, but I still get nervous before each test. Ah well. I suspect the next couple of weeks are going to fly by, and he will be here before we know it.
Lemon has continued to absolutely flourish. I would say he is growing like a weed, except that summer in Wisconsin has given me a whole new appreciation for how fast weeds actually grow--from tiny little sprouts to giant 3-foot-tall spiky behemoths in about no time at all, particularly if there's a good rainfall. Luckily, Papa Bear requested a weed whacker as his Father's Day present this year. For those of you who know Papa Bear personally, you may find this a bit surprising on any number of levels, but rest assured that Papa Bear is willing to let me use said instrument "whenever I want." I spent a solid hour testing it out yesterday, and I have to say it's really fun. Especially compared to pulling up weeds one at a time--I've determined that in my current state of pregnancy there's no way to accomplish that task comfortably. Now at least our yard looks, if not manicured, at least lightly domesticated.