Speak LIFE 139's Podcast

I am thirty-seven. Thirty-seven weeks old. When my thumb isn’t in my mouth, I cough to keep training my lungs to breathe. What shall we do today, Mom? We could hang out while you wash my baby clothes or reorganize my nursery for the seventh time. Or—maybe we could take a nap?

I am thirty-six. Thirty-six weeks old. Remember my lanugo? Soft downy body hair that’s like peach fuzz? How about my vernix? Waxy white lotion stuck all over me? They’re starting to come off. My sea of amniotic fluid is shrinking.

Just like “Baby O” needs certain nutrition to thrive so do we. There’s been a monumental shift in nutrition awareness in the past 20 years. Reading labels and staying informed has never mattered more. Ever heard of Senomyx?

MCCL #45 Members: Betty Syverson, Earl Roed and Rick Ford. Update on abortions in Minnesota, which are dropping since their peak in 1980. However, the role Planned Parenthood is playing in perpetuating their agenda is disturbing. Great news about local resources available through area Pregnancy Centers. Updates on states which are advocating for the lives of the unborn. The importance of the Hyde Amendment.

I am thirty-five. Thirty-five weeks old. Well, I decided to dive down and try a different position. My melon is really growing a lot this week. My neurons and brin gyro and sulci are continuing to develop. What is all of that?

I am thirty-four. Thirty-four weeks old. Only six weeks to go before I get to see you! I’m floating in a sea of amniotic fluid, the largest since I was conceived. Next week it will start shrinking for the countdown: six, five, four, three, two, one week to—“B”-day!

I am thirty-three. Thirty-three weeks old. I’m trying to collect baby fat to keep up with my growth spurts! Help! I need fat, Mom! When will you ever get to eat fatty food again to make someone else plump

Harvest. The word brings to mind late summer and fall in America’s heartland. Golden wheat fields gleam and stretch into the distance. Fruit and vegetables are picked for canning and freezing.

I am thirty-two. Thirty-two weeks old. I’m so glad my fingernails and toenails have grown to the tips of my fingers and toes. Because I keep getting a super annoying itch between my shoulder blades that really makes me twist.

I am thirty-one. Thirty-one weeks old. Last week was kind of b-o-r-i-n-g. This week seems more promising. But—it’s getting more crowded in here. That’s why I’m keeping my knees bent up by my chest.