You've got your phone number, your social security number, your house number, your monthly income, the number of dogs you have, the number of vehicles you have, the number of kids....and so on and so on.
My life this past couple of months has been swirling with numbers. Mostly percentages of things.
Let me throw some at you:
About 30% - The percentage of all Mom's nowadays that deliver via c-section in the United States. The recommended World Health Organization level is 10-15%.
About 50% - The percentage of women who try a VBAC and succeed.
.5% - The percentage risk of a uterine rupture during VBAC.
13% - The percentage of Mom's who's water breaks before labor begins such as happened to me when Katie was born.
1.3% - The percentage of the U.S. general population who have a diagnosed peanut allergy.
Here are some that I've learned about in just the past three days:
"In the 95th Percentile" - The current weight of the baby sitting in my uterus. About 7 and a half pounds.
3% to 4% - The percentage of babies that remain in the breech position past the 36 week mark.
22% - The percentage chance of a spontaneous move to the head-down position after 37 weeks by said baby.
Take a look at this:
This is what our little man is doing RIGHT NOW. This is called the "frank breech" position. I'm not sure why they call it that. Maybe 'cause he's showin' off his 'frank and beans' to the world? Don't know.
All I know is that he is breech. He might be stuck there. Docs won't manually turn him because of my previous c-section and risk of uterine rupture. Docs won't let him come out the normal way due to issues with his size and chance of the cord getting pinched and cutting off blood and oxygen.
Either I get him to turn myself in the next two and a half weeks or he comes out the "easy way". Well, for him that is. It'll be C-section City. I was really hoping that it wouldn't come to that. Did not like the first one. Will most likely not enjoy the second one either.
This section will be better than the first, I'm sure. I know what to expect, I won't be completely hopped up on all sorts of drugs, and I know that I'll have a chubby, hairy, big footed (all mentioned in my u/s) baby to hug at the end.
Oh yeah. I just thought of another thing. Maybe one day he can take his in-uterine skills and put them to good use:
OLYMPIC GOLD, BAYBEEEEE!
