Pregnancy – My Truant Pen

What mirror? Where?

I’m still walking to daycare when the weather is nice. It’s just about two miles. I’m working on getting my body back to a place I’m comfortable staying. After I had Grey I realized that my body wasn’t going to miraculously return to prepregnancy state. Nursing, my normal amounts of exercise and food, none of that was going to get me back to where I used to be. I was convinced that it must be hormonal or thyroidal or otherwise not because of my actions, but before I called my doctor to discuss the possibility I figured I’d track my calories to prove just how virtuous I was.*

This was, shall we say, eye opening.

So I spent several months tracking what I ate and how much I exercised (doing a lot less of the former and a lot more of the latter) and I got back to what I consider my “set weight”.

Well, Thane is almost 9 months old. In another few months I’ll be into Thanksgiving and Christmas and the cold, dark times of year. It’s a lot harder to diet/exercise when it’s freezing out and there’s no fresh fruit to soften the blow. So I’ve resumed running an intentional calorie deficit. By Thane’s first birthday I hope to be back at my set weight, and from here on out only make sure I don’t gain weight.

But man, the reason people don’t usually do this successfully is because it’s hard. When you eat fewer calories than you burn, you (shockingly) end up hungry. Your body tells you that something is wrong. You get grumpy, cranky and fragile. My worst time of day is when I’m preparing dinner — I often haven’t eaten since lunch 6 hours ago and the kids require patience and handling and there’s traffic and I’m like-as-not on some sort of deadline and several times a week I’m doing it alone. Not only that, but I’m trying hard to make sure Grey doesn’t notice I’m dieting, because I do not want him to think that it is normal or necessary to count calories on everything he puts in his mouth.

Anyway, this is less about the woe of dieting than it is about today’s walk. My quest to return to pre-pregnancy has been working. I’m wearing the jeans I wore pre-Thane. Today I have on a rather fitted shirt which shows off my, uh, nursing-supplemented assets. And I got no fewer than four friendly catcalls during my two miles. Including one “Hey, you’re gorgeous!”

I know that I’m supposed to mind catcalls and find them 1) degrading 2) insulting 3) threatening. I must admit that I’ve never managed to do so. Here on my walk I find them … welcoming and appreciative. Welcoming because the guys (usually young to middle aged Latinos) doing the catcalling don’t seem to see me as outside their community — not some stuck up gringa, but a part of their town and their warm summer days. Appreciative because they’re usually saying NICE things. Their comments feel quite friendly. They are an invitation with no hard feelings if I don’t take them up on it (which, obviously, I don’t).

And I have noticed that certain outfits are much more appreciated than others.

Now that I’ve managed to terrify my mom and horrify my husband (“Are you sure it’s SAFE to walk to daycare?”), I’ll move on. It’s very hard, after you have had a child, to find yourself in your own skin again. I used to be a blonde. Now I’m truly a brunette. I’m a brunette with silvery threads wending through my darkening hair. The dimensions of my body shift and change with the demands put upon it. Very few of my blouses, for example, can contain my abundance, even though most of my pants fit. I haven’t been able to wear a regular summer dress in two years. My body has been swollen, shared, deflated, inflated, strangely hard, shockingly soft, blurred around the boundaries. And now it is coming back to me, to be mine again. I am the sole occupant, again. I may control my body with concern only for myself, after a long period where that was not true. (Well, coming up. I’m still nursing so there are still constraints, but they are more limited than they were.)

This requires a re-understanding of how I relate to my body — how it works, what it looks like, what I see when I look at myself, what others see when they look at me. This, too, is hard work.

The only picture of me among the 141 currently on my camera

*I know that intentional weight loss and dieting can be controversial. I know plenty of people cannot lose weight for good reasons, ranging from eating disorders to hormonal imbalances. I have also learned that I do not have any of the conditions that would make losing my pregnancy weight unusually problematic.

Would you like some cheese with that whine?

Where to start? My keyboard decided to suddenly have three letters not work. I’m 10 months pregnant. My hormones…. OMG my hormones. I’m not sleeping. I have a three year old who is a great kid but, let’s face it, three. And I am kinda at least a little sick.

None of these are dire, drastic, horrible things. These are what we like to call “annoyances”.

So I went in to my midwife appointment. I spent my usual 5 – 10 minutes HATING the daytime tv they have on with strict notes that we patients are not to touch it. I am subjected to a woman who hates her facial hair and a serious discussion of which kind of nose job is better.

Then I go into the room and don’t really like what the scale says and the nurse-person has trouble taking my blood pressure, as usual. I wait the standard 5 more minutes with a piece of paper across my legs, reading an article in a parenting magazine. It is about a problem I do not have and will never have.

My midwife comes in. I like her, I do. But she has HAD IT. She was in an accident on Friday and no one in the office even asked how she was doing and she came in and the phone calls were stacked high and instead of concern they just told her that people were waiting for her already and when she asked for time off they talked about how it would affect her numbers for the month… in the course of our 15 minute exam, she broke into tears three times. Dammit, I’m the hormonal pregnant woman here! Her staff really do probably not give her much support or nurturing. They’re the sort of “It’s 5 so I’m leaving” types who are all about just meeting their obligations and not noticing what other people need. (In fairness, they’re also pretty efficient.) Her corporate structure (she’s part of a huge organization) is totally failing, because someone in her chain of command should have noticed that she’s really struggling with what’s being asked of her and taken some steps to find ways to address it — just as a good management technique. And she really needs to do a better job of managing her own stress. Maybe she should have the conversation with her staff about how they’re not being supportive — or her boss. Not her 40 week and one day patient who happens to be a good listener.

Oh, and do you remember when she did the pelvic exam at 36 weeks and I was 1 cm dilated and 90% effaced and I told all y’all not to get excited? According to today’s pelvic exam, all the contractions I’ve been having have accomplished…. absolutely nothing. In fact, she said I was 1 cm dilated and 80% effaced. (I suspect the effacement numbers are rather subjective.) So yeah. They haven’t done anything. I’m at exactly the same spot I was a month ago and there is no sign that I’m going to give birth any time soon. I think she didn’t strip my membranes because I wasn’t “ripe” enough. (Although I am having the fun of crampiness and discomfort, so maybe she did strip ’em and it just hurt less than last time.)

At least the baby is at -1. (That means his head really is in the birth canal — ready to go. See also: I have to spread my legs in order to bend down.)

She decides not to send me in for an NST because the heart rate is fine and I’m not looking imminent and there’s no reason to think there’s anything wrong. There really isn’t.

So I decide on some retail therapy. There’s a Linens ‘N Things going out of business right across the street. Surely I can find something I need on sale. Or at least can find a roundabout way of justifying purchasing.

The sale sucks. The prices are all way more than I’m willing to spend. 10% off is not a great sale.

Then I go to Staples. At least I can get a new keyboard.

They don’t sell the split keyboards I use anymore — they only have these weird humpy very expensive keyboards now. While I probably could expense it, why pay more for something I like less? I notice they have also stopped making/selling the mouse I like.

I fail retail therapy. FAIL.

I should probably focus on the bit where everything looks fine with my baby and even in a worst case I only have to work for another 4 days and maybe one of these days I actually will give birth and my husband and I are both gainfully employed and we have no risk of losing the house and my son is adorable and healthy. These are all true and good things.

But waaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Insanity

A popular definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.

According to this definition, I really will be pregnant forever.

I’ve had lots and lots of contractions this pregnancy. I swear the contractions started before I started feeling fetal movement. I get contractions nearly every time I stand up. Walking up or down stairs (and I live in a 3 stairway house) is almost guaranteed to initiate contractions. Pretty much every afternoon I start getting contractions, and they are worst while I’m getting dinner on the table. By the time I sit down for dinner (nearly every day this week) I’m mentally packing my hospital bag.

Then they go away. I go to sleep. I wake up the next morning, still very very pregnant and feeling slightly foolish about the night before.

You see where I’m going with this?

SOMETIME in the next, uh, 18 days those contractions will actually be for real. And they will be going somewhere. And I just know that by then I’ll have subconsciously learned my lesson and completely stopped paying attention to the damn things. By the time labor pains get truly unambiguous, it’s really pretty late in the process. With Grey, labor was only for-darn-sure maybe 3 – 4 hours before he was actually born. And second babies come sooner. And this time around, we have to get someone to be with Grey while we’re gallavanting off to the hospital, so we NEED the time more.

So every night, when I get the contractions, I think of saying, “Oh, here we go again.” And then I think, “But what if this IS the night?”

Insanity.

In other pressing, important, critically interesting news, I decided yesterday that something had to give. Something simply HAD to change.

My hair was pregnancy-thick and just past shoulder length. It was heavy enough to laugh off most barrettes and hair bands, but too short to braid.

Now, it is much shorter and rather more layered. I don’t think this is my Platonic Ideal of a haircut. I dare say it looks a touch too mommyish. (What? Just because I have a 3 year old and am 18 months pregnant doesn’t mean I have to THINK of myself as mommyish.) But it is also a vast improvement over what came before.

And yes. I am still pregnant. Yes. Still.

39 and a half weeks pregnant, but who’s counting?

I once again got through an exam ungroped. Next exam will make up for it.

My belly has apparently gotten smaller — I measure 34 cm. So basically, I look 7 months pregnant, not nearly 10. This seems true — I really don’t look nearly as pregnant as I am, and not as pregnant as I did a few weeks ago. I think this is because my son is SO LOW that he’s not actually all the way IN my belly. I would be more worried if we didn’t have a recent ultrasound pointing to a very reasonable size.

His heartbeat was 160. This is high for him (he likes 144) and the high end of normal. I would be more worried if I hadn’t eaten 3 cookies on my way to the doctor’s office.

He’s moving less than he used to. I’m pretty sure this is because he’s so low/engaged (his head is stuck, so he can’t do the wild gyrations he was doing a few weeks ago). Also, moving LESS than he used to still more than meets the criteria for moving several times an hour. It’s just less vigorous. And he still loves his 11 pm workout.

As far as future planning goes, at my next appointment on Monday I’ll be officially post-due. We’re planning on having her strip my membranes then. (No, still not going to explain what that is. You can look it up.) She is operating on the assumption that it’s likely to work. I’m operating on the assumption that I’ll be going nuts and happy to try relatively non-interventionist methods of inducing labor. (See also: lobster bisque, chocolate, marital relations, raspberry tea). I’ll probably go in for a non-stress test on Monday too, just to make sure everything’s ok.

Turns out she’s going on vacation November 4th. ARGH! NO PRESSURE!

I also negotiated ahead of time for getting to wait until the 10th before being induced (instead of the 7th). She says that as long as the non-stress tests are ok, and given the family history I’ve harped on constantly (she complains about their computer systems, I never pass up an opportunity to point out how late I’m likely to go), that should be ok. (But she won’t be here so I’ll have to argue with her OB.)

Yeah, so I guess I should actually write out my birth preferences.

What the heck, you’re all fascinated, right?

I would like:

To have as few interventions as possible
To labor in the tub as long as possible
To retain my mobility during labor, and possibly use alternate birthing positions (squatting, etc.)
To eat and drink during labor if I feel like it
To push when I feel I am ready to push
The umbilical cord to stay intact for as long as blood is being transferred
To try to nurse right away
To exclusively breastfeed my baby, and have him in the room with me as much as possible
For any tears to be stitched using a crown stitch, if possible
My husband to speak for me in the case that I am not able to communicate my wishes

I would not like:

To be offered pain medication — I will ask if I think I need it
To have an episiotomy unless medically indicated
To have labor-intensifying/inducing drugs unless medically required
A C-section except when medically required
To be constantly monitored
To have an IV
To force my husband to cut the umbilical cord

I am ok with:

Trainees or students being present during the labor/birth
Participating in very low risk studies regarding birth/post birth care
Standard newborn treatments (vitamins in the eyes, blood test from the heel)

Am I missing anything?

Does this woman look 9 months pregnant to you?

The waiting game

Every time I have a midwife/medical appointment this late in pregnancy, I always feel like I should be ready to report to the hospital, do not pass go, do not collect $200. It takes so little to get them worried, and there’s no medical reason for me to stay pregnant at this point, other than the baby isn’t ready to come out. I’m always wondering, “Should I take my work laptop?” (I’ll want it at home with me.) Should I clean out the perishables in the ‘fridge before I go?

Then again, I pretty much go through the same checklist every night, too.

I figure my “Ready or Not” date is no later than November 10th. (That puts me 15 days after my due date and assumes that I successfully negotiate induction AFTER the weekend that marks the 2 week mark and not BEFORE.) That’s 20 days away. My due date is 5 days away. My best-guess date is 10 days away.

Are we there yet?

The babies we never had

So most of you who know me know that I had two miscarriages between Grey and this pregnancy. Apparently October 15th was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I think I did pretty well dealing with my losses, and it helps a ton to have a happy healthy son and hopefully another one on the way at any moment. But the loss of a pregnancy, even at an early stage, can be very difficult and sneak back to haunt you. And I can hardly bear to imagine losing an infant.

I’ve also been thinking about my pregnancy losses a lot with the debate last night. Apparently the presidential debate involved the abortion discussion. Plenty of feminist bloggers are just a touch irate that John McCain used air-quotes when talking about “the health of the mother” as a reason why a woman might need an abortion.

While I have always been pro-choice (and always hoped that very, very few women would ever need the choice), my experience with my miscarriages changed how I looked at abortion. With my second pregnancy, everything seemed swimming. I got to 10 weeks rejoicing that the morning sickness wasn’t so bad and that maybe this meant I was having a girl. Then I noticed a bit of spotting and in the “it’s probably nothing to worry about” vein got sent in for an ultrasound to make sure everything was hunky-dory.

It wasn’t. Where there should’ve been a 10 week old embryo with a beating heart, there was just a darkly silent womb.

They told me to come back in a week in case my dates were off by a month. They weren’t. In a week it was still as silent as a tomb in there. The baby had probably stopped growing/died/whatever you want to call it at about 6 weeks and my body hadn’t gotten the message.

I was told to report to the OR for an abortion (same procedure whether or not there’s a living baby). I didn’t. Instead I fought to take abortifacent drugs because I wanted control over how the pregnancy ended, and if it wasn’t going to end itself, I didn’t want someone DOING something to me — not when I had a choice. I did need to terminate the pregnancy because I ran the risk of infection if it didn’t clear itself out. (Also, let’s talk about the mental health of a woman who knows she’s carrying a baby inside of her who is not alive. Or maybe let’s not, because that’s not a thing that bears lots of thinking.)

The pro-life tagline is that abortion stops a beating heart. Sometimes it doesn’t. I assume that even the most ardently pro-life out there would be ok with my terminating a pregnancy that didn’t involve killing a baby. You can be pregnant with a non-viable child, or one who has already died, and still be pregnant. But now I wonder every time I read about abortion laws… would they have prevented me from being able to terminate the non-viable pregnancy I had? Would my doctor know how to do the procedure? Would my doctor have to provide some sort of evidence that the pregnancy was not viable? Would I have had to wait even longer?

What about situations that aren’t as cut and dried as mine was? What about a child who can’t survive outside the womb but can inside it? (Like anencephaly). What about ectopic pregnancies? What about severe preeclampsia/eclampsia, where if the mother doesn’t cease being pregnant right away NO ONE is going to come out of the situation alive and the baby just isn’t old enough to make it?

I’m not sure what percentage of abortions are of perfectly healthy, viable pregnancies. That’s all the political discourse seems to talk about — someone who just doesn’t want to have a baby period. But in my experience of abortion, it was about pregnancies where there was some issue or some reason that the end outcome wasn’t going to be a baby anyway, and the only question was when.

Like so many issues in life and politics, abortion is painted as a black and white issue. And like so many issues, while there are situations that fall into black and white categories, there are also a lot of situations that are firmly rooted in gray.

(PS — be nice. This was a real and difficult loss for me. If there are any comments that are cruel, they will be deleted.)

38 weeks pregnant and needs more coffee

So I had my 38 week checkup today. Of course, I’m at the point in the pregnancy where I’m like, “I’m 38 weeks and TWO DAYS” as if those two days were critically important to understanding just how damn LONG I’ve been PREGNANT ALREADY.

I swear that the first time around I had weekly pelvic exams starting at about 32 weeks and every week I’d find out that I was exactly the same as last week and I got sort of in the habit of getting nekkid etc. I can’t say I’m disappointed, but apparently my memory sucks or things have changed. Not only did I get to keep my clothes on again this week, but apparently I don’t have to doff them until 40 weeks. Oh, and we rescheduled my 41 week appointment so that it happens on a day where she’s on call that evening.

I think she is wildly optimistic. She stripped my membranes (and no, I’m not going to explain what that means, but yes it’s just as much fun as it sounds) TWICE last time to NO AVAIL. But hey. It’s not like I have other big plans for that Monday. Except Linens ‘n Things is apparently going out of business and they’re totally right across the street. So this might all work out in my favor.

I confess — I’m not really sure why they want to see me so often when all they do is take my weight (don’t wanna talk about it), check my pee, take my blood pressure and measure my fundus. (I think that’s the right word. But it seems like the sort of word that it would be _BAD_ if I was close but not quite on in my usage.) Pretty much all of that could be done from the comfort of my own home, if I got someone else to look at the scale because I can’t see it because my belly is too big but I’m not sure this is a bad thing.

Ahem.

On the “my memory sucks” part of the argument, I was attempting to reassure a friend last night that although I am a figurative ticking time bomb, the “ticks” go on for long enough to run for cover. He brought up the quintessential scene of water breaking and I said that while that was a valid fear, I didn’t actually remember my water breaking with Grey.

At this point my husband pipes up to tell me that my water was broken while I was in labor. I totally and completely remember absolutely NONE of this. I mean, I thought I remembered labor pretty well: refusing to take the elevator to labor and delivery because I’d always taken the stairs, the skeptical look on the nurses face when a first time mom claims she’s in transition, the stuff they were storing in the tub where I wanted to labor, the unfair period where they wanted to take a “strip” to measure how the baby was doing, how they couldn’t get the remote monitors to work, how I fell asleep between contractions in the tub, how one simple request on my part clued them in that I was ready to push, the jokes I made between pushing, how my midwife appeared at the nick of time, the very unreasonable things I was asked to do at that point, the bit where my husband kept TOUCHING ME, both of us refusing to look at what was going on, Grey’s actual birth, the part where I had to bully A. into taking pictures of his newborn son which he didn’t want to do it was all “gross”, and the rather unpleasant few minutes that followed. I remember all of this. I do not remember anyone at any point breaking my water. Did they ask me? Did they need to? Don’t you think that’s the sort of thing that would, you know, make an impression? How long between when they broke my water and when I gave birth? It HAS to have been after I got out of the tub, but I was like pushing at that point. Doesn’t your water sort of need to break before you push?

The mind boggles.

I’ve thought of having some sort of countdown, but it’s rather too depressing. It’s not so bad with my due date — B minus 12 days! But then when you add in the 14 days I’ll agitate to go past due, well… let’s just say that I’m not sure I can maintain my sang froid (or my permanent wave — only family members will get that allusion) for another 26 days. TWENTY SIX DAYS. That’s like, forever. That’s like as many days as there are between December 1st and Boxing Day. People write novels in less time.

My husband said to me last night, as he worked the levers on the crane to lower me into bed, “I’m really looking forward to when you’re not pregnant anymore.” I shot him the look of doom and he hurried on, “I mean, I feel badly for your discomfort and how you hurt all the time and how difficult it seems.” I looked skeptical. “Also, I really hate your belly pillow and want to sleep on my right side again.” Light was shed. See, people? It’s not just me who’s sick of it all. Think of A. and how much of the bed the body pillow takes up. It’s all just unfair. Should he really be asked to put up with the bed interloper for 26 more days?

Stay on target…

So the last week or two I’ve felt very end-game about this pregnancy. I am two weeks and three days shy of my due date. Plenty plenty plenty of people have their babies this early. I know that I’m late enough that if any problem arises, my medical providers will be urging an induction in a heart-beat. I really DO need to have my hospital bag ready, the car seat in the car, etc.

These preparations, though, inevitably get you excited and get you thinking that hey! Maybe I’ll be having a baby soon!

By my calculation I have up to 30 more days of pregnancy to go. And as I’ve posted innumerable times and tried to remind myself thrice daily, the ODDS are very very good that I will spend most of the next 30 days pregnant.

I hate waiting. I’m a person of action. I initiate things. I make things happen. I see that things need doing and I do them. I do not sit around waiting.

Maybe installing the car seats was a mistake. I shouldn’t have hit all the pre-requisites for having a baby so early, because now there really is nothing to do but wait.

Baby not measuring to dates

So I’m about as easy and vanilla a maternity patient as you can find. My blood pressure today was 116 over 81. My weight gain is normal (if perhaps a little donut-enhanced). All my tests (for strep, yeast infections, etc.) came back negative. I do not have gestational diabetes. My birth history is uncomplicated. My overall health is excellent. The baby’s heartbeat has been at 140 – 144 bpm every single appointment since the first heartbeat was spotted at 10 weeks. He’s very active. I don’t smoke, have pre-existing health problems, genetic predispositions to health problems, or any other complication. I’m well within the age range for not worrying. If there was a woman out there who could probably skip most prenatal care without harm, it’s me. I’d be fine so far this pregnancy, without a single medical intervention.

Do you hear a rant coming on?

There are a few things you do in the last month nearly every exam:
1) Pee in a cup (to check for protein — a sign of preeclampsia)
2) Take your blood pressure (also a preeclampsia check)
3) Check your weight (mmmmm donuts….)
4) Check the baby’s heartbeat
5) Measure the size of the baby.
6) Answer any questions you might have.

Step #5 is done with a little tape measurer. You lie down and the practitioner takes the tape and measures from the crease that starts in my case right below my boobs, over my belly button and to my pelvic bone. (Hurts when she presses down on it.) After like 14 weeks or something there’s a 1 to 1 correlation between number of weeks and the centimeters on the tape, so at 28 weeks the bump should be 28 cm. Convenient like that.

For the last 37 weeks of my pregnancy there has been NO MENTION made of the size of the baby. (Although he was the correct size in the very early ultrasounds where size matches dating.) This is my third midwife appointment in the last 4 weeks. The previous two she was gossiping while measuring and nothing came up.

Today she gets this concerned look on her face and asks if I would have an objection to going in for an ultrasound because the baby is measuring small. I pointed out that I fell under the birth weight threshold (at three weeks post due!)

So the upshot is that I have an ultrasound tomorrow to check the sizing on this baby. The thing is… um, so what? (The questions I should’ve asked all come to me as I stand in line for a donut at Starbucks.) What could be wrong with a small baby that we would currently have a chance to do something about? What are you worried about regarding the smallness? Has he been measuring consistently fine and then just failed to grow at all this week? Is that really a cause for concern? Or has he been running further and further behind and I just wasn’t told until she got really worried? Do we think he’s sitting on his umbilical cord? (Heartbeat was just fine…) It sure isn’t that I’m not eating enough. I could understand if he was measuring large — we might want to see if he would still fit and maybe induce labor a bit early to avoid a c-section if there was a doubt about him being too big. I just fail to see what is gained by knowing he’s small. I mean, if he runs the risk of being low birthweight, the best thing to do is carry him for as long as possible, which is exactly what I plan on doing anyway (not that I have much say).

And to be quite honest, I’m not sure he is all that small. I think he may be smaller than his brother (who was 7 lbs 11 oz and 20.5 inches — on the tall side, perfectly normal for weight), but he just presents differently. Maybe he was stretched out. My tummy definitely bulges to the right side instead of in the middle. (He’s sort of lying on his side — his butt is on the right side of my belly and his hands/arms/legs poke towards the left side of my belly. He’s head down.)

But because now I’m worried/wanna know what’s up I will present myself as requested at 1 pm tomorrow to have the, uh, 5th ultrasound for this pregnancy? (Ok, one or two of those definitely had to do with me being worried after my pair o’ miscarriages, and then the whole “short cervix” debacle but still…)

The worst part is that I see a *midwife* in part because I do not think I require that much medical care and because I am a non-interventionist patient. Is she just a very interventionist midwife, or would I be getting even MORE procedures with an OB/GYN? I’m really healthy! I could have this baby in the bathtub, if someone would throw in a few stitches afterwards! It doesn’t get easier than me!

In other obnoxious news, it is recommended that pregnant women get flu shots. If I get a shot now, it will protect both me and the baby for the flu season. (Which is good — you’d rather not give the baby his own shot.) So wouldn’t you think that my midwife/OBGYN would have access to the flu shot, which does not have a shortage this year?

Nooooooo….

She says I should see my PCP. Fine. My PCP is just down the hall. I drop in with fantasies of a “sure, sit right here and we’ll just jab you right now”. I mean, they do flu shots at Walgreens. How hard can it be.

Well, they have a flu clinic on the 27th (a day past my due date!) and they can’t give any shots before then. This is not helpful. I want the shot while the baby is internal, kthx.

So now I need to find a Walgreens or some place that has a clinic before then. Really, does following health recommendations need to be this hard?

GRUMP!

37 weeks pregnant — almost there!

I had a very busy and wonderful weekend, which hopefully I’ll share in more detail later. But I’d like to take this moment to note that as of today, this pregnancy is full term. A baby born at 37 weeks is not considered premature. Blueberry’s lungs are ready. Everything is in place. He has hair and fingernails. He’s fully baked. I’m now allowed to start hoping that those contractions are actual real labor and not just uterine preparation. This is the beginning of the end of my pregnancies, at least as far as I plan.

I have gotten pregnant four times, miscarried twice, given birth once. I have spent a total of, um, 24 months (two years!) of my life pregnant. (I went 10 months pregnant with Grey, am 9 months pregnant right now, and miscarried at 3 months and 2 months.) Fertility and pregnancy have been a huge part of my reality for the last four years. And that focus and reality are coming to a close for me, and soon. For most of us in developed countries, the procreative period is a brief and intense one. Mine is almost over.

The funny thing is I don’t feel old enough to HAVE children, never mind old enough to be finished having children.

But mostly, my point is that I am full term. I can start cheering for an arrival now. You can start wondering anytime I don’t post quite as frequently as normal.

I would probably be more excited if it weren’t for a conversation I had with my mother yesterday. We were looking at 2 generations — my mother, my sister and I. We three have given birth to 6 children between us (my mother three, my sister two and so far me one). Of those six children, not a SINGLE ONE has arrived on or before their due date. I was probably the latest at a calculated three weeks late. My mom says that maybe my sister was the earliest, at a quasi-induced week post due. This little boy MIGHT be different, of course, and break the mold. But odds are that the women in my family just gestate a little longer than standard and I’ll still be sitting here waiting for another 4 weeks or so.

On the flip side, all 6 of those births were largely uneventful (ok, my sister might have some choice words to say about her childrens’ shoulders). We all managed to largely avoid induction. And none of us ended up needing a c-section. I think I’ll take the extra week or two in exchange for the excellent outcomes that seem to go with them.

Still, from now until 5 weeks from now. The week count-down increments by 1. We’re almost there.