40 weeks…

San Clemente Family Photographer-1515 San Clemente Family Photographer-1944I called my grandma the other day. We were both battling the cold that seems to be making it’s way around all the households these days. I giggled when she asked, “What happens if you go into labor? Will the hospital turn you away because of your cold?”.

I got up to pee four times last night.

I didn’t really think twice about the due date that my doc originally assigned me because early-on it didn’t really matter. But now that the countdown has begun and I know the induction conversation awaits just around the corner, I’m finding myself researching due date calculations and adjusting mine – in my favor, of course – accordingly. Luckily google agrees with my calculations so now it’s just a matter of convincing my doc that my calculations make more sense than his.

I roll my eyes every time I over hear willy joyfully say “any day now”, which started at 38 weeks and while technically true, seems like a statement that was made in what should be considered ancient history in terms of labor. I keep reminding him, and everyone he suggests “any day now” to that “any day now” most probably means at least a week or two or – God forbid – more.

I’ve been checking my underwear like its fucking Easter and I’m hoping to find an Easter egg. And by Easter egg I mean any sign of life to come — discharge, blood, even dribbles of urine the lunatic in me can pass off as “leaky water”.

It’s getting harder to hold my bladder. I shoved Hooper out of the way to beat him to the toilet the other day and felt like a total loser. When I was pregnant with him, I mistook pissing my pants for my water breaking. When it happened the second time, I was actually prepared with a plastic syringe I had taken from work and used to draw some up off the floor to prove, in fact, it was urine.

Every time I feel a contraction I hear this voice in my head that sounds like a sweaty man watching Sunday football, his favorite player running in a touchdown, with teeth clinched and grunting – almost as if during aggressive sex you see in the movies – chanting “yes! Yes! Bring it! Bringgggg ittttt”… And then the contraction ends I feel like I just got off one of those chintzy roller coaster rides at the local carnival when I was hoping for amusement park grade.

The milk in our fridge expires well past my due date. It’s weird to think of me going into labor, spending a few days in the hospital, and returning home – with a baby – to that same gallon of milk in the fridge. Hashtag: where my thoughts go.

Baby brain is in full effect. I refer to things I did yesterday as occurring days ago and am baffled when asked by someone how yesterday went because, for the life of me, I can’t recall a mere 24 hours prior to whatever moment I’m currently in.

I met my sister for dinner at a local mall and ended up leaving the mall with a bag full of girl clothes. I’m not really sure what spurred the urge. Lately I’ve been feeling like this babe may be a little lady, though regardless I find my actions completely absurd. I’ve added ‘return bag of girl clothes’ to the honey-do list while I’m in the hospital should another dick come out of me.

My dear friend Audrey offered me a virtual seat in her class, Breaking Through via The Define School, to help pass the time. It’s nice to have homework for the next few weeks.

I’m sick of not being able to see my lady parts and yet, when I catch a glimpse in the mirror, I wish I hadn’t. Know what I mean? y…eah.

And yes, we included Jimmie in our last round of booth photos.

40 Weeks

It goes without saying that my google searches have lead me to research on natural labor induction. I want this baby out. And not because my body is throbbing and I’m tired of carrying the extra load (even though this is true)… The pregnancy pains pale in comparison to my fear of a repeat of what happened the first time around: induction, constant monitoring, pitocin, delivering on the operating room table, etc. I fear that the later this pregnancy goes, the more jeopardized my birth plan becomes. Remember I chose a home birth based on the fact that I truly feel it’s what’s safest for me and for my baby. While many misconstrue my decision to be emotional, rest assured that there is plenty of scientific research to back up my decision. With that said, I’ve put a lot of love and care and forethought into my decision and the later I get in pregnancy, the more I see my control over the situation diminishing. I digress.
Inducing labor naturally (isn’t that an oxymoron?) at home is a funny thing. All the sites seem to say the same thing: acupuncture, acupressure, pineapple, evening primrose oil, homeopathics, sex, walking, castor oil, spicy food. But there seems to be an asterix attached to each method that states: These methods will only work if your baby is ready to come out. Let me translate this asterix in more plain English: “Listen you crazy pregnant lady, I know you want your baby to come out. You can try A, B, and C, and even E, F, AND G if it makes you feel better and helps fill your days of waiting. Labor will still happen, however, whenever the f*#$@ it feels like happening. Try this natural induction method instead: WAIT”.
And yet I can’t stop eating pineapple after pineapple in hopes of a puddle of amniotic fluid magically appearing at my feet. I went to get a refill on the homeopathic medicine I’ve been taking. I instructed the homeopathoIogist that I’m now at my due date and need the stronger dose. She gave me the instructions regarding dose and frequency and then said something all too familiar, “If it doesn’t work, then your baby just isn’t ready to come and you can try taking the same dose at the same intervals the next day”. My wheels started spinning, I paid the nine bucks, and I waddled back to my car thinking, “Screw her, she used the asterix. What she is basically telling me is that I can take her shit or leave it and either way my baby will come when he damn well pleases”. I came home and bragged to Willy about my epiphany. He said, “So you didn’t buy the stuff, did you?”. And I said, “Of course I did”. I know, silly. BUT, I explained to Willy that it’s like knowing you’re going to die. You can’t just let death happen, you have to die trying. It’s much too hard to sit here and complacently wait. I have to feel proactive, like I’m working toward the baby coming out. I have to fool myself into thinking I have at least an ounce of control. It’s the only way to stay sane.
I’m confused as to whether I’m giving birth to a teenager or a dependant being because if it’s the latter, shouldn’t I be the one calling the shots? What’s that you say? I have to learn this lesson all over again and forfeit all control? Screw you, pregnancy. Screw you. 

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