Week 27
This week’s birthing class taught us about pain medication. Our choices included, spinal, epidural, or biting down on a stick. We had a new teacher, as Suzanne was practicing Lamaze breathing techniques at home, days away from her own miraculous baby birth. Our new teacher (RN Kay) is a firecracker. She might just talk faster than the guy on the micro-machine commercials when we were eight! She ripped through that pain med booklet like a warm knife through butter. Or should I say, a small but very long needle through my spinal column. OMG.
It seems that heading into my third trimester is causing me a little more stress than anticipated. I expected that those first three months would be the worst. But after six months of waiting, body changes and lifestyle upheaval—this had better go right. My worries center around safety in the now, and the actual birth decision-making timeline. For example, when is it too late to rush into a caesarian? Why can’t they better estimate the size of the baby v. the size of my vagina? How will we determine if I am just too small?
Add to these worries the fact that today I leave for a three-day trip half-way across the United States with my mother-in-law. Nervous isn’t the right word. If I were merely nervous, I wouldn’t be sitting here in my pajamas at the computer wasting valuable packing time a few hours before take-off. I’m beyond nervous, just short of scared shitless. You know, that in-between stage where one believes they can stop time with mind power. First of all, this is HER trip. We’re going to see HER friends and HER favorite museums and we are staying in HER favorite hotel IN ONE ROOM. The pressure is mounting. Up until now I have safely protected myself with short 4 hour visits—and I can control myself for four hours. I can behave like a princess for 4 hours. I can even hold a pretty tight intellectual repartee for that long.
Three days, however, is a totally different story. In three days I can guarantee you I will need to fart pretty loud at some point. It’s not a matter of holding it in and being courteous. When you are pregnant, it is only a matter of time. Due to the proximity of our living arrangements, I foresee at least 3 humiliating episodes. After all, I woke myself up snoring last night, and I DO NOT SNORE. I also screamed in my sleep and woke-up Clint. I had a bad dream that our puppy was taking a pee in the middle of my new comforter. True Story.
My fears of un-stoppable body-function humiliation are justified. Why, just yesterday I was discussing finances with Clint when I leaned over the table to make a point and belched so loud I thought my brother was in the room. I didn’t even see that one coming!
In short, my body is no longer my own. Adalia-Lucia-Harlow-Piper has taken me captive. She even has me stressing out this morning about kick-counts. Ever the active-baby, she hasn’t kicked me yet this morning and now I’m worried. I did wake up on my back.
“Ahhh,” says my mother, “This is just the beginning. Wait until she’s actually visable. Then you’ll worry.”
The positive take-away in all this is that I have time to think and plan for the birth. I love to plan. I love to run through the possibilities in my mind before I encounter them in reality—then the “unexpected” isn’t so bad. I’ve already been there. So when I start to have unbearable contractions, I can say with confidence, “Throw that freakin’ stick out the window and gimme a needle!”
Sadly, I have no more time to plan for what’s coming this weekend. It’s here. And I have to go. Now.
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