July 22, 2011
A couple weeks ago, I felt like I hit a wall. All the things I could normally get done started being a whole lot more difficult to get done. Getting through a couple loads of laundry was just brutal. I figured it was third trimester exhaustion, combined with being completely wiped out from sitting at (or, more likely, running around like a crazy woman at) swim meets in 90 degree heat all the time. I figured it was completely normal.
Yesterday, I went for my midwife appointment and found out that although I passed my glucose tolerance test with flying colors, my CBC results came back with a less than glowing report. In order to have an out of hospital birth, one’s hemocrit level must be at 33%. When I started my pregnancy, I was at 35%. Now? 29%. I thought I had tackled all hurdles to having this baby at the birth center, but I have one more to go. Apparently eating six pickled eggs a day should have been a habit I kept up with past the first trimester. That might have helped to keep my numbers up.
The midwife explained how one can feel when you are anemic and suddenly I realized that the physical exhaustion that feels like it is weighing my arms down lately is not normal third trimester nonsense. It’s probably because of the anemia. Same with how dizzy I got while just sitting around last week and with the fact that I need a nap every two hours. We won’t even talk about how irritable I have been (You did read my last post right?) She told me to start taking additional iron. . . bring on the constipation, and that we’ll retest in a couple weeks. Goody, more blood draws.
Although I keep hearing people call me “adorable,” the only “able” word that comes to mind right now is “miserable.” My belly button is gone. The surrounding area itches like crazy and is all rashy. The minute I stand up, I get head-butted in the bladder and I seriously can’t eat over my plate anymore without feeling like I am crushing this baby. Couple that with a nasty heat wave during our most crazy swimming week of the year and you’ve got one very unhappy mama-to-be-times-three.
Right now I can’t even imagine my skin stretching any more than it already has; but I know I’m in for it. If you happen to be looking for me at the swim meets this weekend, where we’re expecting a heat index of like 105, you might want to direct your attention to the baby pool. That’s where I’ll be, tossing and turning like a beached whale, just trying to cool my body off the only way I know how without having to deck enter myself into a race. It’s the “baby pool” right? There aren’t usually signs restricting the lower end of the age bracket; and since my baby is about negative 11 weeks old, I should be good to go.