August 16, 2011

7 Weeks and 2 Days to Go. . . Not that I’m Counting

Despite the smile, I am beyond tired of being pregnant.

32 weeks and change

After surviving the summer swimming season with heat waves galore, I figured the end of the summer would be fairly easy to tolerate. Maybe I’m just whiny, old or a combination of the two, but the constant stretching pains in the rib area are getting a bit annoying and my back is really hurting if I spend any length of time standing.  I was talking to a friend the other day who said she always felt like her babies hung out “near the emergency exit” and that is very true of me this time around. When you can push on the little butt that is hanging out near your rib cage and you feel a head butt in the bladder, it’s cool in one way but also starts to make you feel like you could be the next Sigourney Weaver. Where’s my spaceship? And no, you can’t touch my belly unless I invite you to touch my unborn baby’s butt. Back off, no seriously.

Don’t get me wrong. This part of pregnancy is neat in so many ways. My stomach is changing shape almost constantly. I feel the little guy get ridiculously strong hiccups at least three times a day. Last night, I told Mr. BBM I was fairly certain he had discovered my hip bones because it truly felt like he was poking at them and pushing at them from the inside out. He is so present in my world already and I’m getting really excited to meet him. I’m just not so excited about having to go through the actual labor part again.

When I was in labor with Sassy, I hit a point where I looked at Mr. BBM and told him, “Now I remember. It’s all coming back to me.” It’s funny how new baby cries wipe away the remembrance of transition during labor and allow you to get pregnant all over again. Lately though, the nerves about going through it again are rising up to attack me. The other night, I had a horrible dream that I had to have a C-section. I know that plenty of people have them and that some people even request them, but having a C-section is my biggest personal nightmare. In my dream, they didn’t have time to put up the drapes so I spent the whole time, strapped to the table, staring beyond my forehead trying not to look. I woke up from the dream crying and sweating.  The birth center where I go has a C-section rate of less than 10%, so my stress about this issue is really unnecessary; but you can’t help going there when you’re approaching the end of pregnancy.

Tomorrow, I have another midwife appointment and they will be doing another blood draw to find out if drinking liquid nails has brought my iron levels up to a point where I can truly start packing for and planning for an out-of-hospital birth. The extra loads of little laundry have already started. 51 days to go. . .


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