October 11, 2011
Today I am 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant. I spent the night writhing around my bed because I was having some seriously strong contractions. Today, I’ve had some too; but nothing regular, nothing to call the midwives about. I am about ready to call a medical supply store and get a walker or possibly a wheelchair. My back and hips just simply can’t support this kid anymore. I need a zero gravity chamber or else I’m just not comfortable.
Everyone’s advice to me while I was at the mall yesterday was, “Keep walking,” like I hadn’t just spent three hours walking around the mall. When your hip bones have loosened so much so that the only thing keeping your legs from crumbling to the ground is the skin that surrounds them, “keep walking” is not what you want to hear. I also didn’t really want to hear the three women speaking Spanish who were clearly discussing my stomach. It wasn’t in a nice way either; it was in a snarky way and less than three feet from me. They also cut me in line as I waited to get another size for Big I. It made me wish I could say in Spanish, “Well, my belly isn’t nearly as big as your a$$.” I considered having a “Bridesmaids” moment where I just started rattling off Spanish words. . . “azul. . . hola. . . ” with an attitude. You can’t even imagine how much I wished I was standing there with one of my many Spanish speaking friends. Instead I just pretended I knew they were saying awful things and gave them evil, “I will follow you to the parking lot and take you out” glares. Some might say I was being paranoid or just miserable because of my current state of being; but when Big I, who lives in la-la land, notices, you feel validated in your wanting to kill and maim.
In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m pretty much over the whole “advantages of being 40 + weeks pregnant” thing. The positive outlook I had post massage the other day is long gone. You try having a killer contraction and sneezing at the same time. Bad things happen. Trust me. It’s hard to be positive when you feel like you’ve been reduced to an incontinent invalid.
My Mom’s friend had a really fantastic idea for me. She said that anytime someone asks me “Didn’t you have that baby yet?” I should charge them a dollar. At the rate I’m getting asked, I would have a college fund ready to go, enough for Harvard, by the time he’s born.
Today at the grocery store, where old people gawk at me like I’m Hester Prynne, I bought tropical fruit to eat. Tomorrow I will add it to the list of crap that’s supposed to send you into labor and doesn’t work. So far. . .
- Evening primrose oil (both ways if you know what I’m talking about, and if you don’t, please don’t ask)
- Red leaf raspberry tea (have consumed enough of the stuff to fill the Chesapeake Bay)
- The thing that got me in this predicament in the first place
- Walking, like a lot
- Massage with accupressure point stuff
- Foot massage
- Eggplant Parmesan
- Fresh basil
- Spicy food
- Excessive cleaning (mopping, dusting, vacuuming, reorganizing every closet in the house, etc. etc. etc.)
- Trying NOT to think about it.
- Trying TO think about it and telling myself I CAN go into labor on my own.
- Even prayer. . . hey God, what’s up with that???
Tonight is a full moon and tomorrow rain is moving into the area. Perhaps Mother Nature will have something to say about this inhabitant of my body. I’m starting to feel like Sigourney Weaver. You’re cooked baby; move out. At the rate I’m going, he may come out with teeth and possibly talking. Heck, he might even be able to walk.