A month ago, I left you with the burning saga of me being put on "bed rest" at Week 33, with the imminent arrival of my kid set to happen at any moment.
Here I am at Week 38...at the end of the final season of Will & Grace, waddling around in my granny panties on a diet of stool softeners and Caffeine-Free Pepsi, and you guessed it, NO KID. I'm basically a retired 70 year old.
People who say teachers don't do anything need to be body slammed and punched in the throat. I'd made it through half of the third trimester with NO PROBLEMS, went back to work for two days, and basically started premature labor. Taking me out of work has been quite a challenge for me, but it clearly saved my baby from any potentially harmful medical issues from being born too soon. The first two weeks at home were filled with busy work. We had done noth-ing, noth-ing to prepare for a newborn. Call it procrastination, call it laziness, call it us being in denial that this was actually getting ready to happen, but we had just pushed things to the end thinking we still had weeks to get stuff done. In those two weeks, I perfected the art that is online shopping.
I'd say my retail expertise has increased from a 4 to an 9.2. I'm on a first name basis with all area UPS, USPS, and FedEx men. They've all seen me in my pajamas, or lack thereof, and with no make-up. We are pretty much a family. But let me not forget all my regulars at Food Lion in the middle of the day. Betty, Ethel, Harvey, and Cornelia. I don't know if these are actually their names or not, but it's who I shop with for an hour at 11:30 on weekdays so I named them and they are my friends. Sadly, our combined age average is 64, yet they are the ones who end up helping me take my cart back in or picking something up from the bottom of a shelf.
This brings me to a very significant problem I've been having lately.
I'm not sure if I'm ready to not be pregnant anymore.
My due date is September 26, next Saturday. I've been going to my doctor once a week since mid-August and for 4 of those weeks, nothing had changed. I was still dilated the same, my weight stayed the same...UNDER my allowed-pregnancy-weight-gain-goal, may I add (GASP!), and we pretty much left his office each time feeling just down right pissed. How dare you tease me and make me (Mike) work like a dog for days at a time preparing for a baby who apparently doesn't want to leave the awesomeness that is my uterus!? I had even told people that I was thinking of switching doctors if we decided to do this again because of his flippant attitude here lately. Then we went to the doctor this week and my pissiness came to a grinding halt.
When I stepped on the scale Tuesday, I had gained 4 pounds. 4. FOUR. 4 POUNDS. I mean, for the past two months I'd been eating whatever, whenever, however, and it was all well and good because every time I went in, the scale wouldn't move. My BP was excellent. All was right with the world. Then BAM! My head exploded when the number after the "1" wasn't what it had been saying, it was the next number up. Then they took my BP, which was really good, but slightly higher than what I'd been running. Then it was time for the "Shove-In Show" with the good doc, and I had dilated another centimeter. Then it was all, "let's induce you next Tuesday, if you make it that long". Um, hellllerr?? He'd been all non-nonchalant and hush-hush about my status and I'd convinced myself he was one of these hippie doctors who would just let me stay pregnant til like, Week 47, then he's says I will be taking a live human that bursts from my vagina within the week, BEFORE his due date? Shut. Up!!
That's where we are. I'm being induced next Tuesday morning, if I even make it through the weekend. We have everything that can be possibly ready, ready. His room is ready, our house is ready. The bags are ready. GAHHHHH. So what's wrong with me?! Why am I sad about this? I thought postpartum depression was just that, POST. People are so friendly to you when you're pregnant. Everybody smiles and awws and coos at you. They lie and tell you how good you look, constantly. Who wants to be rid of that? We worked so hard for years for this, and now, it's getting ready to be taken away. I'm sure the thought just crossed your mind, "how selfish of her". And you're right; to an extent. People with fertility issues only ever say, "I can't wait to be pregnant" or "If I could only get pregnant" or "If I could only stay pregnant". For me, that was more of my mantra than, "If we could only have a baby", I guess because I was the reason we couldn't. You build yourself up on that mantra for so long, when you finally get it and it's about to be over, it's a little sad. I guess it's like what Olympians go through? They train so hard to win gold, then they do, then...well, what do they do after that? Oh, change diapers and clean up projectile vomit. That's what.
Let's move on from "sad" to "gross". I have found something that people avoid talking about almost as much as miscarriages. And that something is hemorrhoids. I had a little dose of this condition way back in the first trimester. It passed. Not a big deal. Then over the past few days, I started to HURT. I couldn't sit, I couldn't stand. I was using the baby's Boppy to sit on on the sofa because my bum was on FIRE. I'm talking, P-A-I-N. All I kept thinking was, what am I going to do if I go into labor like this? I mean, I just learned about "ripping". Oh yes, the ripping. Ms. Ghee in 8th grade Health taught me how to put a condom on, but she neglected to tell me why women should avoid pregnancy all together in the first place: RIPPING AND HEMORRHOIDS. She should've shown the class pics of THAT up on the over-head projector and I can't speak for all, but THIS girl wouldn't have had to worry about penis getting anywhere NEAR her. Ever.
When I was first made aware about ripping, I was all, "Wait, excuse me, what? It actually TEARS from that to...THAT? What? How does it go back? HOW WILL I PEE?! HOW WILL I DO...ANYTHING EVER AGAIN?! Tell me you're joking. SHUT. UP. Ew. EW. I want a C-section. I WANT A C-SECTIONNNNN, SCHEDULE IT NOW!" Then you throw this little bundle of grapes into the mix and now there's ripping and grapes exploding during my labor and PAIN, and you know what? I just can't even think about this anymore. I'm going to move on. I'm going to be positive. I'm going to FREAKING GET THIS KID OUT OF ME. With drugs. Lots and lots of miracle, numbing DRUGS. Somebody bring me my 5th grade D.A.R.E. t-shirt because I may D.A.R.E. to keep kids off drugs, but I sure as hell am allll about giving them to pregnant people.
I may be scared. I may be grossed out. I may faint during labor, which is fine with me, just wake me up after they lay Bae on my chest and he stares up into my face and goes, "So you're the face of the most annoying human on the planet who clearly thinks nobody can hear her perform Reba's "Fancy" when you're in the car alone". Then I can say back to him, "HEMORRHOIDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" And all will be right with our world.
Because we truly are tickled...BLUE...about our baby's arrival, all horror and depression stories aside, I decided to share some of the awesome things his awesome parents dorked out over for his nursery. Enjoy what our baby will be staring at for the next (at least!) 18 years ;)
My original theme (probably since the first trimester) was 'pandas'. Then, I found these pictures on Etsy and I couldn't get them out of my mind. So, Baby Star Wars nursery theme was born! We wanted something totally different from the traditional "boy". I'm obsessed with it.
Can we just talk about this retro-classic Star Wars clock I found? It's the perfect accent over this Lego Star Wars shelf near the crib. Don't give me a theme because I will go above and beyond. Holler.
Some of you may recognize the left picture as my childhood/teenage/young adult chester drawers. Although, you may not because it isn't covered with Jonathan Taylor Thomas/Justin Timberlake-circa blonde tips Bop magazine cut-outs. Mike Annie Sloan chalk painted the hell out of them and the right pic is the finished product.
I, (like my father), am a Redskins fan and Mike is a Packers fan. My dad worked as an Ambassador at the Redskins Training Camp this summer and got access to a personal autograph session. He took a onesie with him and had as many players (like, ones that actually play and are important!) sign it as possible. Then he got it framed for the nursery. This is why my kid's Papa is cooler than yours.
As if you haven't done it enough for us over the years, please, please keep up in your prayers over the next few days. Everything is set to go smoothly, but...you know me ;)
