The Final Stretch

Where’s the bladder? Because that’s all I feel.

34 Weeks – 8.5 mos. Only about 6 weeks to go! Holy shitballs, I can’t believe it. In just over a month, I will have a little human to take care of! A daughter. I’ll be a mommy. What a trip!

Been trying to put my mind in a place that’s ready for that. It’s still pretty focused on the birth. I just have trouble looking beyond the big event. I’ve done so much research and planning for the pregnancy/birth, that if it doesn’t happen the way I want it, I’ll be heartbroken. And I know I can’t control it all. Shit could go down. I could end up in the hospital with all the medical intervention stuff that I don’t want, at the mercy of strangers, and drugs and possible surgeries … and I’ve got to learn to let it go. What happens will happen. I gotta go with the flow, no matter what, and focus on meeting my child…

It was during our last appointment with my OB/GYN that I was inspired to step up my efforts to find a midwife. I have no problem with Dr. U. She’s been looking at my vagina for years (even though she never remembers me — or my vagina.) She’s sweet and gentle and is a good doctor. But when I started asking questions about hospital procedures and the chances of being able to have what I want, she didn’t exactly inspire confidence. I asked her point-blank, “What are my chances of having a natural childbirth in this hospital?” She shrugged her shoulders! “Because you guys do a lot of C-sections here, right?” She agreed. Forty percent! She said with my group of doctors, it was around 20 percent. “Still too high,” she acknowledged. I asked her about being able to move around, drink or eat, go beyond my due date … and the answers were always the equivalent of “No/Well, we’ll see/You can’t be pregnant forever/You can’t move when you’re attached to a monitor/No, you won’t be allowed to do that …” She left the room, and I said to DH, “I think she just made this decision easier.”

So, we asked our hypnobirthing instructor for recommendations and found our midwives. A team of two ladies who offer home birth services for a not-so-low out-of-pocket price. Ouch. Apparently, I can try to get partially reimbursed by my insurance, but it doesn’t sound like a fun process. Whatever. I paid off our wedding in 8 months; I can pay for the birth that I want. I feel really good about these women. They are very experienced, fully licensed and make me feel like a natural birth in a comforting environment is normal and not impossible to come by. It’s a load off, let me tell you. And yes, they have back-up doctors who work with them that we can choose from, in case we do need a transfer to a hospital. (But I won’t.)

I love that one of the midwives, L, made a point to say that no matter how weird our birth plan is, they are fine with letting us do it the way we want. Some examples of births they’ve attended: One lady loved her closet and wanted to birth in there. Another pranced around naked in her backyard, shouting, “I love you!” to everyone and then gave birth in her garden. Another dad-to-be insisted on a plastic bag of dirt being underneath his wife when the baby came out, because he wanted his child born on Texas soil. So, you see? Crazier people than us do it and everything turns out fine. The midwives also say that they can count on one hand the number of times they needed an emergency transfer to the hospital — and that was because the mother was giving up and wanted drugs. (That will not be me.)

So, we are in the mad scramble to get our house and ourselves ready for this. The baby room is coming along. That is where I hope to meet our little girl. In our comfy old bed. For the laboring, I have the options of walking around in the backyard, soaking in our deep tub, showering, rolling around on the birthhig ball … whatever feels good, really. We are finding the relaxing music I’ll listen to, gathering the LED candles, preparing our birth plan and visualizing how we want it to go. Still need to buy curtains for that room and other annoying tasks on the big To Do list. We’ll get there. Or we won’t. Won’t matter in the end, really!

I’ve also got some waterproof pads on our brand new bed as well as in my car, in case my water breaks there. I guess “water” isn’t just water and it will stain the shit out of whatever it lands on? Really, really hoping it doesn’t break at work. I guess I should stash some clothes there, to avoid an embarrassing walk across the lot … Only 4 more weeks of work and I’m outta there … can not wait.

The little lamb moves around all the time. Really active sometimes, to the point that it make me dizzy. And she wakes me up sometimes. Big kicks to the (insert organ here) which make me go, “Oh!” and wakes up both of us with a start. It kind of freaks me out at times. What’s going in there, baby? Did you not like that piece of candy I just ate? Are you practicing gymnastics? Is there just not enough room? I feel ya, kid. I do.

My girlfriends gave me a rockin tiki baby shower. Full bar in our backyard, ridiculous games and much laughter. Who else can say they had a baby game where people had to ride a zipline and drop a baby doll from between their knees into a bath? No one, that’s who. It was a hoot. And no one got hurt or a flesh eating bacteria, so we can all celebrate that.

The zipline will prove to be the best part of this house…

We had our last weekend getaway on Mother’s Day weekend. Stayed at a resort in Palm Springs. It was fabulous. I braved the bikini! I just wasn’t ready for the mom suit, even though I bought one. It’s hideous. So, I bared the belly, and no one fainted, or screamed or anything.

Here’s proof:

All the shiny = sunblock. I’m not dumb.

I even saw one other mom-to-be sporting a two piece. I wanted to high five her. Then I noticed that she had no cellulite. Bitch didn’t need my help to feel good… 😉 I hung out in the shade because holy crap 104 degrees is hot. Swimming felt amazing — to have that weightless feeling, relief for my joints and feet. The worst part was walking out of the pool, as my weight became mine again. Ugh. I need more friends with pools.

DH gave me a Mom’s Day card. (I’m a mom already — can you believe it?) He’s the sweetest. I even had a glass of wine — on two nights. They both gave me an instant headache. That’s some good insurance right there. One more step away from those boozin’ days of yore.

We also finalized the baby’s name and spelling. Yay! Although her first name is one that is gaining in popularity (harrumph!), we will call her by a nickname, which is pretty unique.

Complainy time! (You know you’ve missed it.) I’ve gained 31 pounds so far. My rapidly expanding feet feel every ounce. I had to get another fake wedding ring to wear on my sausage fingers. You know what’s fun? Having to pee every 15 minutes. You know what’s not fun? Feeling like you really have to pee every 15 minutes, but you don’t really. Heartburn is a mother fucker. Those marks on my boobs that I thought were veins? Nope – stretch marks. $*#@!*%. I can’t bend over at all anymore and am sporting some ugly naked toenails because I can’t paint them. Sleep is impossible most nights. Last night was about a whopping 1.5 hours.

Oh, and I think we had our last sex session. Whatever ingredient in semen that can make you go into labor was doing something. The last two times, I felt weird and crampy afterward. It’s condoms or handies from here on out … Poor DH …

One thought on “The Final Stretch

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s