Just Powers

At some point this week I thought to myself that I might talk to my OB about scheduling a c-section for me and that maybe she could just knock me out for it so I slept through the whole thing. This thought from someone who had no interventions or medications with the delivery of my first child (unless you count a nasty nurse as an intervention).

But the thing is, with my first pregnancy, I just sailed through. At the time I felt really sorry for myself for being really sick until about 18 weeks, and then at 32 weeks I started having some hip pain, and I was tired of course, I thought it was a tough pregnancy. Now, I know better. From the nausea that lasted until 20 weeks, the hip pain that started at 21 weeks, the pre-term contractions at 26 weeks and managing the “modified” bed rest from then on, to stressors that have occurred in the last few weeks that include bad news regarding my dog and my job, not to mention the stomach flu all three of us had this week, I now realize how easy I had it with my first.

Ok, I don’t really want to miss the birth of my second child, but honestly I am at this place right now where labor could actually happen at any moment, and the thought of that terrifies me. I spent months preparing physically and mentally for Emma’s birth, and I was successful at having an intervention free birth. This time, I have just barely read the chapter in my Bradley book that reviews the stages of labor, have done almost no physical prep for labor and barely even have my bag for the hospital packed. I am completely unprepared and find myself more terrified of the impending birth than excited, as I was last time. Since I am pretty sure that it was largely my preparation, mindset and mental state that allowed me to get through the pain last time, I am pretty sure that my lack of preparation and stable mental state this time will be my downfall. That, and I am just DONE. Done being pregnant, done with bed rest, done with the stress of late.

So really I think just going full throttle with the interventions and letting me sleep through a scheduled c-section is probably the best thing. Don’t you?

Last week, for our third anniversary, a box of flowers showed up at my door. As I walked up the steps towards them, I ran through the list of people who could have sent them to me. Included in that list was Mike - my partner of six years, three of them government-sanctioned.

For whatever reason, Mike and I have never been overly romantic in the traditional sense of the word, but however it is that we show each other that we care seems to have worked so far. Mike will randomly buy me gifts that he knows I will like and occasionally will pick up a bouquet of flowers at the grocery store, but I am pretty sure he has never sent me flowers - oh wait, there was that plant arrangement he sent to my office for my first Mother’s Day. That was very cool, and I have even managed NOT to kill it yet.

So, he has only sent me foliage of some sort one other time. This is not something that bothers me or that I find myself ever even thinking about. However, when I walked up those stairs and saw that box of flowers, and ran through the list of possible senders, I found myself thinking, “Oh please let them be from Mike.” When I opened the card, and they were from him, I cried enough that Emma asked “Mommy so happy?”

I felt like Meg Ryan at the very end of “You’ve Got Mail” when she is standing in a garden in Central Park waiting to meet the person she has spent the entire movie emailing and IMing with anonymously, and who she has convinced herself could be “Mr. Right.” As Tom Hanks rounds the corner, she realizes that her anonymous Mr. Right is actually a very real person she has known for a while, and who she has become best friends with. As they embrace and the music swells, she says “I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.”

My bouquet started out with most of the buds closed tight but with lush beautiful green leaves. When Mike came home that night he was concerned that they didn’t look more colorful, like the picture had looked when he ordered them. One week later, this is what they look like. They are stunning and I love them.

Thanks Mike. I love you, too.

Ack, it’s been so long since I have been here. So much has happened, but at 33 weeks pregnant I am just not prepared to lay it all out. But I have gotten some grief from you, my two readers, so out of guilt, I decided to check in and say hi.

December was as crazy as December tends to be. We traveled to Florida to see Emma’s Poppy and Nonnie a couple of weeks before Christmas. This will be the last time I ever fly with a child. Evah. Ok, yeah I know that is not possible, but if the projectile vomiting that occurred on the first leg of the trip home didn’t do us in, the totally-exhausted-but-can’t-sleep-and-screaming-hysterically-for-the- whole-flight that occurred on the second leg definitely did. From now on whenever I think to myself “how bad can it be?” in relation to flying with a child, I definitely have an answer.

On December 23 (yep my birthday, for those paying attention) I started having pre-term contractions at about 25-26 weeks and ended up in the hospital for the day. They stopped the contractions but put me on modified bedrest till I saw my doctor. Long story short, she kept me on the modified bed rest (or “limited physical activity”) and here I sit, at 33 weeks, watching A Baby Story and wishing Emma’s nap would last a lot longer than it is actually going to. Of course, somehow the bed rest has not translated into more blogging, since I am still working full time from home and am trying to get more rest when I am not working.

The doctor predicts I will deliver at around 36 weeks - which is when Emma decided to join us too - so it could be that we are in the serious final stretch now, which would be really good since I am incredibly uncomfortable and cranky about the whole thing. I love the final result, but man, I am NOT a fan of the whole pregnancy thing.

Just between you and me, I probably have a wee bit more physical activity than the doctors would be 100% comfortable with, but it is REALLY hard to stay sedentary with a 2 year old and so far it has not caused any trouble. I really try though. I promise.

In January we started talking to Emma about her baby brother in a more concrete way and she caught on right away. I wasn’t sure she would be able to grasp the whole concept, since really there are times when the idea of another human growing inside me is a little more than even I can handle, but she seemed to get it immediately. Now she talks about her “baby bruvver” all the time, knows he is in my belly and knows that at some point - maybe soon - he will “come out” or “be born”. Lately she has even started talking about my belly “squeezing” when it is time for him to come out. When she says this she tries to grab a handful of my belly and squeezes to demonstrate what will happen.

A couple of pretty depressing things happened this week (nothing to do with the baby) that we are trying to deal with, but I don’t want to talk about them to be completely honest, so I’m not. Maybe later.

So that is the last two-plus months in a nutshell. As usual, I will work really hard at getting back here more frequently. If I don’t, please feel free to get on my case ok?