Thirty-nine weeks + one day pregnant as I write this and I don’t even know what I’m going to say. Sitting here ready to crawl out of my own skin, I just had to do something before I fidget myself into a mental breakdown, and I thought “random thought-vomit BLOG POST!” So here you go my friends… the unfiltered thoughts of a nearly insane, ridiculously pregnant woman, who is BEYOND over it. A.k.a. My thoughts before baby number two.
My sweet Lila Clare at six weeks old.
Photo by Amanda Dennette Photography.
RUDE PEOPLE.
The first thought on my mind before baby number two is rude people. To me, at this particular juncture of my life, this includes everyone. With the possible exception of my two-year-old daughter who constantly repeats in her precious angel voice, “you okay Momma?” when I groan with whatever random ache, pain, or leak is currently afflicting me.
Just this morning I found myself raging over the “guess the baby’s birthday” calendar at my baby shower (see my Instagram if you missed the pic). I felt furious at everyone who guessed that the baby would be born after my due date. Why would people who are supposed to be my friends wish that type of evil on me?
And also, to that dude in Wal Mart who said, “WHOA that thing ’bout ready to jump out of dere!”… First of all, F you for calling my baby a “thing”, also F you for slamming your cart in front of mine in front of the peanuts, and thirdly, F you for commenting on my physical appearance in any way. I don’t know you. Keep your mouth shut, get your honey roasteds and your Busch Light and get out of my way.
People who are also RUDE PEOPLE… ones that say anything with the word “burst” or “pop” in it. I.e. “looks like you’re ready to pop/burst!” Yes, thank you. That is exactly how I like to envision the birth of my child. My stomach BURSTING open. Thank you for combining that horrific visual with a backhanded insult about my size.
I’ve over you, rude people.
MOM GUILT.
I posted on Instagram about this last weekend after an amazing day with just me and Lila. We shopped, we played, we shared a milkshake. It was pure mother/daughter magic. After I put her down for a nap, I was picking up her matchbox cars, and without warning the flood gates FLEW open and I was sobbing. I thought, “what if that is the last time I EVER get her all to myself?” How could I possibly love another human like I love her? I don’t want this “new one” to take time and attention away from Lila, which I know she undoubtedly will.
And then the guilt comes, because I know my time, lap, patience, arms, love and everything will have to be shared. Lila’s world will be different and right now I don’t want that. And then the second wave of guilt comes because I’m resenting my precious little baby before she even arrives. And around and around I go. It’s exhausting and upsetting and I’m certain that every mother must have these same thoughts before baby number two. At least I hope so, or I guess that makes me an even worse parent/human than I thought.
PHYSICAL TORTURE.
From the second you become pregnant, your body is not your own. The first and second trimesters are tolerable, but by this stage of the game (39 weeks if you weren’t paying attention) you feel like a blob of subconscious floating in a vessel that is not your own and can scarcely support it’s own weight. The hormone Relaxin makes your legs – particularly thighs and pelvis – loose and flajiggity (it’s a word) so that everything can rearrange to let a baby out.
However, in the meantime, when there’s no baby emancipating, it is freakin’ annoying. You’ll just be walking along and all of the sudden one of your legs will flop in some weird direction. Or when you stand up it will feel like your entire butt is about to fall out. Sorry, but I’m not sorry for the TMI right now. This is how women at this stage of pregnancy live, so if you happen to be one (or be married to one) who is handling it gracefully, BE AMAZED.
Aside from random leg floppage, there are insanely painful leg cramps, coupled with Restless Leg Syndrome, which is about as pleasant as being massaged with glass shards. And let’s not forget the random – and frustratingly unproductive – contractions. The ones that I’ve had so far start in my back and radiate around to the front of my belly, like a tsunami ball of pain that unravels until you can’t breathe. I literally can see the contractions. I have been “asleep” when they’ve happened so far, and as soon as the pain starts, I can see spiderwebs spreading out all over the back of my eyelids, not dissimilar to actually being able to actually SEE every single nerve synapse firing off with pain. It’s fun.
And these aren’t even the real contractions, which I actually can’t wait for, because if this baby doesn’t get out of my body soon there is a 100% likelihood that I’m gonna get stabby on the next person to tell me that “at least I’m not having the baby in August so it’s not so hot.” Are you KIDDING ME?! It’s 96 degrees and I’m dragging an invisible anchor from my lady parts, so yeah, I’m a little friggin’ warm and I don’t really care WHAT month it is. (See above for “rude people”.)
Aside from all of that, there are actual doctor’s appointments, wherein they “check” you for progress, though whatever they find means absolutely nothing. Their analysis of findings is always “you could go into labor in five minutes, but it could be two more weeks.” GEE THANKS. But imagine that. That you’re SO desperate to cling to any tiny factoid of info that may indicate that your baby will vacate the premises soon, that you would opt to have another human put their hand in your body, up to what feels like your throat, via the most precious of portals. If that doesn’t paint a pretty clear picture of the level of desperation that a woman within one week of her due date feels, then I don’t know what possibly could.
MENTAL INSTABILITY.
The rude people, mom guilt, and physical torture can only lead to one thing. “A baby?” you say? No. Mental instability. At 39 weeks + 1 day I’m still working. 93% of the day I sit at my desk in a state of confusion, feeling overwhelmed with something I might have forgotten to do should I go into labor within the next five minutes. 3% of the day I am peeing. 2% of the day I wiggle in my chair with a feeling of general uncomfortability and anxiety, often accompanied by tearing up for reasons unknown. And the other 2% (I think that equals 100?) I am either eating or sleeping with my eyes open.
And with that, I am heading to what I pray to our sweet merciful God will be my last doctor’s appointment. Oh but one last fun thing… how much does it mess with your mind that all you want is for the pregnancy to be over, but you’re absolutely terrified for the beginning that comes after it does…
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