Patience & Sarah

My mom told me when I was little about a Native American tribe that had a tradition of giving children a middle name with a virtue they needed to work on. She bestowed me with the middle name “patience”.

(Off topic: have you read that book? Not the best book I’ve ever read, but it’s about lesbians in a puritan/old-timey setting, and y’all know how much I love old-timey settings.)

I’m 39 weeks today and my emotions are…complicated. Obviously I’m in considerable physical discomfort. My back hurts. My stomach aches from cramps and contractions. I can’t poop anything besides tiny little nuggets after the largest effort you’ve ever seen (yeah, I said it), I can’t sleep for more than a few hours – at most – at a time, I can’t get comfortable, etc etc blah blah.

Emotionally I’m all over the map. I’m excited, I’m nervous, I’m exasperated, I’m irritable, I’m short tempered, I’m weepy, etc etc blah blah. One second I want to murder the cat because he won’t stop trying to jump in the pack ‘n’ play and the next second I’m cuddling him and leaking tears over how his life is going to change once the baby gets here and I won’t have time for him anymore and *sob*.

Phew! Time for a palate cleanser.

I told Tammy the other day that I feel like a five year old waiting for Christmas combined with a person suffering from odontophobia knowing they have an appointment at the dentist soon but no one will tell them when that appointment is. It could be sprung on them at any moment! Out of nowhere a dentist looms toward them with the mask and the scary light and the instruments of dental torture!

I never thought I’d make it as far as I have. Even knowing that first time moms tend to go a little over their due date, I was sure, deep down in my bones, that this baby girl would come early. I still technically have a week until my due date but the constant cycle of hope (“could this be it?!”) to defeat (“nope. fuck.”) brings up uncomfortably depressing memories of the two week wait.

I’ve been having regular, time-able contractions since this past weekend. Most of the time they’re about 10 minutes apart, but occasionally they spread out to more like 15 or 20 (or even 30) minutes apart, of they get closer together – like 5 minutes or even 3 minutes. I’ll get all excited about the 3 or 5 minute apart contractions but until a few days ago changing positions or eating/drinking would make them go away. HOWEVER, yesterday walking around and/or eating didn’t make them go away – and plus they were getting stronger and more intense. After days of having my hope crushed I allowed myself to start to think that maybe, possibly, could be…and then it wasn’t. They spaced out and got more sporadic – some 8 minutes apart, some 15, etc.

We read in our Lamaze labor and delivery book that this is classic pre-labor. It was comforting and exciting to read about my symptoms as being normal and generally part of the overall process, but I nearly threw the book across the room when I read this could continue for days or even weeks. What do you mean weeks, Lamaze book?! Weeks is not an acceptable word to use in this context!! These contractions are mostly not too terrible – just uncomfortable. Every now and then I have one that ups the ante on the ol’ pain scale and takes my breath away. But then they go back to being uncomfortable.

Honestly, I do feel like I’ll make to delivery physically OK, but mentally?

Your bet is as good as mine.

Last Night

I dreamed last night that Tammy was Sheriff Longmire, and I was Henry. Then Tammy/Longmire had an affair with…Tammy. I/Henry knew what was going on, but I’d had my tongue pecked out by a bird and couldn’t speak.

I woke up gasping for air.

I dreamed last night that a SWAT team was surrounding our house. The only one who knew was Baker, and he tried to warn us. But we just ignored him. We thought he wanted a treat.

I woke up and lay rigid, listening.

I dreamed last night I had a dead baby inside of me. I went into my OB appointment on Friday and the ultrasound showed that the baby died at 9 weeks. I had to go for a D&C. The doctor used a drill to cut me open and barbed wire to hold me open while they pulled a congealed mass from inside me. I wanted to hold my baby but no one would let me.

I woke up in tears.

Odds & Ends (No, I’m Not Describing Myself)

Alternate title: “In Which I Dazzle You With My Stunning Non Sequiturs”

• Dr. Robert Edwards, the man who pioneered IVF, has died. Let’s all take a moment to honor his memory.
• I’m on my second round of birth control for my first cycle of IVF, and I’m both butt-clenchingly nervous that a) the cycle will be cancelled due to no/poor response or I’ll hyperstimulate (please see my about page for my feelings on contradicting myself) and excited that it might work. (Ohpleaseletitwork) 
• Tammy and I are debating transferring one or two (should we get that far/have enough to even get to make that decision). I’m curious as to how others feel on that issue, or what helped them make their decision. Potentially important facts that may influence your advice: I have “unexplained” infertility and I’m under 30. I’m waiting to hear back from my doctor, but I’d appreciate your thoughts.
• It hasn’t gotten any easier to learn of other people’s pregnancies. I have a friend, C., who lived with my family as an exchange student from France while we were in high school. She’s been living with her boyfriend in Nepal for the past few years, and sent me a message the other day saying she was “shocked” to find herself pregnant. And then she asked what was up with me. I haven’t responded, because I’m probably incapable of finding the right balance of “oh, congratulations! How wonderful for you! And by the way my ass is barren! That’s what’s up with me!” Add in the odd assortment of high school and college friends who are popping up (and out) in my news feed with ultrasound pictures, cutesy “I’m going to be a big brother” pictures, and belly pictures and you get me, approaching Facebook like it’s loaded with TNT.
• There is a woman at my office who may, in fact, be the devil I do not believe in. But if anyone could convince me there IS a devil, it would be her. She is THE MOST vindictive, nasty, horrifying excuse for a human being I’ve ever met. I hate her with the passion of a thousand suns. But…(there’s always a but) she’s infertile. It was passed on to me by her former assistant (why yes it IS a breach of trust/invasion of privacy, why do you ask?) that she and her husband had tried for years, probably two decades ago. And they were never successful. I’ve tried to use this information to temper my loathing with compassion (success: miniscule). But it also scares the bejeezus out of me that I’ll end up like her if I don’t have a baby. What if all of the anger, fear, bitterness and anxiety I walk around with on a daily basis goes further inward, and I end up like her – a brittle, hellish shell of a person?
• To cleanse the palate, I leave you with this picture of my cat, Baker. He was sick a few weeks ago, and we had to take him to the vet for some shots. Here’s the picture the vet uploaded to their facebook page:

Ha! Love my cat. He is so freakin’ pissed off in this picture. The vet’s hip glasses, sadly, did not make him feel better.