10 July 2013

Maybe soon

I visited my doctor yesterday. We chatted, he laughed at me (he thinks I'm really funny), and he checked me out and did an S&S (google it if you must, but I won't be using my usual graphic descriptors to explain.) Needless to say, I've been uncomfortable ever since.

He recommended I get a yoga ball to sit on, as Tadpole Jones isn't quite low enough, but I am dilating, so that's good. As I sat on my yoga ball last night, wishing I'd bought the slightly larger one, I reflected on how my doc is a bit of a mystery. He knows a lot of midwife secrets, and is totally putting them into good use with me, which I appreciate.

When I told him I was 'totally done' yesterday, he laughed at me and said 'oh, you've been done for a while,' and continued his assessment. The entire nature of his bedside manner was one of understanding - I got the sense that some of the stuff he's done for me in the last couple of weeks has been entirely because he knows that I've reached my coping maximum, and he's sort of stretching some rules for me.

It's difficult being pregnant with chronic depression and anxiety. Particularly after a spectacularly crappy pregnancy like the Girlchild, when I pretty much thought I would lose her at any point after 14 weeks until she was born 22 weeks later. Those fears haunt me, and I constantly am waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the pre-term labour, or the weird unexplainable spotting, or the lost doppler heart rate that can't be found, or being told that this particular ultrasound is to determine fetal viability. And I'm not on my meds, to help manage to anxiety attacks, or hold the monster that is depression at bay. I constantly apologize for being short-tempered, impatient, sad, crabby, emotional. And yeah, there's a certain amount of this that I can blame on crazy pregnant lady hormones, but the reality is that this depression disorder is forever, and the crazy hormonal pregnant lady moments make me feel almost bipolar because they are the moments when something strikes me as absurd and I can't stop laughing. I pity Manthing and Girlchild. Manthing says this pregnancy has been much more even keeled than my previous pregnancy. But Girlchild is being subjected to the Mommy Terrorist with the absolutely uncontrollable temper, right at a time when she's most vulnerable - she's questioning her place in our family, is worried about being a big sister, and doesn't understand why Mommy is so grouchy one minute and so nice the next. I'm nice because I'm making a huge effort to not completely destroy her. I suppose that will count somewhere, sometime.

We walked over to a friend's yesterday (I'm really trying to get this labour thing happening), and Girlchild played with her wee children. She loved the three-year-old, even with accompanying 3-year-old behaviours. The wee toddler wasn't as interesting mostly because she wasn't into playing or sitting or anything. But she just walked into the house and sat down and played with the 3 year old. Totally vindicating my belief that she is going to be an amazing sister, and building her confidence as well. Her mood was entirely different on the way home - she felt like she was going to have an important role in our family finally. Who would have thought an hour with a 3 year old would do that?

So we got halfway home and I started feeling some very definite pulling in my abdomen. Enough that we had to stop for a minute so I could catch my breath. Ever since, things have been moving along, although slowly. I had steady contractions all evening, but they stayed at about 8 minutes apart. I had a lot of pain in my lower abdomen and pubic area, but nothing seems to have changed this morning. Except the contractions stopped. So I'm going to take it easy today, and putter in my house. I have a meeting tonight. After that, whatever happens can. Until then I'm crossing my legs.

Maybe next time I post, I'll be introducing Tadpole Jones to the world.

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