I just came from the world's quickest and most boring OB appointment. In a good way.
Antibiotics are magic, and so I feel 100% better than last week's unplanned sick appointment. Weight was good, blood pressure is still good and low, no swelling or pain or other alarming symptoms. Hedgehog is still head-down, but was hiding out a little bit which meant that picking up a heartbeat took a little bit of searching, which meant about ten seconds of panic on my part. But heartbeat, once found, was a solid 144. And as I sit here and write, I'm getting thumped pretty good, so keep reminding myself that there's no reason to be worried.
My doctor blew in and out of the clinic for my appointment in scrubs, because he was tending to somebody in labor and delivery! Crazy crazy crazy to think that in a few weeks, that's going to be ME.
Really, at this point, we are all just counting weeks. I hope that these appointments continue to be boring, and routine, and simply things to check off the list as we all keep time for these next two months.
If I'm being completely honest, I'm starting to feel tired...of what? Of being pregnant? Not exactly. Of waiting? That's more like it. I think I've mentioned before that for me, not a day or moment has gone by where I haven't thought about, been aware of, or otherwise been distracted by the fact that I am pregnant. For the first 20 weeks, it was constant anxiety. For these last twelve weeks, it is curiosity, and enjoying the movement that I feel, and being aware of my belly, and thinking about how tired I am when I don't sleep the night, and wondering if every food I eat will give me heartburn. So pregnancy is constantly on my mind, and has been for eight months. And I think I'm tired of thinking about it. And tired of waiting.
At the same time, I'm terrified of actually having this baby. The physical process, certainly. But also then the shocking newness of taking care of an infant. And not just that, but the future. Knowing that this pregnancy will be a baby who will become a toddler who will become a kid who will become a teenager and then an adult...and all of the sudden my brain skips ahead to me being fifty years old, and it kind of freaks me out. And in and through all of this is that pesky anxiety about whether I'll actually be a good mother, and anxiety about how this child will grow up and turn out. Because parenting is actually a pretty daunting task when you think about it.
Which, I suppose, is why babies take up all of your time and energy on basic basic things: eating, sleeping, diapers. So that you have no time to think about the daunting task of parenting. You simply do it. And learn as you go.
Anyway, enough of this rambling for now. As tired as I feel physically, and as tired as I am of waiting, I am still baffled and amazed and overwhelmingly grateful that here I am, 32 weeks pregnant. I was growing so certain that this would never happen for us. I remember that last embryo transfer, and the resolute hopefulness in Dr. Morris's eyes as he told me "this one HAS to work" and gave me a reassuring hug. That seems like eons ago. Far longer than eight months. And here I am now, fussing with maternity clothes and baby registries. I can hardly believe it.
Antibiotics are magic, and so I feel 100% better than last week's unplanned sick appointment. Weight was good, blood pressure is still good and low, no swelling or pain or other alarming symptoms. Hedgehog is still head-down, but was hiding out a little bit which meant that picking up a heartbeat took a little bit of searching, which meant about ten seconds of panic on my part. But heartbeat, once found, was a solid 144. And as I sit here and write, I'm getting thumped pretty good, so keep reminding myself that there's no reason to be worried.
My doctor blew in and out of the clinic for my appointment in scrubs, because he was tending to somebody in labor and delivery! Crazy crazy crazy to think that in a few weeks, that's going to be ME.
Really, at this point, we are all just counting weeks. I hope that these appointments continue to be boring, and routine, and simply things to check off the list as we all keep time for these next two months.
If I'm being completely honest, I'm starting to feel tired...of what? Of being pregnant? Not exactly. Of waiting? That's more like it. I think I've mentioned before that for me, not a day or moment has gone by where I haven't thought about, been aware of, or otherwise been distracted by the fact that I am pregnant. For the first 20 weeks, it was constant anxiety. For these last twelve weeks, it is curiosity, and enjoying the movement that I feel, and being aware of my belly, and thinking about how tired I am when I don't sleep the night, and wondering if every food I eat will give me heartburn. So pregnancy is constantly on my mind, and has been for eight months. And I think I'm tired of thinking about it. And tired of waiting.
At the same time, I'm terrified of actually having this baby. The physical process, certainly. But also then the shocking newness of taking care of an infant. And not just that, but the future. Knowing that this pregnancy will be a baby who will become a toddler who will become a kid who will become a teenager and then an adult...and all of the sudden my brain skips ahead to me being fifty years old, and it kind of freaks me out. And in and through all of this is that pesky anxiety about whether I'll actually be a good mother, and anxiety about how this child will grow up and turn out. Because parenting is actually a pretty daunting task when you think about it.
Which, I suppose, is why babies take up all of your time and energy on basic basic things: eating, sleeping, diapers. So that you have no time to think about the daunting task of parenting. You simply do it. And learn as you go.
Anyway, enough of this rambling for now. As tired as I feel physically, and as tired as I am of waiting, I am still baffled and amazed and overwhelmingly grateful that here I am, 32 weeks pregnant. I was growing so certain that this would never happen for us. I remember that last embryo transfer, and the resolute hopefulness in Dr. Morris's eyes as he told me "this one HAS to work" and gave me a reassuring hug. That seems like eons ago. Far longer than eight months. And here I am now, fussing with maternity clothes and baby registries. I can hardly believe it.
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| 32 weeks 3 days |
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