So, yesterday was a total low point. Let me start out with some background info.
Here is what I know about pregnancy:
1. Pregnancy is roughly 40 weeks (it can go up to 42 safely).
2. "Full term" is at 37 weeks, when they feel comfortable that the baby can "come at any time" and be relatively healthy (less likely to have lung issues or need special care in the NICU- neonatal infant care unit).
3. My mom had my sister and me early. Although pregnancies tend to mimic those of your siblings, generally, immediate family members are good resources.
4. The most irritating fact? "She will come when she is ready." I know that. I know it a thousand times over. I know it because it's medically true and also because I'm an "I'll do what I want when I want to" kind of gal, and I assume that Mo is too.
5. The longer a baby is in there, the better (up until a point). At the end the growth that can take place (the fine tuning and cooking going on) is pretty significant and remarkable when compared to just the week prior. The bigger she can get before she comes out, the safer it is for all of us. She'll just be healthier.
Those are things I know. I mean, I know tons of stuff about pregnancy because I work in the field and I am pregnant and I read a lot of stuff BUT here's what happened yesterday.
I had a meeting with one of my clients and became frustrated. Because of the client? Maybe. Because of hormones and the whole lot? Maybe. (You can never really tell what's you and what's baby, but if you can at least recognize your reaction your ahead of 80% of the game).
Then I had a doctor's appointment. We're still at 1cm (which is honestly, fine.) I didn't think there was going to be much progress (regardless of FEELING like there may have been progress). A soft cervix is good, but it was soft last week. The thing is, regardless of whatever is going on. You, the host body, have limited control. Sure, you can chose to drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes (and take any number of illicit drugs). You can eat until your lungs collapse. You can do whatever you want. But you get no control over anything, really.
So lately, you'll notice (and I'll continue to do so), I've been cheering her along with the monday's-tuesday's-wednesd
So back to yesterday: I was frustrated. I have a hemorrhoid. Yep. First one ever. I hope you've never had one. The doctor says this about them: The weakness of your rectal wall is genetic. The pressure from the baby (or pushing hard to poop - which isnt' my deal. I'm pooping fine!) can then restrict the blood flow to the veins and pretty much you get a varicose vein at your butt and well, you can google it. It's terrible. It's painful. Sitting hurts.
When you're pregnant: all you can really do (comfortably) at the end is sit. It's your only saving grace.
So i'm frustrated at work and i'm uncomfortable times a thousand (I can't believe i even complained about the sciatica). And on the way home I lost it. Fully and completely. Became one of those people who should pull over. I weighed my options and texted babe (illegally) to give him the heads up on my crybabyness. Nobody likes surprises like that.
All I wanted in the whole wide world was a break. A freaking break. The thing i realized, however obvious it may be, is that there are no breaks during pregnancy. You can't take a time out. Even if you really really need one. Even if you want to stop. If I had a job that made me this miserable, I could quit it. I could at least quit it. I can't quit this. And I didn't think that was fair. I was tired and uncomfortable and I can't put pants on without holding onto the wall or the sink for balance and everything that has been tolerable up until that point just flooded out and I wanted a break. Did I get one? Nope. (If you'll look back you'll notice i've mentioned the inconvenient-ness of not being about to take a break during pregnancy). So what did I do? Cry. Really Hard. And feel sad for myself. Completely hopeless. I gave up.
Let me get this straight though: I didn't feel sad that I don't want to be pregnant anymore. Not even guilty. I validate my own feelings. I feel perfectly fine about being done with this whole deal. I don't think it's odd one bit that I've gotten to a point where if i felt medically competent, I'd break the water myself. And honest to God, I would.
Thing is, she'll come when she's ready. That's almost as bad as hemorrhoids. But not quite.
And I didn't write this for people to be sad for me or worry or whatever. Usually i'm quite content with the whole deal. I'm writing in in the off chance that someone else has felt this way or will and can be prepared or validated also. And thus concludes the story of my terrible horrible no good really bad day.