Sunday, January 11, 2009

Status Report - 100 Days to Go!

My kid is a demon who fucks with her mommy. She has been gradually getting more active every day and on Friday the activity level bordered on frantic. And then yesterday... virtually nothing. I did a few kick counts throughout the day and we always got to the required 10 movements within an hour, but unless I was REALLY paying attention there was no movement.

Naturally, because pregnant women are ever so rational, I assumed that during her super active day on Friday she had wrapped the umbilical cord around her neck and was going to struggle for oxygen until her death and it was going to be all my fault for not doing something to save her. Yup, perfectly reasonable assumption.

I did another kick count this morning, and while there were still the requisite number of kicks in a short period of time, they were still not strong enough for my liking. I decided I was going to shower and then call the midwife. I had to shower because they'd probably instruct me to go to the hospital (to save my dying baby) and I wanted to be fresh as a daisy while there. See? Perfect reasoning!

While I was in the shower, she hoofed me in the cervix so hard (seriously? what is with this kid and her hoofing me in the girly bits?) I nearly hit the floor. Or tub. Whatever. She has continued to hop around like a Mexican jumping bean in there all day since. In other words, she had turned herself around and spent yesterday kicking at the back where I can't feel them and has since turned back around so that I feel every single one. Totally fucking with me!

I had a nightmare last week that my car got stuck on some train tracks while I was driving with the baby and as the train barreled towards us, I couldn't get her out of the car seat. Between the horrible nightmares and managing to convince myself that she was at the brink of something awful last night, I have come to the conclusion that there is yet another thing about pregnancy that nobody ever tells you:

The entire process is fraught with anxiety. For as long as she's in MY belly, she's my exclusive responsibility. And it sucks. Putting that kind of pressure on a body that's already physically stressed and hormonally taxed is Totally. Not. Fair.

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