First of all, I wanted to thank everyone who reads this for being so incredibly patient and supportive. This pregnancy has flown by and has been such a blessing up to this point, and then it seems like one day my tolerance just ran completely dry. There are times that I know I'm being a complete psychopath in my head, but that doesn't stop me from being one anyway. The closer I get to delivering, the more emotional I get when it comes to how things are with my family and how I feel about being a mother myself. Sometimes I just let it get to me too much.
On lighter note, my day made a rapid turnaround thanks to (as usual) my husband. We were talking online while he was at school, and I was venting some of my fears and insecurities about having to be induced, and dreading my appointment, and he finally said the one thing I'd been dying to hear from someone. "I know. It sucks." He didn't try to tell me to get over it, or tell me how I'll look back and miss this time, or how I should be more optimistic and less of a fatalist (all true, and all things I know already). He just let me know that he was hearing what I was saying, and that he knew it sucked. My response was to thank him and (big surprise) cry a lot. I know. I'm insane.
I left to go to my appointment then, and got a large package in the mail. Now, I don't know about you, but getting a package in the mail always makes things seem brighter. It's like the world is saying, "There are wars and starving children and plagues, but someone thinks enough of you to send you a present." An old friend had sent a box full of adorable clothes for the baby. I smiled for the second time today.
I tried to start my car, but it decided that was optional and just wouldn't turn on. It tried and tried, but did nothing. Finally a neighbor who heard it trying to start came over and asked me to pop my hood. He jiggled a few things and said everything looked fine, but the spark plugs might need replacing. He said he lived just across the alley and is out working on his truck a lot in the summer, and we should feel free to "come on over and shoot the breeze" from time to time. That earned my third smile of the day. Say what you want about "Southern hospitality" and all that, but I've met so many more friendly, down-to-earth strangers here than in TN.
At my appointment, I only waited for about ten minutes this time. The nurse weighed me and said I was losing weight, which is a good sign I'm about to go into labor. "I'm not sure exactly why that is," She said. I told her my theory. "It's too uncomfortable to eat at this point." She laughed and said that just might be it. My BP is the same, and she had me gown up while she got out the dreaded sterile gloves and bottle of lubricant, so I knew I was in for a fun time.
When Dr. Hardie got in, we talked about birth control options for breastfeeding, and about not clamping the umbilical cord until it stops pulsing so the baby gets the most blood and good stuff it possibly can. They practice that anyway, but a lot of doctors just clamp it right off. He listened to the baby's heartbeat and that still sounded good. It still accelerates when she moves around, so she's not declining in there. That was a relief. Placentas only hold up for so many months before they start to waste away. Mine's still working. He felt her position and said she was -2 and too engaged to move out of the birth canal now. He offered to strip my membranes and do a cervical stretch. Pretty much that consists of trying to separate the amniotic sac from the base of the cervix, and the irritation can start labor. He checked me and said he could stretch me to a 3, and did the stripping until I cramped up a lot. He said there's no point in torturing mothers who are about to go into labor anyway, and he just strips until it's painful. I got up the nerve to ask about when they induce. He said it goes by the size of the baby's head. Based on Lilah's head and how it was feeling in my pelvis, he said I'd be allowed to go to 41 weeks. We made an appointment with Dr. Hatfield for next Monday, and if I haven't had her or progressed considerably by then, they'll have me go to the hospital that night or the next and spend the night after they apply prostaglandin gel. If that doesn't get things going, they start a pitocin drip the next morning. He finished with, "But you won't need any of that. You're making really good progress. I hope I see you back here tonight." I felt good about that, even though I know it's entirely possible he just knows what NOT to say to a pregnant woman.
So basically, I have seven days to get this baby out on my own. No pressure.
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