Come out, Come out, Whereever You Are
My official due date is tomorrow. I am *trying* to "go with the flow," and just hope that this baby decides to come on out soon. I have had three, today will be number four, days of semi-encouraging Braxton-Hicks contractions. I guess they are Braxton-Hicks because they stop and have not lead to "real" labor. They seem to start around nine p.m. and last until about midnight. When I awake, they are gone.
It is so frustrating and inconsistent, that I begin to convince myself that the whole experience is my imagination and that nothing is happening at all. However, my doctor, who has a wee bit more experience with this whole baby thing than I, truly believed that I would deliver over the weekend, so I can't be completely insane.
I've tried actupuncture, massage, red wine, walking, spicy food, no food, too much food, fat food, fried food, sex and all sorts of ridiculous visualizations, mantras and chants. Nothing is too kooky for me at this point. It's not even that having her around inside is *that* uncomfortable. It is no worse, or no better than the previous eight months, it's just that I am BORED. I am tired of the transition phase. I want to meet my daughter. I want to endure the labor, deal with the pain, and move on. Enough talk already, let's have some action.
I'm fairly sure, in fact, that the evolutionary plan is to break down any sense of control ever felt on my part in order to allow me to endure the pain of child birth. I no longer am saying to myself "it's going to happen today, or tomorrow, or .." I am just thinking, asking, begging, her to come, and to come soon. I am resigned.
Yet, I am fearful of the induced route threatened for the 22nd of January. I'd prefer not to have to do that. Although, increasingly, even that seems acceptable if nothing happens prior. I can deal with that too. Natural or not, drug-induced or not, I just want to meet her. To see her, to know that she is in fact ok, alive and kicking and to begin being a mother.
My own mother's absence is so prevalent at the moment. I want to ask her so many questions and wonder what she would be experiencing or saying were she alive.
Meanwhile, the living relatives make me nuts. I've turned my telephone into a baby update line in order to avoid how is your vagina conversations which frankly, bore me to tears.
Flip side of that is, not so much interests me either. I am in a bit of a fog. I feel between worlds, semi-alive, zombie-like, going through the motions of a day but not with much sincerity or interest which is a shame. I should really be thriving and enjoying these quiet times, these peaceful days. these work-free afternoons. But I can't make myself enjoy them. I can't guilt trip myself into productivity or zen living, I have to accept a certain degree of anxiety and mixed emotions. Chalk a few of them up to raging hormones, a few to boredom, and a few to frustration. Pure and unadulterated.
Little B's kicks hurt now. She is large, I fear, VERY large and she needs to come out before I explode. I can't quite figure out how she manages to stay in there given how large she feels. Sometimes, she kicks me and I curl over. I think she is a big baby. Yikes. I can't tell what parts she is sitting on, but I do know she is wedged down there, awaiting her exit plan, so at least I have that going for me. We have that going for us?
When does the I become the Us exactly? Sometimes I feel it has, but at other moments, I don't feel that way at all. I have moments even of wondering if this desire to have a child is even a good desire, I know it's biological, evolutionary, and has felt very real, but does that make it mine? I also know that I love her and will love her and will do my best to be a decent parent, whatever that means, but that doesn't make the occasional ambivilence dissipate much. I have selfish times when I fear that my marraige will suffer because of parenthood or that I will lose my identity or become less of a person because of mommy-dom, or is it mommy-dumb? Does this make me a freak or human?
It is so frustrating and inconsistent, that I begin to convince myself that the whole experience is my imagination and that nothing is happening at all. However, my doctor, who has a wee bit more experience with this whole baby thing than I, truly believed that I would deliver over the weekend, so I can't be completely insane.
I've tried actupuncture, massage, red wine, walking, spicy food, no food, too much food, fat food, fried food, sex and all sorts of ridiculous visualizations, mantras and chants. Nothing is too kooky for me at this point. It's not even that having her around inside is *that* uncomfortable. It is no worse, or no better than the previous eight months, it's just that I am BORED. I am tired of the transition phase. I want to meet my daughter. I want to endure the labor, deal with the pain, and move on. Enough talk already, let's have some action.
I'm fairly sure, in fact, that the evolutionary plan is to break down any sense of control ever felt on my part in order to allow me to endure the pain of child birth. I no longer am saying to myself "it's going to happen today, or tomorrow, or .." I am just thinking, asking, begging, her to come, and to come soon. I am resigned.
Yet, I am fearful of the induced route threatened for the 22nd of January. I'd prefer not to have to do that. Although, increasingly, even that seems acceptable if nothing happens prior. I can deal with that too. Natural or not, drug-induced or not, I just want to meet her. To see her, to know that she is in fact ok, alive and kicking and to begin being a mother.
My own mother's absence is so prevalent at the moment. I want to ask her so many questions and wonder what she would be experiencing or saying were she alive.
Meanwhile, the living relatives make me nuts. I've turned my telephone into a baby update line in order to avoid how is your vagina conversations which frankly, bore me to tears.
Flip side of that is, not so much interests me either. I am in a bit of a fog. I feel between worlds, semi-alive, zombie-like, going through the motions of a day but not with much sincerity or interest which is a shame. I should really be thriving and enjoying these quiet times, these peaceful days. these work-free afternoons. But I can't make myself enjoy them. I can't guilt trip myself into productivity or zen living, I have to accept a certain degree of anxiety and mixed emotions. Chalk a few of them up to raging hormones, a few to boredom, and a few to frustration. Pure and unadulterated.
Little B's kicks hurt now. She is large, I fear, VERY large and she needs to come out before I explode. I can't quite figure out how she manages to stay in there given how large she feels. Sometimes, she kicks me and I curl over. I think she is a big baby. Yikes. I can't tell what parts she is sitting on, but I do know she is wedged down there, awaiting her exit plan, so at least I have that going for me. We have that going for us?
When does the I become the Us exactly? Sometimes I feel it has, but at other moments, I don't feel that way at all. I have moments even of wondering if this desire to have a child is even a good desire, I know it's biological, evolutionary, and has felt very real, but does that make it mine? I also know that I love her and will love her and will do my best to be a decent parent, whatever that means, but that doesn't make the occasional ambivilence dissipate much. I have selfish times when I fear that my marraige will suffer because of parenthood or that I will lose my identity or become less of a person because of mommy-dom, or is it mommy-dumb? Does this make me a freak or human?
Labels: baby, braxton-hicks, frustrated, post due date
posted by laurenesme at 7:10 AM
1 Comments:
Well said.
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