And this kid is not here.
Both Kathy and her assistant, Cammy, and pretty much everyone else (including me) thought he would be here by now.
I’m starting to get mad. I know he’s not due until the 29th, but I’m so terribly uncomfortable that with each passing day that he fails to emerge, I get more and more discouraged. I’ve had meltdowns the last two mornings, which involved me dramatically draping myself over the kitchen island (to take pressure off my rib cage), and bawling while my husband rubbed my back and made soothing noises, as if I were a tired child having a tantrum. Kathy tells me to be patient, because my body is wise, and it will do what it needs to do when the time is right. I think the time is right now, so let’s get a move on!
I told my husband that this child simply doesn’t want to leave his mother, and I hope this doesn’t mean that he’ll grow up to be a big mama’s boy, and no woman will ever want to marry him.
My husband snapped this picture of me this morning, and it gives a really good idea of how huge I am.
It’s also indicative of my state of mind – I didn’t even feel like smiling, and I’m known for my huge smiles in pictures. I just…I don’t know. Smiling seemed false, because I don’t feel happy. I’m tired, and in pain, and I spend a lot of time begging, pleading, and bargaining with God to please, PLEASE take this baby out of me. I can’t even accurately describe this misery, except to say that I actually have fantasies about my water breaking. I imagine the terrible pressure on my ribs being relieved, and my lungs expanding, and aaahhhhhh…..it would feel so good. Unfortunately, my water has never broken on its own, and I’m sure this time will be no different. The other day, I saw some video of a Haitian woman who is 9 months pregnant, and she was on a sweltering bus, with only half a bottle of water, trying to get out of Haiti. I actually cried for her, because I can’t even imagine what she’s going through. It was good for me to put things in perspective, at least for a moment, but it wasn’t long before I was back to my whining and complaining.
On the bright side, I finally got enough courage to weigh myself this morning. Kathy doesn’t weigh me at every appointment, because as long as the baby and I are healthy and doing well, she doesn’t want me to get hung up on pounds. At the physician consult this week, the doctor asked me (kind of accusingly, as if I had eaten myself into this situation), how much weight I had gained with this pregnancy. I’ve only gained 26 pounds, total, and considering that this baby and all of his accoutrements probably weigh at least half of that, I should be able to slim down pretty quickly after he’s born.
Kathy is coming to examine me again this afternoon, and if she tells me that nothing has changed, I’m not sure what I’ll do. I remember being uncomfortable when I was nearing the end of my pregnancies with the girls, but it was nothing like this. I’m old(er), and more tired, and this kid is just so big. The maternity shirt I’m wearing in the picture is a large, but it doesn’t even cover my entire belly anymore. We measured my waist last night, and it was 50 inches. 50! If he grows much more, I’m just going to explode.[print-me/]