I wish I could report that the baby blues I’m referring to are the postpartum ones, or referring to the baby being ‘in blue’ as in being a boy, but I can’t report either. I’m still pregnant.
40 weeks 1 day.
Not a horror or anything, but not exactly the best position to be in either.
With this new duty station brings new doctors, new hospital. The doctor we saw last week will be the doctor I see next week (should I not give birth by Tuesday) and he mentioned the “C” word my last appointment. C-section. Not a happy camper.
I do not want a C-section. I want a natural birth. However, this baby doesn’t want out, either, so it seems.
After coming home from my appointment on Tuesday, I felt this need to take matters into my own hands, so to speak, and try to do more to get labor to start. However, I feel the more pressure I place on myself, the less likely it’s going to happen.
I’ve decided that, instead of pressuring myself to get this going, that perhaps a no-stress, no-pressure outlook on it is the way to go. Let’s see how that goes. So far, though, it hasn’t been easy.
There were two instances of majorly insensitive guys I came across yesterday. One early in the morning, parked at the gas station, who decided to yell out to his buddy with windows wide open as I passed “I’m not fat, I’m just a baby momma!”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Who says such insensitive things like that?
Or the man who drove past me and my children walking home from the park yesterday who swerved over into the left lane, as if my belly extended out from the sidewalk or something, and as he passed, motioned with both hands my supposed ‘width’ according to him to his passenger.
I mean, c’mon now, I’m pregnant. I have a belly. I’m at the end of my pregnancy. Do you have to be so crass about the size of my tummy? So yeah, those occurrences aren’t helping my trying to remain calm and positive.
Then there’s, of course, this feeling of being on borrowed time I’ve spoken about before. After dropping off the children at school this morning, my youngest and I decided to shake our booties and dance, all the while I smelled her, kissed her cheeks and neck, played with her soft baby hair and sobbed uncontrollably realizing the countdown was on until she’s no longer the baby anymore.
My trying to remain calm isn’t working very well at all. And I’m a wreck.