You have now been appropriately warned that this post will be filled with whiny, woe-is-me, possibly TMI statements. By the end, you may very well want to tell me to cry you a river. And frankly, I'm emotional and frustrated so I just might do that very thing. (Boom! Look at that! I snuck in a whine before we even got started!)
I also want to preface this post by saying that I know how blessed I am to be experiencing this pregnancy, just days away from meeting my daughter. That is an incredible thing and a day does not pass that I don't give thanks for where I am right now. Honestly, through much of my pregnancy I have felt that I can't/shouldn't really complain if I'm uncomfortable, because if given the choice between discomfort for nine months that results in a baby versus no discomfort and no baby, I would pick the former every day of the week and twice on Sundays, a million times over, without a moment's hesitation. But at the same time, it's just a fact that pregnancy can be uncomfortable, undignified and stressful. And acknowledging those parts of it does not mean I am any less thankful for the position I am in. So today, I whine. I whine with gratitude, but I still whine.
I am 38.5 weeks pregnant now and I am really uncomfortable. As of last week, I was still doing okay. I was tired and swollen, sure. But over the weekend I feel like I really hit a wall and now I'm just not a happy camper.
This is me at 38 weeks, this past Tuesday. I'm smiling, sure, but don't be fooled - I feel as big as a house and generally not awesome.
Just since the weekend, I have started getting really bad heartburn/indigestion and nausea. Yup, we're back to that nauseous stuff I thought I left in the first trimester, and my trusty seasick bracelets have made a triumphant return as a wardrobe staple. This all started on Saturday night, when I literally did not sleep for more than 10 minutes at a time all night, from midnight until 9:00 a.m. I tried everything I could think of, but there simply was not a comfortable position that would allow me to sleep - not on my back, on my sides, propped up, sitting straight up, or even walking around. The only thing that gave me any relief was a bath, which helped for about 20 minutes. I took two middle-of-the-night baths that night just to get a few moments of peace. And every time I moved, I felt nauseous - that sort of "if I could only throw up, I would feel so much better" kind of feeling. And then I did throw up, for the first time this pregnancy (I know, I can't complain about that, but I almost made it out vomit-free!), and guess what? Didn't help. I still felt awful and then I just felt like I smelled puke for the rest of the day. Yum!
Since that night I've had one good day followed by one bad day pretty consistently. None so bad as that night, but I did call in sick to work on Monday, leave early on Tuesday, and I left early again today. So, technically I'm still "going to work," but I'm not really working. Luckily my replacement started this week and I was able to train her before I felt too lousy on Tuesday, so she's been picking up my slack. And tomorrow is my last day, HALLELUIA. I feel like I worked just one week too long.
Speaking of work, sitting at my desk all day also does this to my feet:
Puffy feet propped up on my recycle bin under my desk
Not only are they super swollen, but I am in desperate, humiliating need of a pedicure, considering that I can no longer reach my toes to take care of things myself and that is sad, pathetic nail polish remains from January still on my toes.
My child has also discovered my bladder and I'm pretty sure she thinks it's one of those stress relief squeeze balls. I go to the bathroom a lot.
I'm very, very slow. My doctor keeps telling me to walk as much as I can, and I try, but I'm just not sure my snail's-pace-waddle even really counts as walking. The amazing thing is, I still manage to pass people on the street. Let me tell you something, people of New York: if you are neither elderly nor disabled and I am walking faster than you, you're doing it wrong.
Also speaking of walking problems, I have had terrible foot pain. I've always had pretty sensitive feet but I think my added girth is making the problem a million times worse. Just a short walk leaves my heels in agony for days.
People also keep trying to tell me that I've "dropped," but I'm not convinced because I still can't breathe. I honestly feel like I have not had a good, deep breath in at least four months.
Emotionally, I'm also kind of all over the place. I'm kind of in freak-out mode right now. I have spent the last 38 weeks thinking about someday when I have to labor and give birth, and someday when I'm a mom with a real baby to care for, but now someday could very well be tomorrow. It probably won't be tomorrow, but it certainly will be within a month. That's really, really soon. I'm getting a little nervous about it all. Excited, of course. But also nervous. And to be honest, there's a little bit of grieving in there, too, although "grieving" sounds like a much harsher word than what I'm looking for. But I do keep thinking about the life Eric and I have shared together - the three years since we moved to New York, the three years we lived in D.C., the years of college before that, and really all 13 years since we met. We have a really good thing going here, the two of us. The idea of completely changing that with our new addition is scary. Do I think it will be an incredible new adventure? Of course, and I can hardly wait to see how it all plays out. But at the same time, it will definitely be a change, and our "Just Us" couple days are winding down. It's a weird transition, I think.
But speaking of Eric, and to be a bit more positive, I do have to say that I have wonderful support around me, each doing their best to make this as easy as possible on me. Eric has been, as always, incredible. He is very patient, very attentive, and has really been doing all he can to make sure I'm comfortable, or at least comforted. I don't know how I would be getting through it without him.
Even my dear little Achilles is doing his best to show his love and support, I think. Or, maybe he can sense the impending change as well and is also grieving the loss of our family of three. Either way, this is how he spent his weekend:
He WILL find any last little bit of space on my lap that may still be left
Or, he'll just give up and lay on my legs, using my giant belly as a headrest. Precious.
So that's where we are. Eric and the dog are awesome, and I love them, but otherwise I am uncomfortable. Emotionally, I'm both ready to be done and so freaked out by the idea of being done that I don't feel ready at all. It's really kind of a circus over here. Of course, I know that Baby Girl will come in her own good time, and no matter how uncomfortable I am, I don't wish for her to be born before she is ready. I want what's best for her, always. But if she could just give my lungs a little space and lay off my bladder in the meantime, I would really appreciate it.
And, just because you know I love to do these progression photos, I thought I would end with one that shows how big of a difference eight weeks can make in my belly size:
I mean, I feel like even my hair looks fatter. Is that possible?
And so the waiting continues....