Well, it seems Mine to Command, Infertile First Mom and Two Adults One Child all came the closest to guessing when I’d deliver (you all put in bets for somewhere between 38 and 39 weeks). My OB has decided that I may as well go ahead with this C-section next Wednesday, Oct. 16, when I’ll be 39 weeks exactly. So assuming nothing problematic happens before then, you can all mark your calendars (because I am THAT important in ALL of your lives). I should point out, too, that while Oct. 16 may seem like a rather boring day on which to be born, it turns out that junior will forever share his birthday with… wait for it… National Feral Cat Day (this year’s theme: Architects of Change)!
With five days to go until — knock on wood, spit everywhere — I have an actual baby in my arms, I can’t help but reflect on how insane it is that we’re finally here. That I’m living a life that includes a big round belly, a bassinet in our bedroom, conversations about diapering, prenatal classes and so forth; it’s a world I truly wasn’t sure I’d ever get to inhabit, and while I have at times gotten carried away with it and other times been blasé about it, I have never EVER taken it for granted. When I was in triage recently having my blood drawn, the nurse was stressed and distracted and started talking to a doctor while she was jabbing my arm; she realized that she’d fucked it up and that I’d be left with a nasty bruise. She was right, as evidenced by this poor-quality photo:
I shrugged and said, “Don’t worry about it.” Then she started tsk-ing and apologizing and warning me that it was going to get worse and could be quite sore and so forth — in the end, I was like, “Girl, I can guarantee that whatever the heck happens to my arm is nothing compared to the shit I’ve been through to get to this point in my pregnancy. I would happily start each day falling down a flight of stairs and getting covered in bruises if it meant I could be, and stay, pregnant.” OK, I may not have said these exact words, nor referred to the nurse as “Girl”, but you get the gist — I think every woman who’s gone through the torture of infertility would have the exact same reaction as I did upon being told that something might leave a bruise. Like, seriously, whatevs.
Anyway, Oct. 16 is fast approaching, and before I get sucked into a vortex of BAHHH-LOOK-AT-MY-BABY-OMG-LIFE-IS-AMAZEBALLS, I’d like to pause for a moment and say a humble thanks to all of you bloggy friends for being here with me through this journey, from the grossness of neon-blue Estrace leaking out of my lady bits to the challenge of seeing how fast I could administer my own shots… then to the sheer elation of seeing those two pink lines (which remains the highlight of my entire pregnancy, frankly)… and then the panic of not-quite-doubling betas, a bleeding episode that led to me cackling euphorically on the bathroom floor when I realized it was coming from my bum hole… and then further worry over echogenic bowel and the possibility that our fetus had Cystic Fibrosis… and then finally to now, when we’re about to bring what appears to be a perfectly average, perfectly healthy, 7-pound boy into the world.
It means a lot to have this support, even when it’s just a little comment here or there from a stranger on the Interwebs.
— Oscar acceptance speech over —
So stay tuned next week for exciting news! And if you have any tips when it comes to C-section recovery, feel free to share. I vaguely remember some of you talking about milk of magnesia or something to help prevent constipation and the importance of getting up and walking rather than lying in bed the whole time… can y’all remind me?