Dear Son, you have until 6:00 a.m. Monday June 21st to vacate the residence known as MY uterus. If such time occurs and you are still an occupant I will not hesitate to load this residence full of Pitocin and send you on your merry way towards my "happily" dilating cervix (that is once the epidural is installed.)
Can't wait to meet you, love always, Mom.
This kid's days are numbered, and the heat is really on. For the past few days I've been experiencing mild to "holy shit, am I having my period?!" cramps off and on with wavering regularity. I pulled the false alarm button (much to my disappointment) early Wednesday morning. We all know how I hate to be wrong.
These signs of impending but not actual labor have left me very angry, just ask Rob. Wednesday morning our the bags were packed and arrangements made, and all that was left was to get in the car and drive the three blocks to the hospital. Frustratingly, all the labor-pattern cramping action in my region stopped. Fucking fabulous. I was so upset I insisted we still go to the hospital (hoping once I told my woeful tale of this miserable pregnancy, someone would have pity and throw some Pitocin or Cervidil my way). When that didn't convince Rob, I threatened to ingest the remaining Evening Primrose Oil pills (as if someone could overdose on a prostaglandin). He then called my bluff and I reluctantly admitted defeat.
I'm not one to complain (insert sarcastic laugh here) but the past few weeks have included much exhaustion, dizzy spells, and even fainting at the OB's office. Which quite frankly was his fault entirely. Midway through an exam ON MY BACK I informed him, with a very light head, that I needed to sit up. That was all I remember and the episode left me mortified once I came to about thirty seconds later. As a medical doctor specializing in obstetric care, you would think he would know better than to position a woman with a ginormous child-carrying uterus pressing on the blood vessels that supply the entire upper half of her body. Sorry mens, but it just goes to show no matter how smart you think you are, if you've never been on the business end of making babies, you just don't know.
As miraculous as pregnancy and child-bearing is, I still think the process sucks. I hold fast to my opinion that this body was made for one occupant, Me. From a structural standpoint, I wouldn't want to live in a home with cracks all through the foundation. So there is really nothing "normal" with a parasitic relationship that stretches your body to it's maximum dimensions and beyond. Stretch marks are nothing if not visible stress in the skin, or the foundation that holds a person together. Enough said. Don't even get me started on what the hormones do to you.
I'm ready. I'm ready for this pregnancy to be a distant memory. I'm ready to meet my child and first learn the little face I will cherish forever. For lack of a better phrase, let's get this "bloody show" on the road.