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I treated myself to a pedicure today, admitting defeat: my feet hurt. And now that I can no longer touch them, there was no way that all that rough skin was gonna be coming off. Matt hates feet, so I couldn't ask him to rub or scrub...I had to pay someone to help out. It was worth it, the half hour of pampering. I picked out a dark purple color, something that will stand out and can cheer me up, if I ever see my toes again.
I have decided that I am going to be pregnant forever. This is not, mind you, a choice but a reality. Part of my new-found "understanding" is based on confusion - how will I know when I am, in fact, in labor? Everyone tells me, very sagely, "you'll just know." So not helpful, people. I have memorized the sections in the seven baby books that deal with false versus true labor, and yet I re-read them daily, just checking. As my aches and pains increase, I can't help but question how I will discern "true" contractions when I am struggling throughout my day. And this brings me to the assumption that, in fact, I will be carrying this child for many more months. Maybe I will go down in history as the pregnant woman who never gave birth. Ever.
I cannot imagine a day when I will be comfortable, as the constant pain has become, well, constant. As of today, Baby is 37 weeks old....full term...ready to go. Then again, maybe the ready to go simply describes me.
I am 36 weeks pregnant....And I am getting very good at being emotional....
So, I slept perfectly last night. I mean, I was out, only had to pee two times, and was happy to greet the morning at 7 (rather than 4 or even 3 am). But then I thought, "wait, why did I sleep so well? Why aren't I in pain? Where is my insomnia. What's wrong?" And then I figured that something was wrong with Baby. No, I didn't simply figure it, I KNEW. I pounded my way downstairs, (my usual tip-toe has turned into oh-so-gentle booming sounds), drank two glasses of milk, woke up my husband, Matt, and made him lie down with me until I felt Baby move. I poked my tummy. I prodded him. I all but spanked him, pleading with him to move, to wake up, to be alive. In his sleepy state, Matt gently rubbed my tummy, yawned and started to fall asleep.
I did begin to cry, now convinced that Baby had died.
"He is usually awake and very active at 7," I told Matt.
"Relax," Matt said. I cried harder.
Matt put his mouth on my stomach, "Hellloooo....you're scaring your mom. Wake up....," he said. We both felt a very gentle nudge with Baby's hands. And then a few minutes later, obviously annoyed at being woken up, Baby kicked me. Hard.
"What time is it?" Matt asked.
"7:15," I responded.
"So....Baby slept in for 15 minutes. And you freaked out."
I will admit now that I seem to have over-reacted. And now, I will laugh at myself, especially as Matt was supportive of my overreaction and my crazy start to the day.
