The longer this pregnancy progresses, the worse I am about writing updates. I suck. I super suck. There's so much I want to say - need to say - and to be honest, I can't even claim carpal tunnel pain anymore because the cortisone injections that the nice orthopedic doctor gave me a few weeks back have made a world of difference.
Here's the quick and dirty update:
I'm officially being induced on Sunday, 11/15, at 9 p.m. We'll start with a Foley catheter that night; they said it should fall out by morning, when they'll start pushing pitocin. (Guess who's got two thumbs and is definitely getting an epidural?)
We're inducing because of the myriad of medical issues I've battled this pregnancy. That, and because apparently the Jellybean has a pretty big head. This, coupled with my somewhat narrow pelvis (who knew?), means that I might not be able to squeeze the kid out my vag. Dr. Direct has been really clear that if the baby's head doesn't descend, I'll be converted to a c-section. I'm maintaining the position I've had all along: I don't care how he's born, as long as he comes out healthy.
As for me:
I'm good. Mostly good. I still have some numbness and stiffness in my hands, and sleep has been harder to come by. I tend to wake up in the middle of the night and then stay awake for an hour or two before crashing again - my body getting ready for the baby? But overall, the third trimester has been a cake walk compared to the hell I went through in the second.
People keep asking me if I'm ready. I am and I'm not. We were so convinced that baby boy was coming early that I got a ton of stuff squared away weeks ago - made a month's worth of freezer meals, got the car seat base installed at the DMV, ordered my breast pump, created my maternity leave plan for work, etc. I haven't packed my labor bag yet but everything's in a box waiting to be Tetris'd into my duffle.
But that's just stuff. Stuff is easy, relatively speaking. Emotionally, I think I'm ready, but there are times when I realize that in less than two weeks there's going to be a tiny human living in my house. A tiny human that I am responsible for. I AM HAVING A BABY. Holy fuck balls.
So, that's where I am. Holding steady. Looking forward to meeting our little dude and simultaneously fearing that I will somehow break him in the first 48 hours of his life. That's normal, right?