Squidlet update, redux
36 weeks and ticking...
Well, ye olde amniotic fluid index was down to 7.7 today. Which means there was a good chance that the squid could have been a Valentine's baby - thank goodness, the doctor decided to hold out for one more week. I'm on even stricter bed rest, and I'll probably be having a baby next Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on how long the induction and labor take. This is me, quaking in my metaphorical boots.
That said, the squid is healthy, active, growing well, showing no signs of distress, and spent all night last night partying like it was 1999. While it's entertaining to watch the distended surface of my stomach move around like an alien being, it's starting to get uncomfortable. The squid weighs, according to the ultrasound, somewhere between 4 lbs 10 oz and 6 lbs 8 oz (5 lbs 9 oz with a 15-ounce margin of error), which is good.
We may also have found childcare, which seems nothing short of miraculous, considering that some people we talked to had wait lists of over a year. I've spoken with two or three providers who really impressed me over the phone with their attitude and professionalism, and who have infant openings around the time I will be going back to work. We got on their lists and will go visit as soon as we can after the birth. That's a huge relief, at least.
Tonight's entertainment (we aren't big Valentine's Day people, though I may beg Himself to pick up a cheeseburger from The Good Pub In Town for me) includes the writing up of the birth plan - basically just a preferences indicator for the nurses and doctor. I've only been able to work on it a little at a time, as the childbirth sections of my books make me anxious if I read them for too long. Tonight I'm resolved to finish it - one more little thing to check off the ever-dwindling list.
I actually had a full-on sobbing breakdown last week about how scared I am of labor and delivery, and I cried again, just a little, today in the hospital and driving home. It's going to hurt. A lot. And no matter what anyone tells me about the "different" quality of the pain or how it's "worth it" or whatever - that's really, really scary. I don't need reassurance - it won't work, you can't tell someone about something that has no analogue in their own experience, really. The only way out is through, and so I'm just going to take a lot of deep breaths and a lot of shallow ones and probably make some totally weird noises and say some regrettable things and ... let it happen. The inevitability and unknowableness of it doesn't make it less terrifying, of course, but I am practicing my graceful resignation in the face of things I can't control. I knew it would come to this, after all, and I started down this road anyway; you pays your money and you takes your pick, so I should just take my own oft-given advice and suck it up.
Well, ye olde amniotic fluid index was down to 7.7 today. Which means there was a good chance that the squid could have been a Valentine's baby - thank goodness, the doctor decided to hold out for one more week. I'm on even stricter bed rest, and I'll probably be having a baby next Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on how long the induction and labor take. This is me, quaking in my metaphorical boots.
That said, the squid is healthy, active, growing well, showing no signs of distress, and spent all night last night partying like it was 1999. While it's entertaining to watch the distended surface of my stomach move around like an alien being, it's starting to get uncomfortable. The squid weighs, according to the ultrasound, somewhere between 4 lbs 10 oz and 6 lbs 8 oz (5 lbs 9 oz with a 15-ounce margin of error), which is good.
We may also have found childcare, which seems nothing short of miraculous, considering that some people we talked to had wait lists of over a year. I've spoken with two or three providers who really impressed me over the phone with their attitude and professionalism, and who have infant openings around the time I will be going back to work. We got on their lists and will go visit as soon as we can after the birth. That's a huge relief, at least.
Tonight's entertainment (we aren't big Valentine's Day people, though I may beg Himself to pick up a cheeseburger from The Good Pub In Town for me) includes the writing up of the birth plan - basically just a preferences indicator for the nurses and doctor. I've only been able to work on it a little at a time, as the childbirth sections of my books make me anxious if I read them for too long. Tonight I'm resolved to finish it - one more little thing to check off the ever-dwindling list.
I actually had a full-on sobbing breakdown last week about how scared I am of labor and delivery, and I cried again, just a little, today in the hospital and driving home. It's going to hurt. A lot. And no matter what anyone tells me about the "different" quality of the pain or how it's "worth it" or whatever - that's really, really scary. I don't need reassurance - it won't work, you can't tell someone about something that has no analogue in their own experience, really. The only way out is through, and so I'm just going to take a lot of deep breaths and a lot of shallow ones and probably make some totally weird noises and say some regrettable things and ... let it happen. The inevitability and unknowableness of it doesn't make it less terrifying, of course, but I am practicing my graceful resignation in the face of things I can't control. I knew it would come to this, after all, and I started down this road anyway; you pays your money and you takes your pick, so I should just take my own oft-given advice and suck it up.
posted by The Stute Fish at 16:19
2 Comments:
You think labor is bad? Just wait until you see what the hospital cafeteria brings up and expects you to EAT during your stay. Now THAT'S scary.
Heh. I've seen it - having been hospitalized for low fluid, I am now v. familiar with the hospital's procedures and food. It's no worse than most airlines - I'll survive. I think. :)
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