The "9-Month Pregnancy" Myth

For the most part I enjoyed being pregnant.  I had always idealized pregnancy, been borderline obsessed with pregnant women and babies.  I often thought about what it might feel like to experience pregnancy.  I imagined prancing around (I admittedly did not do much "prancing" as a pregnant woman) in maternity clothes.  Finally free to "let it all hang out."  For once I would wear my gut with pride, white tank tops and spandex, I had no shame!

The first few months were a little uncomfortable between the nausea and the exhaustion (HA! "Exhaustion."  The early pregnancy exhaustion pales in comparison to the "oh shit, I have to get my ass up every hour and a half to take care of this newborn exhaustion."  Its all relative, right?)  These pesky symptoms were a small price to pay for the excitement of finally gaining membership to the "preggo club" and having my very own little one growing inside.

Trimester two, peaches!  My little bump became recognizable as something more than one too many carne asada burritos and people began to openly acknowledged me as pregnant.  I had more energy, less nausea and was on my way to meeting my baby, heaven!  This baby belly bliss continued right up until the 8th month, when my body abruptly abandoned me and pledged loyalty to a yet intangible being.  It did not help that my pregnancy landed smack dab in the middle of what I will always tell my Son was the HOTTEST summer in the history of Riverside summers (104*F plus for weeks at a time...positively rediculous).  Let the Mommy sacrifices begin!  All in all, pregnancy was a wonderful, hilarious, exhausting (there's that word again) experience.  I would not trade those memories.  There is something truly spectacular about the bond that is formed when you feel that baby wiggle inside you, even IF it means you have a little foot wedged in your rib cage or are waddling to the bathroom in the middle of the night for the 8th time.

After what could really be characterized as 10 months of pregnancy (In my book 40 weeks equals 10 months; I still feel like someone lied to me about the supposed "9 months of pregnancy"...) I knew I could not possibly stretch anymore. I was absolutely desperate to meet my Son and have my poor smushed abdominal cavity back to myself.  Pregnancy bliss had officially disappeared and all that remained was an extra tired, extra bloated mean lady who could no longer negotiate any sort of position which could be characterized as comfortable.  Nights consisted of trying to get comfortable in bed, getting frustrated and giving up (crying), moving to the couch to watch a movie, getting frustrated and giving up (crying); rinse, repeat.

I decided to start maternity leave two weeks prior to my due date thinking I would give myself time to relax, to organize and be ready for baby.  For the most part, being off work just gave me extra time to be miserable.  I now understand those well meaning (obnoxious) women who had stopped me in the grocery store and told me about how they had basically worked right up until the moment their water broke.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I fantasized about going into labor early, though I never admitted this out loud for fear of frightening labor away.  I imagined that I would toss and turn just the right way and my water would break all over the bed.  I made my Husband walk/run the neighborhood with me every time I felt a contraction or two in hopes "this was it."   It never was, and so we waited, and waited, and waited...

At three days past my due date we visited my Midwife.  I had grown quite a distaste for my Midwife throughout my pregnancy, but I had procrastinated until it was too late to switch and decided I would get through this pregnancy and know better the next.  She checked me and announced that I had not changed at all since my last appointment.  My third cervical check in two weeks, still only 1/2 a centimeter dilated and "very thick."  She made sure to tell me this was a generous estimate.  All of the walking, all of the primrose oil and red raspberry tea, all of the uncomfortable end of pregnancy sex; NOTHING had budged.  She repeated what she had stated at the previous appointment, if at 11 days overdue I was still pregnant she would schedule me for induction.  At this point, the thought of being pregnant for eight more days made me want to reach up inside and pull him out myself!  I managed to barely hold it together until she walked out of the exam room and promptly burst into tears.  My poor Husband Randy comforted me as best as he could, but I was beyond comforting.  I pulled myself together long enough to make it out of the office, only to turn the corner to the elevators and see the Midwife who had crushed all my cervical dreams waiting for the next elevator.  I am sure she saw my bloodshot teary eyes and searched for something comforting to say.  She put her hand on my large, pregnant belly, cocked her head and sighed, "oh, and he is still so high, hasn't dropped at all."  In that moment I fantasized about punching her.  I dragged my Husband into the next elevator going UP, and stated that we would go along for the ride (so as not to have to ride with her!).

The hardest part was feeling like my body was failing me.  Well-meaning Friends and Family were texting, calling, facebooking on a daily basis.  "Any baby YET?"  "Still having contractions?"  "When will Levi be here?"  I was beyond irritated, blame it on the hormones.  I had NO IDEA when Levi would be here!  I must admit there were moments when I thought about asking people if they cared to come check my cervix themselves.  Better judgement narrowly prevailed.

Some of you are probably wondering when I will stop complaining and get to the beautiful, sweet part of my story.  If so, you'll have to wait just a little longer.  My labor was anything but a trip to Disneyland, but I do have a sense of humor about it.  A wise lady once told me the reason pregnancy gets so incredibly miserable at the end is so we will welcome labor with open arms.  ANYTHING to get him OUT.  Only a crazy person (I was practically certifiable at the end of my pregnancy) would welcome the type of labor I was granted.  But this story does have a sweet ending, so bear with me...

At eight days past my due date we traveled to the hospital for another appointment.  Looking back I realize I may have had a small burst of nesting that morning as I hurried around the house getting things in order "just in case."  We even packed the car, telling each other that there was no way they would keep us but better to be prepared.  I arrived at the ultrasound department for my non-stress test.  To begin, the tech checked the fluid around the baby.  Since mine was borderline low, the tech called and spoke with the L&D doctor who decided to bring me to labor and delivery where she would re-check me herself.  I tried to remain calm, but we could not help but wonder if this might be the day.  After being admitted to our room for observation, we impatiently waited for the Doctor to come check me.

I remember laying there, doubting that this could be it.  I was sure we would be sent home and have to wait another 3 days to meet our baby.  The doctor finally came, and found my fluid to be even lower than the first check.  She discussed our options for induction and ultimately decided to admit me.  My biggest fear about being induced was that I would end up having a C-section.  But being overdue by 8 days does weird things to a person, and I was actually relieved.  FINALLY, this was it!  Randy and I were positively giddy with excitement and anxiety.  He called my Sister and told her to swing by the house and pick up few items and head to the hospital.  According to the doctor this was "going to be a long road."  Part of me did not believe her.  I had waited and waited, surely my body was on the verge of going into full blown labor and would only require a small kick start before we would be off to the races.  HA!  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.  A long road indeed...