I’ve been determined since Day One not to be one of those people who obsessively tells everyone I come into contact with every single detail about my pregnancy. I hope that I’ve accomplished that goal and only bored those close to me with the endless bitches and moans about living with a bowling ball in my belly. Thanks to the internet, though, it does make things more difficult to contain. But hey, if you don’t want to know, you don’t have to read it!
So far, minus the whole Down’s syndrome fright, everything has been pretty easy. In my mind, I haven’t gotten as fat as I figured I would. I didn’t battle constant morning sickness, I haven’t developed diabetes, and I haven’t resorted to wearing a muu-muu and slippers in public….yet.
But last week I went to the doctor and my blood pressure was high. So high, in fact, that I had to get a blood pressure cuff and have Justin start monitoring it at home. I didn’t even know what a proper blood pressure reading was two weeks ago (it’s 120/80, in case you’re wondering), and now I have a week’s worth of numbers committed to memory. In addition to the high blood pressure, we found out that Canaan, who was supposed to weigh about four pounds at the time, was actually 6.3 pounds. Even more exciting? He’s breech. Yay for a C-section. (Sense the sarcasm. Although the whole “expunging a human from my loins” thing doesn’t sound fun, either.)
I had to start working only half days last week until today, when I had my next appointment. And after the doctor found out what my blood pressure readings have been, she pulled me out of work all together. So now I have mixed emotions to deal with: I have this feeling that I’m letting down my co-workers by not being there, and I’m less than thrilled about the prospect of sitting on my ass all day, every day, for at least the next three weeks. But I know my health is the most important issue at play here, so please don’t lecture me. I’ve already heard it.
But the silver lining in all of this is that there’s an excellent chance I won’t carry this baby all the way until mid-December, which is nice, because I’m over being pregnant. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a wonderful experience and I admit I still lift up my shirt to watch him breakdance in my belly (I don’t do this in public, by the way), but the last week has been fairly miserable. I’ve developed this really interesting pelvis pain; it’s by far the worst issue I’ve dealt with since this ordeal began. I can hardly walk, it hurts to stand, it hurts to sit…the only thing it’s good for is providing those around me with a good laugh. (Fortunately, my boss just had knee surgery, so it’s really giving my other co-workers an opportunity to laugh at the office cripples. At least I’m not alone.) I mentioned the pain to my doctor today and basically was told that it sucks, but it’s life. The theory is, the more I stay off my feet, the less it will hurt. Somehow I doubt that, but I guess it’s a good lure for me to stay down and lower my blood pressure. Maybe I’m being tricked.
I guess I’ll spend the next few weeks watching endless bad TV, doing as much work as I can from home, feeling my ass fall asleep in my recliner and watching the clock. I apologize in advance for any complaints that my come out of my mouth. I try to limit the worst of the bitching to my husband and my best friend, who are basically saints. And although Justin doesn’t fully understand what I’m going through, he really is trying.
I’m also going to do my best to not destroy everyone’s Thanksgiving. I promise. This is a selfish goal, too, because I really don’t want to spend my Turkey Day eating melted Jell-o in the hospital while everyone else enjoys a feast. And now I want some mashed potatoes.