It's official. I have hit The Wall.
With less than five weeks left until my due date, I am feeling pretty done with pregnancy. (And if you choose to remind me that my three older children paid no attention to due dates and came whenever they darn well felt like it . . . well then, you've just made me cry.)
I am convinced that this feeling of being so absolutely over something is God's way of mentally preparing a woman for doing whatever it takes to get this baby out. And if that means getting something the size of a watermelon through a kiwi sized hole, so be it. Whatever it takes, my friends.
I won't list my aches and pains, because they are many, boring, and listing them will not make them go away. My irritation level is off the charts and my patience level is pathetically low - two great tastes that do not go well together. I spend a good portion of my day saying no to simple requests, and then apologizing for being so grumpy.
I would spend that time sleeping if only I could find a position that didn't make some part of my body numb. Oh, and if I could get out of bed without the use of a forklift.
Also? I have determined that the term non-stress test is a misnomer. It should be called a totally stressed out test. Especially if you have other children, since they must accompany you or you need to find someone to watch them.
I am lucky in the fact that my doctor is one of Rob's partners, so we try to coordinate appointments with Rob's schedule. Ideally, the children hide out in his office while I get hooked up to the NST machine for 25-45 minutes. In reality, one of two things happens:
Either I can hear their little voices ringing out across the entire office as they bother the other physicians and the office staff, or they have to sit in the room with me. I hiss at them to sit still and not touch anything all while being physically unable to stop them from wreaking havoc. Don't think they don't take advantage of that situation, my friends.
I'd love to see my blood pressure during a non-stress test. I'm guessing it's not reading Blissed-Out. It's probably more like 7000 over 685.
You may be thinking that all of this means that I have opted to use the "get out of pregnancy early card" offered by my doctor and go for the planned induction, right?
Wrong. I am still perversely stubborn about holding out for the full forty as long as the baby is fine. If Bun comes early on his/her own, I'm completely fine with that, but my inclination is to stonewall medical intervention as long as I can. It drives the medical community nuts, especially the perinatologists.
In the meantime, I have been trying to keep my mind off of the fact that I am woefully unprepared for Bun's arrival. I've been keeping up with all my blog reading, although I haven't been commenting because I cannot maintain my sedentary position at the computer for too long. That's also the reason why I have half a dozen half finished posts in my drafts folder, but I haven't actually posted anything for a week.
At least that's what I keep telling myself. Like I said, I've hit The Wall.