Sick and Tired

Well I’m sick.

If I were to track down the person who gave me this cold, I would flick his or her nose. Because what you don’t want to have happen to you at 39 weeks pregnant, when a component of your labor management includes deep breathing, is to get sick with one of your patented, awful head colds. The fact that I haven’t been able to breathe well for the past two nights is keeping me up in more ways than one: doing my hypnobirthing practice feels impossible, which of course makes me believe that if I were to go into labor, all of our work would go right out the window, and throws me into a little bit of a tailspin.

And so, of course, here I am right now at 4 a.m., watching Buffy, sitting in my chair.

Contractions have started more in earnest lately, though they show no discernible pattern so I feel pretty confident that we’re looking at false labor for the moment. Scott downloaded the Contraction Master app and while the contractions happen mostly at night, they come and go in spurts without any rhyme or reason. We’re still tracking them, just the same, because it’s a good habit to get into. And since we’re in that Nothing-To-Do-But-Wait stage, it also keeps us occupied. We’re like little children around here. All we need is something shiny.

I say this jokingly, but I do wonder how people had children before technology.

While we’re now in waiting mode, I’m growing more reflective about the pregnancy itself. I read something yesterday where a woman who had been pregnant three times mentioned that after you’re not pregnant anymore you kind of forget what certain aspects felt like. I mentioned to Scott that it occured to me that at this time next month the things I’ve grown accustomed to – pain in my hips, my daughter’s constant movements, the Braxton-Hicks, the discomfort in bed – will be all but gone. You spend almost a year growing used to all of this discomfort and before you know it? Poof. Done.

I’m ready to be done with being pregnant – I can’t wait to go running, I can’t wait to breathe easier, I can’t wait to be able to regain full use of my hands, I can’t wait to sleep in any position I damn well please – but I will miss some of it. It takes some time, I suppose, since months ago I wouldn’t have thought that possible, but there it is.

I like how nice everyone is to me. Honest to Pete, I have not encountered anyone who isn’t nice to this pregnant lady. I like that I can dress like an eccentric and no one bats an eye. Seriously.  From the goofy hats to the galoshes, I’m just a stone’s throw away from being handed spare change off the expressway. There are ladies who rock being pregnant, but I am not one of those people. And for awhile I made a larger effort, at this point, with the cold and the snow and the inability to hang on to any dignity that remains, I don’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks regarding my appearance.

I like that my husband waits on me hand and foot. Make no mistake: he’s done that for a while now. I haven’t taken out the garbage in years and he’s insistent on me not doing much, if any, hard labor around the house, no matter how much I protest. But predictably since becoming pregnant, and especially in these last stages, Scott prefers I stay seated and at rest at all times, even if that means getting up to hand me my laptop that’s only a foot away, just so I don’t get up from the glider. That sort of horsepockey won’t stand, obviously, once I regain full use of my faculties, but for now? It’s sweet.

Ugh. I have no good way to end this blog post. I’m tired, I’m sick, I’m antsy and not everything is very hunky dory right now for myriad reasons, but I’m grateful as a person knows how to be. Now if only I could breathe…