The Pregnant Life: Graduation Day

Amy Keyishian
1

Baby in a preemie diaper
Beebee!!
I saw Dr. Wu for my ultrasound, and he declared me, at Week 31.5, ultrasoundless for the rest of my pregnancy. My cervix has been reliably long every time we've checked it; I have no other issues; whatever happened last time isn't happening this time.

"You're almost at 32 weeks, your cervix is long," he said. "Even if I saw it short, it would be like a Tarot card: 'Oh look, you got the Tower, what does it mean?' We couldn't do anything but watch you, so there's no reason to keep checking." Of course, he followed up with "… but if your doctor wants us to continue, you come up here anytime." My doctor carries weight -- people listen to her. But I doubt she'll disagree.

So after weeks and weeks of feeling like I'm wrapped in cotton wool and gently stored on a shelf, I'm dumped back out into the world of normal pregnancies.

Which, frankly, is how I feel anyway. Don't get me wrong: I feel like crap, my heart pounds for no reason, I'm breathless and dizzy and in a state of constant fatigue, I hit the wall and almost feel like I'm dying of tired. But crazy as it sounds, that feels normal to me -- normal third-trimester crappy.

Not like last time, when I really, really knew something was wrong and couldn't get anyone to listen. At this time last time -- well, at this time last time, I wasn't pregnant anymore and felt (physically) great, running up the hill every morning. But in my last weeks, I couldn't wear regular shoes, I had to take my rings off, my abdomen was in constant pain, my butt was doing unspeakable things, my skin felt like it was crawling with ants, and I was in tears constantly.

So please, if you're 20 to 35 weeks and you feel that way, CALL YOUR DOCTOR. Can I say that enough? Call. Bust past the nurses if you have to. Hurdle over the midwives. Dodge the front desk. Tackle him or her in the parking lot if you have to. But call, call, get checked out, and call. The best advice is, again, on KeepEmCookin.com, with a list of key words and scripts and encouragement.

Okay, PSA over. Anyway! Despite yesterday's great news, I had a tough morning of not being able to quite wake up. My daughter is slowly getting the idea that something is going on, that it involves a baby, and that the baby will be living here. In the past few days, she has:

  • Become much more attached to "Beebee," her baby doll. Side note: Randy and I are trying to call her Lola, because that's a name Penelope uses a lot (because of the song), but so far to no avail.
  • Taken clothes off Beebee, watched me put one of her preemie diapers on (it fit, omg), and then held her and comforted her.
  • Given Beebee a bottle.
  • Used Beebee as a cuddly pillow when going to sleep, even though this added like a half hour to the going-to-sleep process.
  • Pointed to my belly and said Beebee.
  • Also pointed to my breasts, butt, Randy's belly, and her own belly, and still said Beebee. So I dunno.

She's also on the cusp of something monumentally developmental, probably another vocabulary explosion. She's frustrated, gets angry, and hits me and herself, and suddenly wails for (seemingly) no reason. Poor munchkin! And she misses me. She is very clingy and wants both me and Randy within hand-holding distance, and out of bed, as much as possible. She knows something's up is the bottom line. Which I suppose is good, even if it's a bit uncomfortable.

As for my own Beebee, she's nuts. Very, very active -- so much so that my husband kind of can't believe what's going on. She doesn't just kick -- she flutters, she dances, she does the time-step. And I'm getting better at figuring out where she is. I guessed, before the ultrasound, that her head was down and her feet were sorta upper-right, and the nurse confirmed it -- pointing out that she was also lying on her side, her spine pointing down my left side. She kicked the nurse during the ultrasound, so I don't think she'll mind not getting any more of those. Of course, she and Randy also got in a slap-fight last night -- he'd put his hand on her, she'd kick him, he'd (gently) thump back, and I guess they were communicating for a while that way while I lay there like a giant round telegraph machine.

But waah, no more grainy black-and-white pictures! Pout.

 

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