Some Laughter as I Wait

trying to survive the final days of pregnancy

We are hopefully in the final days of pregnancy.

How do I feel about that?

Howard, Ghislaine. 1894. Self-Portrait.

I believe I experience more emotions in any given hour than most people experience in a year.

laughter and wisdom

Monday - I went in for a membrane sweep. I was a little nervous. I had one with Little Man and it worked well, but we were further along… and anyways… lots of emotions.

We went in and chatted with my wonderful midwife and her assistant. We talked about options and what to expect, etc. Then they left the room for me to get undressed. It was only AFTER I had removed my clothes did it occur to me that if we were going to use the doppler to listen to Azalea Bloom’s heartbeat, AND then do a sweep, there would there be a great deal of pressure. I was concerned that if I didn’t make a trip to the Ladies Room before, I wouldn’t make it through. But I didn’t want to have to get dressed again to make a quick bathroom stop, to come back and get undressed again…

So my mom helped wrap me in a sheet, and I just streaked across the midwife’s office. Thankfully, no one else was there yet, but I surprised my midwife and assistant who were waiting respectfully in the hallway when the door flew open, and I - dressed Greco Roman style in a meadow green sheet - came dashing out and past them.

We all ended up having a good giggle, and I was able to giggle and breathe through the sweep itself.

As strange as this little streaking episode sounds - it was actually quite heartening. I have felt some fear as I approach Azalea Bloom’s birth. One of my genetic conditions puts me in higher risk categories for hemorrhaging and dislocating my hips. We have a plan, but sometimes I still feel nervous. I also feel nervous because so much is so different than I imagined. If you had asked me at any point before the last nine months or so if I envisioned myself giving birth as a single mother - I would have scoffed. There are moments the absence of a comforting male presence hurts. The hurt of I wish I could have been cared for that way, I wish I had someone who would hold me like that. Moments when I see other women being tenderly supported and cradled as they sway through contractions on the strong arms of their husbands. Moments when I see other women receiving that oh-so-precious look of pride and awe and the sweetest of forehead kisses from their husbands as the two beam down at their new baby.

These are moments I won’t have.

It’s been hard to envision the moments I will have, hard to envision a birth so utterly different than what my friends experienced, even from what I experienced - to an extent - with Little Man. This, added to previous postpartum trauma, has left me feeling a bit fragile. Wanting Azalea Bloom to come desperately, yet fearing her birth and the postpartum time.

But as I laughed through the membrane sweep and looked around the room at my mom, and my midwife, and her assistant, and how much we have bonded over the last nine months, some of that fear melted away. If we can laugh through this moment, I thought, we’ll find other moments in labor to laugh through as well. There will be other quiet, soft moments too. Moments of joy and peace amid the chaos and challenges.

Because the joy of the Lord is my strength, and after two years of sorrow and suffering, where I struggled to feel joy, he has brought me into a new season where I feel it often.

Likewise, the words of a friend encouraged me. She pointed out that no matter how the birth goes, God will be with me. I’ve been meditating on that reality. Even if unexpected, painful things happen, I won’t be alone. He will be with me. The desire I have for a male presence, one who would protect me and be proud of me, already exists. And no, maybe I don’t have a physical pair of strong male hands to apply counterpressure, but I do have his presence strengthening and protecting and watching over me. He will be with us all, amid all the wonderful women who will also be there.

And that makes it alright, no matter what happens.

the Miles Circuit and Captain Morgan

Have you ever heard of the Miles Circuit? If you haven’t, consider yourself fortunate. It is a series of three positions designed to induce labor. It might work in self-defense honestly. These look easy.

Deceptively easy.

The same genetic condition that puts me at risk for hemorrhaging and dislocating hips grants me hypermobility. I’ve been able to keep up with prenatal yoga, and do stretches of all kinds. Most of my hypermobility is in my hips… the problem with hypermobility? It means you have great flexibility, but poor stability. This is heightened in pregnancy due to the lovely hormone relaxin. And for the Medieval baby-inducing torture regime Miles Circuit, you need stability.

As such - my attempts have led me to rename the positions:

Position 1: Crawling through Quick Sand after Being Shipwrecked while Trying to Shake Your Booty

Position 2: Trying to Fall Asleep on a VERY Fat Shetland Pony WHILE it’s Galloping in the Middle of a Thunderstorm

Position 3: Pretend to be Captain Morgan, except do it for as long as you can without having to stop for the bathroom, in spite of the fact that your bladder and ability to balance feel like you WAY Overindulged in the Rum

Now, this is one of the times where my personality seems to be set against me. Especially for Position 1, I have tried laying down and scooting up into position, taking a flying leap across a bed in hopes of landing in the right position, and wiggling down from a cat yoga pose into position… Common sense would say that if you have face planted, nearly fallen off a bed, and popped a hip trying to do these poses, perhaps it’s time to call it quits, eat ice cream, and just wait patiently…

But - my midwife recommended it! So I will persist.

trying to communicate

I appreciate, deeply appreciate, all the sweet friends texting me to ask how things are going. I am happy to give updates and ask for prayers.

There is only one small problem… I’m never quite sure how much information is Too Much Information (TMI) at this point. Between exhaustion and hormones, my filter is quite low, and I’m never quite sure how much information is appreciated, and how much will make the poor recipient turn green. Do they want to know how dilated/effaced I am? Would they like to hear about the - hopefully good signs - that the sweep is working?

So far - I have a group in the “get-to-know-everything-whether-they-want-to-or-not” category. If you’re in this group but wouldn’t like to be, I apologize. It’s a little late to unsubscribe. And then I have a “giving-as-polite-and-euphemistic-an-update-as-possible-while-having-a-baby” category. These are the people of whom I think “it is so incredibly sweet that you’re texting me, and I appreciate your care, but also I’m pretty sure a description of the condition of my cervix might ruin our friendship forever.”

In a moment of many emotions yesterday - I called the sister of my soul, not realizing her poor husband was in the room with her, and not only described the streaking, the sweeping, and all the lovely symptoms I’m currently experiencing, but also my dilemma over which category to put certain people in. Thankfully, he is the steady dadbod sort of man that either didn’t hear, or purposefully ignored my calamitous chaotic meltdown.

peaceful nights and perfect ends

I think the waiting and hoping is wearing everyone a little thin. I won’t tell stories on my mom and stepdad, but suffice to say, NO ONE and I mean NO ONE in the house last night was in a good mood.

My son is going through a phase where he is terrified of bath time. I have tried getting into the tub with him, bringing new toys, singing, using almost no water, adding bubbles, etc. My mom and I are sort of at our wits’ end. He still likes to play in the baptismal water at the entrance of our church though, so honestly considering just bringing soap and dumping it over him at the end of service. I bathed him in his little outdoor splash pad a few times, which he enjoyed. He has since caught on though, and no refuses to come near it.

Last night - I put my feet in the grandparents’ big tub and tried to get Little Man to come in with me. He did - for fifteen seconds. Then he leapt out of the tub, and raced to the corner of their bedroom. Me, being very pregnant, didn’t move fast enough. Little Man, sweet little man, who had been in a very cranky mood all day - tinkled all over.

All over the floor. All over the dog’s bed. All over the nightstand. All over Cee’s crochet project bag.

All over is a good description of the mood that followed. Even long suffering Cee was DONE. I whisked Little Man away to pajamas and prayers, while she endeavored to clean up the mess.

When I read the line, “The Lord Almighty grant us a peaceful night and a perfect end.” Cee very forcefully proclaimed, “AMEN!” It sort of shook the house. It was a little scary.

Thankfully, God did grant us our prayer. We all slept at least some, and Little Man has been in a much better mood today.

But as this pregnancy draws to a close (hopefully SOON), my prayer is that labor will be like a peaceful night, and that we will have a perfect for Azalea Bloom and me end to this season. I pray for a labor of joy and peace.

But I am ready for this season to end.

I am so ready for her to come.