13 November 2012

dear burrito, week 34

Dear Burrito,

Week 34 is upon us.  Probably the best news was when I read the weekly email from Babycenter.com and it said you are spending most of your time fattening up in there.  I'd like to think this is why the number on the scale keeps going up every time I step onto it at the doctor's and not because of my love of all things peppermint chocolate chip milkshake from Chick Fil A.

Sadly, this past week I had to say goodbye to my wedding ring.  Something I didn't really expect to happen.  Truth be told, I probably could have kept it on, but it was starting to get a little bit uncomfortable.  The swelling isn't just in my fingers, right now my feet are so swollen I don't have a prayer of squeezing them into real shoes, let alone lacing them.  Looks like Mama will be getting more judgmental looks from the people at the gym as I walk on the treadmill in flip flops.  Oh well, at least I am still working out, right?

One thing I am not doing is sleeping.  Part of the reason is because I cannot get enough water into my system.  I drink huge glass after huge glass.  Which also means that at least 70% of my day is spent looking for or being in the bathroom.  This constant need to pee isn't reserved just for waking hours, oh no.  I am up and down at least two or three times a night.  There is a very sleepy part of me that has very seriously considered buying a pack of Depends and attempting to get a good night of sleep.  No lie.

The other reason I am not sleeping is because my anxiety attacks are in full swing at this point.  And just like my need to pee, the attacks don't wait for the sun to come up.  Usually after I get done going to the bathroom and lay back down and find a comfy position (of which there are so few left) my mind has woken up fully and I can't turn off all the fears and questions.  Instead I lay awake and worry.

They say that most pregnant women have some anxiety towards the end of pregnancy.  Maybe I am not totally crazy for feeling as anxious as I do?  The truth is, I'm not worried about you at all.  I firmly believe you are a happy (and fat) little girl who is going to come out healthy and perfect.  My anxiety is very selfish in that I'm consumed with the fear of dying.  I am worried about making the wrong choice with how to deliver you and leaving you and Mabes without a Mama.  That thought twists my stomach into knots to the point I am physically sick.  I cry at least a few times a day.  I over analyze things people say thinking that maybe they know something I don't (OK, maybe I am crazy).  I try as hard as I can to keep it together for your sister.  That alone is exhausting because this anxiety is all consuming and I pretty much just want to curl up into a ball and do nothing but lay in my bed with the shades shut tight.  By the time we put Mabes to bed at night I am a hot mess and your poor Daddy just calmly sits there, listens to me and does his best to reassure me.

So many people have an opinion on whether I should have a repeat c-section or if I should try a VBAC.  Everyone has made at least a few valid points.  The problem is no one is me and what is right for one person isn't always right for another.  I have spent countless hours on the Internet looking up facts, reading stories (some great, some horrific), gathering statistics and writing down question after question for the doctors.  Either way there are at least some risks.  Not big risks, but risks.  When it comes to medical stuff I don't like risks.  Ever.  The last time I brought up my concerns to the doctor she pointed out that which ever way I go I have to be 100% committed.  When I think about the curtain going up in the OR and them starting to cut my belly my palms sweat and I just want to throw up.  Then when I think about having a VBAC and the possibility (however slim) of a "catastrophic event" (the doctor's words, not mine) happening and what would follow I start to cry.  Honestly I don't know that I will ever be 100% on board with either decision.  If we weren't rapidly (and I do mean rapidly) running out of space in my abdominal cavity I would probably lobby hard to find a way to advance science and just keep you in there.  It doesn't help that we are literally only a few weeks away from your due date.  Time is not on my side with this one.

Daddy asked me today if I was excited about your upcoming arrival.  I told him I was cautiously excited.  Meaning that until you were actually out and we were both dubbed medically safe I was more or less holding my breath.  Kiddo, it sucks.

I don't know about you, but I am ready to get through the next few weeks and to (hopefully) be able to share in the magic that is your first Christmas.

Love,
Mama

1 comment:

  1. You write such sweet and honest letters to Burrito, that even the worst parts are told nicely. Wish I could help you with your anxiety attacks, but I know all too well that no amount of talking alleviates that feeling. It will all be OK, really, and that beautiful baby will be in your arms. Best Christmas present ever.

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