Pregnancy is just not meant for wussies like me.
Yesterday Geekster sat down next to me and asked what was wrong. It was apparent something was amiss, as I wouldn't meet his gaze, was fairly quiet and in full-out pout mode.
'Everything,' I replied with a downcast stare and a sigh.
'Do you want to talk about it?' he asked .
'No, because there's just too much to talk about,' I retorted in the whiniest voice possible.
Then the floodgates opened and I cried like a big sissy baby about how I want the baby to come, but I don't want him to come before he's ready, but how do I know when he's ready, and what if he never comes on his own, and how I don't want a c-section, but I'm a little scared of childbirth because of my past experiences, but I'm also scared of a c-section, and I dread the recovery time, but what if something happens during labour, but what if something happens during a c-section, and how awful is it that I'm dying to get this baby out when it's my last pregnancy, and will I go into postpartum depression because I'll feel bad that I wished the last few days away, am I depressed now because I'm crying, or is this normal, or is nothing normal because I'm just a spaz, and is it going to be anticlimatic when he's born, and what if he cries all the time and I want to put him back in, and...
Like I said: Big sissy baby = me, The Maven, who should be called Wussy Psycho Pregnant Chick, or The Artist Formally Known as The Maven.
It's amazing what a good partner can do. Within minutes he had me calmed down with a reassuring voice and a hand on my knee. He didn't minimize my fears, not did he add to them. He was just there. Exactly where I needed him to be, saying exactly what I needed him to say.
There's a reason I do very little complaining about my husband. There really isn't much to complain about. He can be a big whiny sissy baby too, but I think he only does it so that I don't feel inadequate. He realizes I need to save the day sometimes to maintain the level of ego I've grown accustomed to. It's very nice of him, really. Thoughtful, even.
As a result of my sobfest last night I am feeling a world better today. I'm 39 weeks and 3 days. The world hasn't ended. My body is still holding up (read: in various states of pain and/or discomfort depending on the time of day and/or circumstances, but still largely intact). InUtero Boy is still happily kicking away in there, finding new ways to pinch and prod at my insides. He's healthy and I'm healthy. I'm looking at the bright side of things. I want to meet him so badly, but I can wait until it's time. Whether that time comes naturally or via a scalpel we have yet to see. I'm not going to stress about it right now. We still have time for things to happen on their own; frankly, we have as much time as I want there to be, providing that he's still content in there.
The gremlins are doing quite well. I haven't posted about them lately because they've been surprisingly well-behaved most of the time. What's the fun if I can't bitch about them, you know? It sort of takes the zing out of it. No matter: there will be a new baby to shake things up fairly shortly and I'm sure Gutsy will be showing us a whole new side of him, giving me plenty of new material to explore in my blog. It doesn't help that he's going through a cuddly-love-my-mommy stage, either. The results of having a newborn attached to my breast 24/7 may prove catastrophic to our family due to a distraught preschooler. Suffice to say that the next few weeks will prove to be memorable.
Well, time for ER. I must check on Abby and her baby. I'm such a sucker.
Yesterday Geekster sat down next to me and asked what was wrong. It was apparent something was amiss, as I wouldn't meet his gaze, was fairly quiet and in full-out pout mode.
'Everything,' I replied with a downcast stare and a sigh.
'Do you want to talk about it?' he asked .
'No, because there's just too much to talk about,' I retorted in the whiniest voice possible.
Then the floodgates opened and I cried like a big sissy baby about how I want the baby to come, but I don't want him to come before he's ready, but how do I know when he's ready, and what if he never comes on his own, and how I don't want a c-section, but I'm a little scared of childbirth because of my past experiences, but I'm also scared of a c-section, and I dread the recovery time, but what if something happens during labour, but what if something happens during a c-section, and how awful is it that I'm dying to get this baby out when it's my last pregnancy, and will I go into postpartum depression because I'll feel bad that I wished the last few days away, am I depressed now because I'm crying, or is this normal, or is nothing normal because I'm just a spaz, and is it going to be anticlimatic when he's born, and what if he cries all the time and I want to put him back in, and...
Like I said: Big sissy baby = me, The Maven, who should be called Wussy Psycho Pregnant Chick, or The Artist Formally Known as The Maven.
It's amazing what a good partner can do. Within minutes he had me calmed down with a reassuring voice and a hand on my knee. He didn't minimize my fears, not did he add to them. He was just there. Exactly where I needed him to be, saying exactly what I needed him to say.
There's a reason I do very little complaining about my husband. There really isn't much to complain about. He can be a big whiny sissy baby too, but I think he only does it so that I don't feel inadequate. He realizes I need to save the day sometimes to maintain the level of ego I've grown accustomed to. It's very nice of him, really. Thoughtful, even.
As a result of my sobfest last night I am feeling a world better today. I'm 39 weeks and 3 days. The world hasn't ended. My body is still holding up (read: in various states of pain and/or discomfort depending on the time of day and/or circumstances, but still largely intact). InUtero Boy is still happily kicking away in there, finding new ways to pinch and prod at my insides. He's healthy and I'm healthy. I'm looking at the bright side of things. I want to meet him so badly, but I can wait until it's time. Whether that time comes naturally or via a scalpel we have yet to see. I'm not going to stress about it right now. We still have time for things to happen on their own; frankly, we have as much time as I want there to be, providing that he's still content in there.
The gremlins are doing quite well. I haven't posted about them lately because they've been surprisingly well-behaved most of the time. What's the fun if I can't bitch about them, you know? It sort of takes the zing out of it. No matter: there will be a new baby to shake things up fairly shortly and I'm sure Gutsy will be showing us a whole new side of him, giving me plenty of new material to explore in my blog. It doesn't help that he's going through a cuddly-love-my-mommy stage, either. The results of having a newborn attached to my breast 24/7 may prove catastrophic to our family due to a distraught preschooler. Suffice to say that the next few weeks will prove to be memorable.
Well, time for ER. I must check on Abby and her baby. I'm such a sucker.