This is officially the longest I’ve ever been pregnant.
Obviously, I’m ecstatic at the health of this pregnancy, though I’ve been so disappointed that my healthiest one, the one I should have gotten to enjoy, was met with such turbulence and struggle.
Nonetheless, as I reflect on these last 36 weeks, I do find myself quite amazed at the weight I was able to carry, even if it was clumsily, these last 8-9 months.
It’s the kind of pride where I want to scream it on the rooftops and have everyone acknowledge and know just how much I have endured to get to this point. Even if that in itself seems a little immature, I’m at the point where I’m proud of my hardships, and no longer have the energy to cower in shame. This pregnancy may not have gone according to plan, but I’ve grown strikingly comfortable with plan B anyway.
I’m not going to lie, this last week has been utterly miserable. Cramping, contractions, back pain, exhaustion, swelling, pregnancy fatigue–it’s all felt unbearable. The mental mind games of whether I’m in labour or I’m not have been the worst. I swear, with all these “early labour” symptoms I’ve been having, I think I’ll have to be 8cm dilated before I believe it’s the real deal.
My last OB appointment we reiterated that we would go ahead with a medical induction at 38 weeks, and at our 37-week appointment we would do a membrane sweep to hopefully get things moving along on their own.
I’ve given up all expectations of this pregnancy, though one sweet hope I’m holding onto is that I will go into labour naturally.
Especially after loss and the complications I went through with my last pregnancy, it really does humble you in a sense where the idea of an “empowered birth” or coming up with a “birth plan” in general, seems like an unattainable luxury. I think a lot of other loss moms are with me when I say, all I want is a baby that’s alive.
It’s such a shame, though. In all truthfulness, I cannot think of anyone more deserving of an “empowered birth” than a mom who has had to give birth to death. Yet, unfortunately, these are the same mothers with the lowest expectations on how their labour and delivery should go. Even this time, I am choosing to have her out and into the safety of my arms as soon as possible. Not because it’s the birth I want, but because my need to have her here so I can finally breathe greatly outweighs my desires for the birth I had always dreamed of before I was touched by loss.
Now, it’s a waiting game.
The wonder of when she’ll come is weighing me down mercilessly. Partly because we have yet to schedule an actual induction date yet, and partly because even waiting another two weeks (please, hopefully, not even a day longer!) is daunting within itself. I know what you’re probably thinking, I have little to no time now. Although, it’s crazy what the last weeks of pregnancy can do. Suddenly, I’m so hyper-aware of how long I’ve been waiting for her, even before she was conceived. And, that’s what makes it that much more tiresome now.
This is untouched territory for me, holding a baby to nearly term. I’m trying to be as considerate to myself, and my body, as much as I can in this home stretch. It’s definitely not somewhere I thought I would ever be. Whether it’s allowing myself to feel scared, impatient, or the simple empowerment of “F*ck this, this is hard,” I’m trying to be adaptable.
I never know if my next blog will be another bumpdate, or a birth story.
Regardless, I’m grateful that at the very least I’ve had this opportunity to be transparent and vulnerable, ultimately owning this pregnancy, the good and the bad.