As you know, if you've read my last post, I'm to be induced either the 6th, or the 14th. Well it's the 6th. But it's also 3.24 am. So I don't have an inkling of what's to come yet. Shall I be popped today? Or is it another week away?
I should be sleeping, just in case it turns out it is today, but I just can't seem to. At all. I'm pretty excited and I can't wait to go to the appt because even if I'm not popped, they'll probably let us see her via ultrasound, and that's something I rather enjoy!
We already installed the carseat and put the bags in the car. We've put together and placed all of her furniture where it is to be once she's here, and we've even laid out her first clothes and the self-help books on breast feeding, should I encounter a major slump. Levi has prepared her little bassinet with the baby monitor and all. I baked some cookies a bit ago for the hospital stay, and I have even begun to feel what I believe is my cervix dilating. (a terrible sharp pain in the vagina, seriously, I just don't know what else it could be!)
We met with Jana (Our charming doula.), and she seemed pretty pleased with how things were going so far. She didn't argue with me at all about my change to the birth plans and supported the idea of induction in my case, which was nice! I had originally been worried that she would be a little annoyed or seem otherwise bothered by my decision to be more open to an epidural and accept the induction wholly. (She had never been judgmental, and has always supported us, but you just see it in someones face when they dont agree with your decision or are dissapointed you, you can feel it. Even when they try to hide it and be supportive.) That wasn't the case at all though, she didn't even seem stunned by it. She simply gave us a little more advice on epidurals and told us what we could expect with one, and an induction. I seriously reccomend any pregnant person and their partner to consider a doula. They're great, supportive, knowing, and very helpful. I've definitely had a lot more peace-of-mind with ours, than I think I would've otherwise.
We're pretty excited about this whole process and of course getting to meet our child, but honestly, I'm pretty nervous. It feels so surreal. It doesn't feel like it's time yet, I still feel like I'm thinking about 'some day' when I imagine her. It's a crazy feeling. I can't wait to hold her in my arms. I've been dreaming about this day since we saw her on our first ultrasound, with her micro-hiccups. We teared up and let out a breath that we'd been holding, in the worries of finding a no longer living baby in my womb. There she was. Alive and hiccuping. Living. Making it.
Starting that day, I had begun to dream about the moment I'd hold her. The moment I'd first breastfeed her. The moment I'd first bathe her. But it never felt like enough. I cried all the time. I felt like each day was just one more day I'd managed to keep her, that I was just buying a little more time with her everyday, every hour. It never felt like I'd get to hold her. It never felt like she would make it. I was always hopeful and positive outloud, and never gave up on her, but you can't help how you feel. And I felt like this baby was going to be taken away from me before I ever got to see her face.
Sometimes, milestones felt great, I felt like, "If we've made this far, who's to say she won't make it all the way?!?!". And other days, I felt like it would only make it that much harder to have her taken away from me. Stripped from my life. Stripped of life.
I remember in particular, the day we found out she could possibly live outside the womb, if born, with extreme and extensive medical care. They told us, that if born, she'd be taken to NICU and probably live a good few hours atleast, if not longer. I was giddy to have hope that she had chances of making it now, even if my body failed her. Until a horrible reality struck me. What if she were born, and didn't make it.
I would've held her tiny body in my arms for just long enough to feel her warmth. She would have to have an IV bigger than her fingers and tubes in every place a tube could go. She would see the light, if only for a minute, but never me or Levi. She would be a blind, naked, prodded, vulnerable, purple and pink, tiny and needle-ridden baby. She would be miserable. Then die.
Yes, I would get the benefit of seeing her alive for a moment, but then what? Then she either dies in her incubator while I watch, or turns cold in my arms, weak and limp. Watch the life fade right away from her. My baby. My poor baby. My poor, helpless, miserable, baby. What good was this for either of us? Her miserable, then dead, and I, sad but grateful for a few hours, then devastated and stripped of joy and any kind of life I had.
Every milestone was bittersweet. I felt like everything was out to get her and eventually, something would. We just couldn't be lucky enough to make it through this. We couldn't. I told myself I'd enjoy everyday untl then, though. Until she was taken away from me, I would.
So to imagine, that I'm 38 weeks pregnant, and that this baby could come at any moment on her own, or that she'll be helped along in a few hours (or a week), is crazy. I almost can't grasp it. I look at my belly everyday and wonder how we made it. How she got so lucky. How I got so lucky.
Wish us luck. I'm hoping for nothing but a perfectly healthy baby out of this, and I don't think that's too much to ask!
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