On Thursday, we had an eventful appointment. I was day three of some evil cold or allergies, and I was feeling intensely ill. I knew the crud was creeping its way down into my chest. The nurse practitioner took my word even though my lungs sounded clear. She gave me a prescription for a Z pack, another for an inhaler (I haven't used mine in over a year, but I don't want to risk not having a fresh one here at the end, especially since my mother's asthma was so bad at the end with my brother), and instructors to try Zyrtec. Then, she told us that my uterus was measuring five weeks too small. I'd been thinking that I didn't look as pregnant as I was. I didn't feel especially worried since Oliver was dancing around as she spoke. I did wonder, though, if slow growth, low fluid, or my own size would mean we were having a baby soon.
We had just sat down to wait when she returned to take us to the ultrasound room. The tech is so nice. While she was taking measurements, and I couldn't see the screen, I felt a kick (the strong ones are rare now; he mostly just has room to squirm and shift), and Josh saw a foot take up the screen. When I got to look, we saw Oliver's profile and watched him push his lips out rapidly in real time. It reminded me of my brother's dreaming of nursing as a baby. I wanted to tell Oliver that I have what he needs. A direct view of his face showed the weight he's gained. His cheeks are chubby! His weight showed as 6 pounds and 1 ounce. "Babies are born at that weight," I told Josh.
The NP reviewed the results and showed them to two of the doctors. Everyone said we're fine. Oliver is favors my right side, and his bunching up probably throws off the measurements. He's measuring only about nine days small. I hope that doesn't mean he'll come nine days late! Apparently, he wasn't small at the last ultrasound, so many he'll just have a petite start. I'm glad the NP was so thorough, and I'm glad I'd only gained a pound during the week.
I spent the next three days in a coma, practically. I'd been getting just a few miserable hours of sleep. Then, I was completely dazed at work, sleeping in the car (I told Josh I couldn't drive), sleeping ten hours at night, sleeping in the day and afternoon and evening. Oliver, however, didn't seem phased. My mom said it was probably the Zyrtec. I stopped taking it, figuring it had probably done its work by making me sleep. I was still knocked out on Saturday even though I'd only taken it on Thursday and Friday. By Sunday, I still had allergy symptoms (my cough had gotten worse as I thought it would), but I didn't feel ill.
Sunday was also the day a new phase started. I've been having Braxton Hicks contractions off and on for weeks. I'd had hour-long rounds of pretty regular ones and random ones throughout the day. But on Sunday evening, Josh was next to me with an online counter for three hours. I squeezed his hand with the starts and stops. I'd read about focal points and thought they were silly, but I found myself staring at the Puffs logo on my tissue box or the art nouveau Moet et Chandon poster in the hall. After three hours, the contractions spaced out enough that I could ignore them somewhat.
But at work the next day, my back and hips felt very different. I couldn't tell if I was sore or continuing to have less distinct contractions. At around four, when I had two hours to go, I started having contractions that made me hold onto my desk. The first major one lasted two minutes. After that, they shorted to 30-45 seconds but came under two minutes apart. When someone came into my office, I could barely talk. Faking it is going to get increasingly difficult. I called Josh to hear his voice, and he got rather nervous, being an hour away. I started to feel a little weepy, alone and unsure of what to do. After two hours, I was okay enough to drive home.
Josh drove me to work yesterday, saying, "We're not doing that again." Walking was difficult, but I got through the day okay. I had pretty major back pain my last hour, but I wasn't noticing individual contractions. The back pain is sort of familiar to me because I had endometriosis pain for a couple of years before I knew what it was.
As we were driving home, the rumbling of the car (which is minimal) started bugging me. I was mid-sentence when I stopped. Josh looked at me, and I said, "I feel like something is going to come out of me." The general pressure felt suddenly active. We almost pulled over, so I could walk in the grass. I didn't want to stop since that would mean a longer time before the rumbling ended. But I also knew that the farther we went toward home, the farther we went from the hospital. I felt the near-primal hunger that sometimes follows my contractions. Once we reached our town, we drove through McDonalds for a grilled chicken sandwich.
"The McChicken isn't grilled," we heard.
"Then give me a club sandwich with nothing on it." Grilled chicken. Bun. That's all I asked.
I was entirely focused on eating in the car and then inside. With that task complete, I got into whatever positions my body seemed to want. Hearing Josh in the kitchen was making me feel weird, so I told him to say aloud what he was doing until he came back. When he came in with his dinner, I instructed him to eat. My speech was clipped and probably unclear, but I preferred the calm, authoritative mood to the weepy, worried one. Josh is very tolerant of my
do this/don't do that when I'm hurting or just in that intense place. I think he's just glad when I can express what will help me. When he was done eating, Josh massaged my back and hips, which was like wonder therapy. I lay on my side, and according to a sudden urge, watched YouTube videos of old Windows screensavers. I don't know. It was soothing.
Then, I was ready to take a shower. I stood up with some difficulty, and we both saw how different my belly looked. My protruding belly button is lower, for one, and the whole bump has shifted down. So whatever else has or hasn't happened, I'm pretty sure Oliver has dropped. Maybe that's what I felt in the car.
In the shower, I said, "All of this keeps happening, and then, I'm at work the next day." That will make taking anything totally seriously difficult. I tired of hearing
You'll know. I spoke to a coworker yesterday. She had intense B-H contractions for the last couple of months in each of her pregnancies too...so much so that she arrived at the hospital fully dilated and nineteen minutes from delivery with her first child. She said that she just figured it was more of the same, and with each of her four children, she never knew she was in labor. This was bizarrely comforting to me.
For the last week, I've done nothing outside of work besides sleep, be sick, or deal with this pre-labor weirdness. At work, I've focused on meeting with subs, preparing for my absence, and again, dealing with pre-labor or whatever it is. I can't process new information or even clean, launder, and sanitize as I want to. So why have I just typed all this? A sudden urge. I just go with those now. Let's hope I'll get the urge to push Josh to the car when I need to.
