Life-isms

The Waiting Ensues

Way back when I was 34 weeks along my doctor had me start doing some weekly fetal monitoring.  Baby Ching and I have a two-vessel cord going on, which “isn’t the end of the world” (as my doctor put it), but they want to keep an eye on it.  Normal cords have three vessels—one taking stuff in and two hauling it out.  Ours just has one vessel in and one out.  The two vessels can handle everything just fine, but where it’s a skinnier cord I guess it’s a little more prone to get squished; hence the monitoring.

According to my research, this happens about every 1 in 100 pregnancies (and most of the time ends up having no ill effects on the baby), so it’s not super common, but it happens.  However, my pregnancy book mentions absolutely nothing about two-vessel cords.  Not even a sentence.  Sure, it has entire sections on umbilical-cord prolapse, bird flu, fibroid tumors, and lyme disease, but nothing on the one weird thing I’ve got going on.  Go figure.

Anyway, so I’ve been going in to get monitored once a week since I was 34 weeks.  Part of the monitoring is a non-stress test where they measure Baby Ching’s heart rate along with my contractions (if any).  The first time I went in, the lady looked at the print-out and said, “Oh, you’re having contractions.”  What?  She pointed out the big curves on the graph.  “It’s been so hot, so you’re probably just dehydrated.  I’ll get you some water.”  So she gave me a cup of water.  After I’d choked that down (literally—I’m not so skilled at drinking on an incline) she looked again and said, “Hmm.  I’ll get you more water.”  I’ve since learned that these contractions are just Braxton-Hicks, but I had no idea at the time.  I heard her make a phone call to my doctor’s office and said something to the effect of, “She’s having contractions, but isn’t aware of them.  I’m sending her home, but giving her some things to watch for.”  Sending me home?  They’d considered keeping me?  She then told me to call my doctor if the contractions started to hurt or if, of course, my water broke.  She said contractions aren’t a big deal after 35 weeks, so she told me to “hang in there for another six days at least.”

Needless to say, I walked away kind of freaked out.  I thought I had around six more weeks, give or take, but maybe—just maybe—I’d be having a baby much sooner than that.  To top it off, a week later my doctor predicted that I probably wouldn’t go past my due date.  I began thinking of things that needed to get done before Baby Ching comes and number one on my list was washing his clothes.  So I ran to Target to get some free and clear laundry detergent.  My child will not go naked.  Some parents are cool with the whole nothing-but-a-diaper outfit, but it’s not my thing.  It’s socially acceptable to wear clothes.

Then as I was folding his clean clothes, I realized, “My son has one pair of pants.”  Sure, pajamas will be sufficient for those first few weeks, but eventually I’ll take him to church, and who wears footie jammies to church?  Everyone knows men wear pants to church.  I’ll not have him holding that over my head when he grows up.  I’ve since rounded up a couple more pairs of pants for him, so no worries.  But it was a legitimate concern for a few weeks that he’d be born and have no pants.

For the next few weeks I was on edge.  I was reluctant to make plans, because surely I was going to have this baby at any moment.  Now I’m three days (days!) away from my due date, and there’s still no baby.  Just never-ending Braxton-Hicks.  I’m sort of in denial at this point.  After six weeks of any day now, I have a hard time convincing myself that eventually it will happen.

Every day I’ve been asking Ching about his birthday preferences, “Ok, what about the 28th?  That’s a good day to be born, right?”  Then the 28th comes and goes and I tell him, “Ok.  So not the 28th.  But what about the 29th?  That’s a good day, yeah?”  I’ve known some moms who have a preference on their child being born on an even or odd day.  I don’t really care if it’s even, odd, divisible by three, or a prime number.  Any day is cool with me.  I feel a little weird about the 13th, but we definitely won’t make it that far, so I’m not too concerned.

Well, wish me luck (in your heart—no need to comment).  Back when I was first pregnant, a coworker told me to take note of all the women around me that have had babies.  There’s tons of them.  She told me, “They all did it, so remember you can too.”  I’m trying to keep that in mind.  I’m probably not going to post any pictures of him on here or give his real name (Ching will continue to be his pseudonym) because I don’t want this blog to go private but I’m paranoid about internet creepers.  However, if you’re friends with me on Facebook you’ll be able to see him there.

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4 thoughts on “The Waiting Ensues

  1. Let me tell you the absolute worst conversation you could have right now. I went to my doctor's appt at 40 weeks-which may as well have been 75 weeks, right? And I said that to her "well I can't be pregnant forever." And she said "actually…" And told me a story about a woman a LONG time ago who went to the doctor complaining of stomach pains and they couldn't figure out the problem. So when she died like 40 years later, they found a baby inside her! Right that's what you tell a desperate pregnant woman. But yes, I agree, that YOU, Lindsay, will not be pregnant forever.

  2. Oh yikes. I had no idea that was even possible. The morbid part of me is wondering how that baby didn't decompose and eventually just fall out. Because decomposition seems very plausible in such a warm, moist place. Poor baby…

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