It’s 4:22 in the morning, 11 days past my due date. “Am I in labor,” you might ask? Hell no, OF COURSE NOT.
The reason I’m up at 4:22 AM? Because I’m up every night at 4:22 AM. And at 1 AM. And at 5:30 AM. I don’t sleep anymore. In fact, I have named all of the birds in our yard and can tell you the exact time that each is expected to start chirping. YAH.
Yesterday was the 4th time I thought I was in labor and wasn’t. I am officially losing my mind. I want my life back. This has to end.
For the past month, I haven’t been able to pick Lucie up. Or carry her. Or hold her in my lap. Or take her anywhere. Or do anything active. Or sleep. Or climb the stairs without significant effort. I try not to leave the house anymore because I’m tired of the barrage of questions from strangers. “My God, you look ready!” No shit, Sherlock, what amazing insight you have. And, my God, the emails and text messages. Please, just stop.
I went to L&D yesterday because, as of 2 PM, I had hardly felt her move at all. I was really worried. Of course… the minute they hook up the monitors, she starts break dancing. In fact, she started moving so much that they couldn’t even get a heart rate strip on her because she kept kicking it off. It turned into a TWO HOUR NST. Ah, the irony. My doc came in and gave me the “oh, you again” look.
I have honestly given up all hope of her coming on her own. And I’m completely depressed. My family has been here forever and I feel like they’ll come and go without even meeting her.
I’m going to ask him to induce me today even though I’m still “not favorable for induction.” Whatever. I don’t give a fuck anymore. “It’ll end in a C-section!” Fine. At least I can move on with my life. Maybe my stupid cervix will never be favorable. Maybe she will live on inside of me for-fucking-ever. Like a tumor.
Today I’m going to make this thing end. Wish me luck.
P.S. “Babies come when they want.”