Today I am 40 weeks and 3 days pregnant with my 4th child. It was never supposed to get to this point. In my mind, #BabyTheLast was supposed to scribble an "I wuz here" on the uterus wall and make her escape around 38 weeks.
Alas, she seems to prefer hanging out on the inside when I'd much rather have her on the outside.
Babies can be so inconsiderate.
I am done with being pregnant -- my body is done with being pregnant. I feel like I am falling apart day by day. I'm not sleeping, I'm having incredible pubic pain that makes walking or being on my feet for long periods difficult, the lymphedema that started following my last miscarriage is out of control, and I've had swelling and carpal tunnel issues with my hands for the last 4 or 5 weeks. I've gained 60lbs.
I cannot begin to describe how exhausted I am from almost 3 weeks of prodromal labour -- I know it is my body getting ready, but I really wish it would do it a bit faster.
I have hit the point where I am randomly breaking down into what I refer to as "post-dates hysteria", where anything and everything pisses me off and makes me cry.
This baby factory is closed, permanently. I wish the final occupant would read the eviction notice.
I will be honest and say that I've spent much of today in tears:
- In tears because our house is a mess and I'm too tired to clean.
- In tears because I spilled my tea, thereby making another mess that needed to be cleaned up.
- In tears because my midwife was called to a birth (that wasn't mine) and missed a home visit for a stretch & sweep that I swore I wouldn't get but finally caved to exhaustion yesterday and decided to try.
- In tears because I'm exhausted and need to sleep but am at the point where I'm too tired to sleep.
- In tears because I worry that every extra day past our EDD makes our planned homebirth less likely, or increases the odds of something going wrong.
- In tears because once I've been crying that much just the act of crying makes me cry more.
If crying could put me into labour, I'd have been in labour by lunchtime.
I know an EDD is a guesstimate and not an expiry date,and that I'm well within my normal "birthing window" as a woman who births around her EDD. This doesn't make it any easier to handle, however, when just getting dressed to go outside in our frigid February means elevating my feet in tight socks for an hour to reduce the swelling enough that my larger-than-usual-size boots will fit.
It is getting harder and harder to find the humour in all of this. I feel like my life and my health are in a holding pattern until #BabyTheLast makes her appearance.