Impending Motherhood

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So! This is it! My last day of work before embarking on my year-long maternity leave. I am at once both SO EXCITED OH MY GOD YOU GUYS EEEEEEK! and also HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS WHAT AM I GOING TO DO ALL DAY WILL I DIE OF BOREDOM? Am also HOLY SHIT I'M HAVING A BABY YOU GUYS HOLY SHIT!!!!!

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As you can tell, my internal monologue is loud and high-pitched and full of exclamation marks and cap letters.

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But seriously, what am I going to do all day? And how am I going to have a baby? Doesn't that scare you? That I'm goigg to have a baby? Like, how am I going to have a baby? How exactly? And I mean that both in how will I birth a baby? And then how will I take care of said baby? HOW WILL THIS HAPPEN?

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Deep Breath. And yes, I've eaten my weight in chocolate this morning, why do you ask?

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So here are my thoughts on life right now:

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1) I am so grateful that I had this job. Seriously. Since that hellish day last July when I was dismissed by that motherfucking asshole (I agree - he deserves a much meaner moniker), I have been blessed and blessed and then more blessed with job opportunities. I never once went without a paycheque, not for one week. And although this last position has been a touch on the boring side, it has still put food on the table, allowed me to spend horrendous amounts of money on baby products, and if we're being honest, keep my sanity (because as much as I hate to admit it, I do thrive on getting up at 7am, putting make up on and going to a job outside the house). So praise God, hallelujah, because in the past year I have had great work opportunities and made some wonderful contacts and who knows how that will serve me in the future.

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2) I am scared about the next two weeks, or at least the time remaining until the baby is born, because I just don't do well sitting around at home with nothing to do. I get anxious, nervous, depressed and even more obsessive-compulsive. I mean, there are only so many times a person can clean their house, especially when 9 months pregnant. And I know people say, "Just relax! Enjoy the quiet and solitude before baby shows up on the scene." And that's probably great advice. But I don't know how to relax and enjoy quiet and solitude. I always feel a compulsion to work or do something to validate my existence. So we'll see how I fare. Luckily my mom will be around to entertain me as will my brother, so that should help.

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3) I'm also scared about maternity leave in general. I'm scared for my own sanity for all the reasons stated above. And while I'm sure I'll be extremely busy with LB the first few weeks, what happens when I finally figure things out a bit and get into a routine and then I have nothing to do but clean house and iron pillow shams? And what if I don't meet any friends or can't find any playgroups? What will I do with all that boredom?

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4) I'm scared for Adders' and my marriage while I'm on maternity leave. That's a scary thing to admit but it's the truth. Because here's the thing - Adam is obsessed with money. And I don't mean that in a mean, petty, negative way, like all he cares about is making money. I just mean that he frets and worries about it constantly. And we are very different when it comes to handling money. I am a spender. Not to the extreme but like any woman, I enjoy shopping and, as we all know, making sure we're stocked up on things. I like to get my hair done and have us wear cool clothes. I like my house to look trendy. And I like to go out and eat. Oh, and trips. I like trips. So while I too want to save money so that we can pay down our mortgage faster and move into a bigger house sooner, I also want to live. Adders, on the other hand, does want nice things too - a better quad, a new truck, a trailer to go camping with, and a newer, bigger house. But his approach is to therefore spend money on NOTHING frivolous to get there. He would go without Kleenex, shampoo, dinners out, and new clothes, all in his quest to reach his goal. This already creates significant conflict between us because as is stands, I am spending ALL the money in the relationship by virtue of being the one who grocery shops, buys us clothes, hell, even buys sprinklers for our lawn. So even if I see it as not just benefiting myself but instead benefiting the entire household, all Adders can see is that I'm spending money on things he wouldn't necessarily buy.

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The other problem is that just like sex, money is a power issue. And unfortunately we as a society all seem to buy into the notion that he or SHE who makes the most money, holds the most power. So even though I will be doing a valuable service this next year (read: RAISING OUR SON) which, should be noted is something Adders wouldn't even want to do even if he could, I know Adders still won't offer me the same respect or at least VALUE as he would if I were earning a full income. In fact, this already exists right now simply because I earn half of what he does. Is this fair? Absolutely not? Does it drive me crazy? Oh fuck yes. Does Adders recognize it? Yep. Does he think it's wrong? Probably but I don't think he can even help himself. Like, he knows I'm earning as much as I am qualified to earn, particularly considering both what I studied in university AND where we live. And he's proud of how much I do make, all things considered. But simply put, he earns more. Therefore, he holds the power. And it frustrates him to no degree that I am the one who spends all the money (even though, AGAIN, this is because I am the one shopping for the household).

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What I'm really trying to get at is that yes, my husband, even though he was born in 1983 and should have been taught, not only by his family but by society in general, that just because a woman stays home to raise kids, she is an equal player at the household table, he nevertheless somehow does not believe this. In his core, he truly does not. Of course, he doesn't want his son in daycare this next year, oh no, and so he realizes my staying home is a necessary evil. But it really bothers him that we have to take a paycut. And because this bothers him and stresses him out and because he's already exasperated by how much money I currently spend when I'm working full-time, I can only anticipate that it's going to get worse. I will have to justify every expenditure as well as my time (I fully expect this question when he arrives home at 5pm each day: "Sooooo, what did YOU do all day?" as if I have to justify my existence to him. And then I'll probably be expected to rub his feet and smooth his brow because he went out into the big, bad world while I stayed home and, in between lounging around in my pajamas and eating cupcakes, only had to wipe someone's dirty ass 52 times).

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I am not trying to paint Adders as evil. He's not. But his whole concept of women staying home and the balance of power and his mad fury to pay down the mortgage at any cost certainly is. Or at least, it's at odds with what I believe and what I think society is trying to get people to believe. And so I'm concerned we'll run into problems. I don't think I'm looking for a problem where one doesn't exist. And I certainly don't think people should worry about tomorrow when we're on today. But I guess I am just preparing myself for the worsening of an already existent problem. I guess now would be the time to get down on my knees and pray!

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5) Despite everything I wrote above, I am so excited today. Today marks my first step into my new future. Sometime in the next month I will become a mother. How awesome is that? And yes, while I'm sure there will be times over the next year with LB (hell, 18 years! Scratch that, LIFETIME!) that will make me want to crawl up the wall, I am so excited that I am the one who gets to take the time off and spend each minute with him. I'm so excited that I get to be this little baby's mom. And while I don't know how I'm going to make it through labour. And how I'm going to know how to breastfeed or change his diaper. Hell, at this point I'm not even sure how to hold him, I do know that I'm embarking on the most important thing I've ever done. Cheesy, hell ya! But it's the reality.

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And so at last at last, after so many weeks of anticipating this day and waiting for the start of this new life, here we are at last. We're down to mere days until I get to meet my son. And I've got nothing but time to sit here and wait for him!

Fighting the Fear

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It's funny how a little bit of knowledge can change everything. And with that knowledge how fast a person can change. 37 weeks ago today, I was unemployed, wondering what to do with my life, and unbeknownst to me, finishing up the last period I would have for 9 months. If you had asked me that day if I had plans to get pregnant in the next 2 weeks, I'd have said no. If you had asked me to, nevertheless, hypothetically imagine myself pregnant in the next 2 weeks and then to explain what my hypothetical "birth plan" looked like, I would probably have made a joke about drugs! Lots of drugs! I would have been joking and yet quite serious because why suffer through childbirth in 2010? If there are means to make it more bearable, bring 'em on, sister!

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Of course, once I saw those two pink lines, the hormones kicked into overload as did my desire to have a perfect! pregnancy! all! the! way! give! me! more! spinach! and! greens! Furthermore, spurred on by the account of a famous blogger's natural childbirth, I started to do more research on the whole matter. And quickly my "Epidural Cocktail, please!" approach to labour transitioned to a more "Let's birth the baby in the kitchen and then we'll bury the placenta under our apple tree afterwards" outlook.

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Ok, maybe I never went that far but I definitely embraced the idea that childbirth (and even the pain that accompanies it) is something to be, well, embraced. All the benefits of natural childbirth appealed to me (easier on your body, easier on the baby, easier time nursing) and I agreed with those who said that labour was an experience that women should embrace, not shirk away from (i.e. that it's not something, like a disease, to be healed from).

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Of course, mostly due to Adders' insistence and the fact that our families clearly thought I was crazy, the plan remained to have the baby at the hospital. And I maintained (and I think I still maintain it!) that I'm not setting out to be a hero or the holy martyr of labour here. If I find I can't make it through the whole ordeal without some sort of pain-relief supplement, I will reconsider my options.

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However, around 6 months into the pregnancy I was recommended a book on "Hypno-Birthing" by a girlfriend from my pre-natal class. Now when she initially told me that she and her husband took a whole course on hypno-birthing, I was both wary and skeptical and might have told Adders about it later, describing it with the word "creepy." For some reason, I pictured hypno-birthing as having some magician in the labour room with you, telling you to bark like a dog or something to distract you from the intensity of the contractions. Of course, it didn't occur to me to find out what actual hypno-birthing was. No, no - I like to be ignorant in my judgments of people and things!

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However, just recently another girl in my prenatal yoga class decided to read the hypno-birthing book our mutual friend had recommended and she too extolled its benefits after enduring a particularly hard, prolongued labour. And since I was now facing only a few short weeks until OH MY GOD I'M IN LABOUR KILL ME NOW GAH THIS HURTS rather than a few months, I decided that maaaaaybe I should read the damn book.

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And now I'm almost done the damn book. And it's blown my damn mind.

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Now, I believe in taking most things in life with a grain of salt. So trust me when I say that I too initially had a hard time accepting the book's proposition that childbirth doesn't have to hurt. And yet the arguments make sense - our whole lives, women are told that childbirth is gruesome and horrible. We watch movies that poke fun of this, hear stories that confirm it - labour is pretty much the most terrible pain a woman will have to endure. And so we approach childbirth with an already deeply ingrained fear about it. Not to mention that we live in a society that is already fear-based (just try reading any pregnancy website and you'll come across a ton of articles with titles such as, "Why those bananas and strawberries might not be as good for your unborn baby as you thought" and "Too much exercise - is it hard on the baby?" and "If you loved your unborn baby, you probably would stop eating peanut butter" (I read an article similarly titled to this as I ate an actual peanut butter sandwich). Anyhow, as a society, we approach childbirth with much fear and trepidation, and fear naturally leads to tension and stress in our body, which causes our body to contract forcibly and in opposition to itself and bam! Pain in childbirth becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

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Now I realize this is a really dumbed down explanation and I'm not asking you to believe the book's thesis based on my ridiculous description of its premise above. But trust me when I say that it makes sense when you read it. And that if you read it, you would likely nod your head too and say things like, "Wow, I need to have a natural childbirth, if only for my baby's sake so that his/her spirit will retain a good birth memory." Yeah, I know that sounds creepy too. BUT AGAIN, IF YOU READ THE BOOK, IT ALL MAKES SENSE.

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It also makes sense in terms of the theology that I ultimately believe (although have a hard time practicing), namely that my mind should have physical dominion over my body, and that my spirit/soul should have dominion over my mind. And therefore, I think I should be able to control both my thoughts and body from ever spiralling out of my, well, control.

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So that was my plan. That IS my plan. It's just that, well, it's fucking hard to do. Oh my God, people, it's practically impossible.

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See, last week I was all, "Ooh, I am fearless when it comes to this labour!" In fact, I even said to my mom on Sunday, "Yeah, usually I am a pessimist/realist about things in life. I like to approach things thinking the worst will happen because then I can be pleasantly surprised when disaster doesn't take place. But with this labour, I just figure what will be will be and there's no point in freaking out beforehand."

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My midwife too had told me about some precautions to watch out for in this pregnancy and I was all, "Whatevs. Stop trying to scare me. Everything is going to be fiiiiine."

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And yet, that's all fine to say when you're feeling great, confident and you haven't felt so much as a twinge in your uterus. But yesterday? Yesterday scared the fucking hell out of me because I got a small glimpse of what labour might feel like and oh Lordy, I am so afraid!

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And yet the irony is that the book is right! Pain IS all tied to fear. Let me explain. Yesterday morning I got a phone call that involved a mix-up wherein my latest blood test results (for iron levels) were sent to my regular family physician instead of my midwife, who is overseeing the pregnancy. So they phoned me to make an appointment because "my doctor wanted to discuss some blood results." Now I knew the logical explanation was just that the lab had sent them the lab results by accident instead of to the midwives. And that all the blood test really concerned were my iron level results.

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However, being extremely over-tired or 37 weeks pregnant and crazy or SOMETHING to that effect, I decided that the doctor had somehow received another mysterious set of blood/lab results that proved I was dying of some horrendous incurable disease and that he needed to talk to me about it before I keeled over dead. Of course, this wasn't the case and the whole situation was cleared up once I put in a phone call to my midwife's office (EEEEE-ORRRRRR). But still, I was rattled.

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But as the exhausting day progressed, and we started our drive home from Calgary (NOTE: my parents and I made a less-than-24-hour trip there to meet my newborn nephew. It was great to see the wee baby, but marathon trips to Calgary aren't the smartest things for 37 weeks pregnant women to do), I began having contractions. Perhaps feeling vulnerable in the backseat of my dad's vehicle, driving down the desolate 22x highway and knowing we were still a good 3 hours from the safety of home and my midwife's expertise, I decided that these weren't necessarily just Braxton-Hicks contractions, oh no, these were likely the real thing. BUT! Not only were they the real thing and I was in labour, but the baby's head wasn't fully engaged! And so now the umbilical cord would slip out while in the moving vehicle. And we wouldn't have cell phone coverage. And I'd be in labour and pain and the baby would die (because of the umbilical cord). And I would then die too. And my parents would have these two bloody corpses in the backseat of the Denali, without even cell service to call the Coroner's office.

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So instead of taking the hypno-birthing book's advice on relaxation techniques and the types of breathing and visualizations to do, I worried over every single contraction. I timed them, anticipated them, and agonized over each one, as they got more and more painful (because remember, each one was bringing me closer to me and my baby's deaths). I also managed to feel extremely sorry for myself. Which meant that I was such a bundle of nerves, it's no wonder that the contractions came so fast and furiously. And I think the most dismaying part was that a rational part of me remained ever present and conscious, and let me tell you, that conscious, reasonable part of my brain was SHOCKED and HORRIFIED by how fast my brain betrayed my body (instead of encouraging my body with thoughts of "You can do this! This is a natural process. You know exactly what to do!" I was instead invaded with thoughts of "You're screwing this up! You're hurting the baby. Just get this baby out, he's safer outside your horrible womb that is probably choking him to death").

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Of course, when I got back to the safety of my house and Adders drew me a bath and said all the right things, and I released a bit of tension with a few sobs and a bottle of water, the contractions suddenly vanished. Well, that is until I went poop 20 minutes later. So yeah, I endured 3 hours of intense, painful, scary labour to deliver a small turd.

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But that's not the point. The point is that it really is mind over matter. And that I failed. Spectacularly. For all my brazen talk this past week, I still haven't learned to fight the fear. Instead, I gave into it. And that can't happen when I'm confronted with the real thing. Otherwise, I am going to cave and give into the epidural cocktail. AND GOD HELP ME, I REALLY DON'T WANT TO!

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So I have 3.5 more days of work. Then I'm on maternity leave. And instead of spending my days wandering around the house, whining that I'm bored, flicking through the channels to find nothing on TV but Judge Judy shows, and allowing my imagination to get away from itself in anticipation of my pending childbirth, I am instead going to practice and prepare. And fight the fucking fear. Because labour? I want to make you MY bitch!

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However, that's next week. This week it's all about fighting the fucking boredom. Ugh. 1.5 hours until this day is over. Then it's 3 more to go...

Under a Month

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36 weeks and 2 days of being pregnant. Am done. Done with working all day with nothing to do. Done with having this huge beach ball sticking out in front and getting in the way of, oh I don't know, bending over, applying body cream, breathing, basically EVERYTHING. Done with feeling sad and crying for no inexplicable reason. I'm even done with complaining. Because oh my God, I've turned into the world's biggest whiner.

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Before you get pregnant you think, "Nine months. That's a long time to be pregnant." But you still have no concept of just HOW LONG nine months actually is. Even at the beginning of this pregnancy, when May 4th seemed as faraway as my 40th birthday, I still don't think it feels as far away as it does right now.

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I've always been like this, I guess. I lose my grace for things right before the end. It's a form of insanity, I believe, because it's so counter-intuitive. Take my time when I was at university working on my Master's. I was able to somewhat endure the hell of living in Vancouver, in a long-distance relationship with Adders, depressed out of my mind but still putting on a brave face all semester long until I made that final decision to quit and return home. And then with only 4 days left of school/exams I found I literally could not go on. I remember sobbing on the phone to Adders that I couldn't do it, couldn't make it through another day (just a touch dramatic, I know) and he was all, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" (although, because we had only been dating a year at the time and weren't married and abusive to each other yet, it was probably more like, "Courty, it's not that bad, sweetie. Only 4 more days! You'll get through it, I promise!"). But seriously, those 4 days felt like an eternity. My grace was up, I was done. It was time to move on. Of course, somehow I made it through those 4 days, obviously. But not without making sure every single person around me knew just how badly I was "suffering."

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Well, that's what this is like, particularly with this job. I have 6 days left of work (7 if you include today). In the big scheme of things, 7 days is nothing. NOTHING! And yet, I approach each and every one of these days as if I'm walking to the guillotine. I cried this morning to Adders over nothing. I snapped at Luscious Lucy for not cooperating as I wiped her feet off after our morning walk. But mostly, I spent the entire morning as I got ready, coupled with all of last evening, and every day over the past 2 weeks, feeling immensely sorry for myself.

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Of course, no one knows why I want to be done work so badly because we all know how well I fare when I have no schedule and nothing to do at home (let me give you idea: crying, depression and general gnashing of the teeth). So I'm not quite sure why I'm so eager to trade in this boredom for another boredom. And at least with this boredom I'm getting actual money just to be bored.

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But the more I think about it, though, it's not so much that I'm eager to not work anymore, it's that I'm eager to get started on the next stage of life. And for whatever reason, going on official maternity leave signals to me that we've now moved into "having a baby" mode. Because let me tell you, right now everything feels so stagnant. Besides generally just getting bigger and bigger, NOTHING IS HAPPENING. It doesn't feel like we're making any progress or that we'll ever get to the stage of GIVE ME MY BABY!

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So with the general rundown of the 9th month of pregnancy and its symptoms, here's where we're at: I cry. A lot. For no reason. I am tired. All the time. I have no heart burn, no indigestion, no nausea, no leaking breasts. Really, I'm experiencing nothing but a belly the size of a whale, a constant, persistent ache in my back, the inability to ever take a deep breath or sleep through the night, a continual frantic need to "prepare" for the baby by buying more shit and cleaning the house, a little bit of incontinence (too much info?!) and a general sense of crabbiness.

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Do you realize that I have over 3 weeks left? Possibly 4 if this baby doesn't cooperate? Wow! Won't these next few entries be uplifting...