Thursday, May 13, 2010

37w 3d notes

All these sticky notes posted randomly around my work desk, in the pockets and lining of my purse, and in the nightstand drawer? That's me timing every contraction that flows my way. "It'll feel like the baby is balling up," the doctor said yesterday. But that's what non-labor contractions feel like, too.

These sticky notes? They are symbols. Hope. Disappointment. Annoyance. Forced Patience. Hope. Disappointment...

The doctor said I'm about 80 percent effaced and somewhere between 2 and 3 centimeters. It felt like very little progress to me, since I've finally convinced myself that these measurements mean nothing in terms of when labor will start.

No matter how many contractions there are, no matter how much hope, the subtext of all my thoughts is that I'm never going to go into labor. I'm going to have to be induced, just like every other first time mother on the face of the planet, and I don't want to be induced. I want to do all of this as naturally as possible.

I don't know why, really. Only recently have my feelings on this matter formed into conviction. I want it all to be natural, no drugs, no intervention. Just me, Andy, baby, doctor, and the screaming bloody horror show.

Am I going to ask to go past my due date, then?

Am I going to decline when they offer to induce?

Am I going to be pregnant for the rest of my life?

Am I going to get lucky, and all of this decision-making will never have to happen?

Is my conviction going to go down the toilet at the first serious contraction and make all this pumped up, kicking-ass-and-taking-names, au naturel determination moot?

On the off chance that I'll want or care about music in the delivery room, I've made an extensive playlist of mellow songs on my iPod and packed up the iPod speaker in my overnight bag. One song on the list is "Witness" by Sarah McLachlan:
Make me a witness, take me out
Out of darkness, out of doubt
I won't weigh you down with good intentions
Won't make fire out of clay or other inventions

Will we burn in heaven, like we do down here?
Will the change come while we're waiting?
Everyone is waiting

And when we're done soul searching
As we carried the weight and died for a cause
Is misery made beautiful right before our eyes
Will mercy be revealed or blind us where we stand?

Will we burn in heaven, like we do down here?
Will the change come while we're waiting?
Everyone is waiting

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