Childbirth Class and Doctor Visit

So I went to the doctor again yesterday, for a monthly visit. Oh fun. According to my original ultrasound due date (7 week ultrasound), I am 24 weeks. According to my original predictions, before any ultrasounds, I am 26 weeks. According to my 20 week ultrasound, I’m 26.5 weeks. And according to last visit’s measurements, I’m 26 weeks. However, my measurements yesterday put me at 28 weeks.
WTF is going on???
So next month I get to do the three hour test again. Yippee-ki-yay. The one hour is supposed to be under 140, and mine came back at 149 last month. So I did the three hour, and they all came back in the normal range except the one at the two hour mark. That one was a little high. (I think it was 5 points over.) So now my doctor is all like “Okay, no potatoes, no sweets, peas and corn are bad, avoid fruit and only a glass of juice a day.”
Just shoot me now.
So my biggest cravings – the things I have been snacking on – are mostly fruit, fruit cocktail, juice, potato objects, etc. I am a produce freak right now, and I’m basically stuck with lettuce, and grass might be okay, too.
I gained 2 pounds though! I’m so happy, because I ate so much the night before that I laid in bed half the night afraid I was going to throw up because I ate too much. So it worked. Then she’s telling me to cut out sweets.
I said “To be very honest with you, I want you to know that I will probably lose more weight then. I have been eating absolute SHIT, trying desperately to gain weight, and it’s not working. I eat well beyond when I’m full, I eat crap whenever I lose a few pounds….” I didn’t tell her that last week, when I had lost a bunch from being sick, I made Nick bring home a dozen donuts, and I ate them all in like two days. Hey, it worked. Don’t judge me.
So anyway, I have a baby inside of me that is going to pop out wearing 2T clothes and will walk across the delivery room. I think we’re skipping all stages of infancy and going straight to toddler-ism. Nick and I weren’t big babies… he was 8 pounds, and I was 7. No one else in my family was outrageously big… Gus was 8 pounds, Rose was six.
So naturally, knowing that I’m blowing up like a balloon very rapidly, I can’t help but sit in childbirth class absolutely terrified, trying to figure out how I’m going to give birth to a baby the size of a toddler. There’s just no way. Stick me with a fork, I’m done. When they say “Okay, your ultrasound is coming back saying that the baby was due in 2006”, that’s when I’m just going to schedule the damn c-section.
Now I’m all worried, too, that if I go into labor “early” according to the original due date, they are going to try to stop it. They don’t want you popping out that kid before 37 weeks. But what if what THEY think is 36 weeks is really like 39? UG. So I think if I go into labor in early July, I’m going to stay home as long as possible, hoping that they won’t be able to stop it. I mean, what’s the point? If he’s done, he’s done!
I get SOOOO frustrated, because like I said before, if I follow the schedule I’ve had SINCE I WAS THIRTEEN, I should be due in early July. But what do I know? I’ve only been me for 25 years. I guess I’m worried more about flexibility. I know the baby’s gonna come when the baby comes. I don’t want them inducing until sometime in August, and I don’t want them stopping the labor in early July. It really comes down to the fact that nobody has a fucking clue when I’m due, and that’s that.
So childbirth class. I was still so frustrated over all of the due date stuff, that when we had to introduce ourselves to others, I simply said “I have no clue… sometime in July.” Of course I had the skeptic, who was like “What do you MEAN you don’t know when your due date is? The doctors have to know.” To which I responded, “No, the doctors don’t really know. Every time they try to figure it out it comes up WAYYYYY different. So sometime in July. What does it matter?” And poor defensive Nick was like “You know, the baby will come when the baby is ready to come… there’s no point in getting all worried and worked up about a due date.” (This is coming from Mr. “I-read-every-weekly-update-religiously”. However, he reads the updates for like a three week span every week. He’s read most of them before, but he’s constantly reading them again.
Then, Miss Know It All was all like “Oh, you’re seeing the midwives, too?” And I said yes. She says “Oh, I LOVE Susan. Uh… but what do you think of RHONDA?”
I know I looked damn confused, and I’m like “What do you mean?”
And she says “I don’t know. She’s so PUSHY, and I really don’t like her. I just don’t think she knows anything.”
Okay, so I love Rhonda. Not that I have anything against Susan… I like Susan just fine. (In Cambridge, when working with a midwife, they make you alternate and see both, because whichever one is on call when you go into labor is the one you get.) She’s nice enough. Rhonda is a little more like a protective mother duck. I’ve seen Rhonda for YEARS now, and I’ve always loved her. (Although, looking back, nearly every time I’ve seen her she’s told me I need to lay off the potatoes… and I never have. Interesting.) I have to say that I’ve noticed that the visits have gotten shorter, due to more people seeing the midwives, but that’s too be expected. The same has happened with my primary physician, Amy. Cambridge is a whole lot busier than they used to be back in the day.
So anyway, the fun went on, and everyone began talking about where they are from. When Nick said we live north of Mora, you-know-who was like “What are you, nuts?”
I stared at her blankly for a second and said “I don’t like the Mora clinic, and I wanted a midwife.”
Thank goodness for her significant other, who said “Oh, Mora’s horrible. I went in there with a cough one time and was nearly killed.”
I said “Yeah, Nick almost got killed when he went in with a sore throat. I hear ya.”
Thank goodness social time was over. There was another couple, Ashley and Nick, who were really nice that we met, but unfortunately the teacher had a seating arrangement (So STUPID.) and we were stuck with Miss Know It All.
The evening wore on. Three hours. Three hours of some of the most basic information that I’ve read in millions of books already. Yes, I understand that the baby comes out of THAT hole. But instead of teaching us how to really deal with labor, we’re stuck in an anatomy class, which also explained in detail all the reasons a mom might get really stressed out or panicked during labor – primarily the fact that she wouldn’t know how to deal with it. I’m looking around the room at two girls who are VERY pregnant, and due pretty much as soon as they finish the 4 week class, and thinking “you know, wouldn’t it be better to teach us how to deal NOW, just in case? I mean, these girls are almost 37 weeks… and you’re telling them that you’re glad they are in this class so that they are prepared and know what to do, BUT YOU’RE NOT SHOWING THEM WHAT TO DO!”
I’m so glad I took this class as soon as I was eligible.
I figured that the first night would be a tour of the facilities, a talk with the drug giver, (I loved the drugs they gave me during my surgery… I wonder if I can get some of those.) and then the basic ways to deal with labor. Yeah, right.
I get the feeling that the teacher didn’t like Nick or I very well. You can tell we are two of a kind. We whispered back and forth to each other, rolled our eyes sometimes, glanced at each other in boredom, stared at the clock, fidgited, read ahead in the book, drank TONS of water… and I’m willing to bet that I’m not the only one that has no idea what our homework was.
Finally, the last twenty minutes, we are all on the floor, women lying on their left side (I really just wanted to lay on my tummy. I’m spoiled.) on a blanket, with pillows for support. Most of the girls had the pillows under their stomachs or between their knees. We were told to bring three, and I had them all under my head. What? That’s how I sleep every night! I’m curled up on a denim quilt that I absolutely love because it’s thick and fluffy and warm, and all the other girls have these brand new blankets that looked like they were purchased just for the class. I sat on my blanket for 2/3’s of the class because the chairs hurt my butt. Miss Know It All looked at me like I was retarded for sitting on some grungy old quilt. In reality, at home, I stared at a full collection of queen sized quilts and heavily debated which one to take with me. I picked the denim one because of the thickness, and I smirked when I saw her lying on what basically was about as thick as a piece of paper on the cement poured floor. Who’s the retard now, huh?
ANYWAY, so we’re all lying down, and the lights are dimmed way down. Nick is sitting next to me (By this time it’s 20 to 9 and I don’t give a fuck anymore. It’s bedtime. I thought he should be lying with me, my laptop in front of me, and my sleep number set at 45, but no such luck.). He holds my hand and apparantly the teacher told us to close our eyes, but I had already tuned her out for the night. So Nick told me to close my eyes. I stared at him. He shut my eyelids with his fingers. So stupid.
The teacher began with the whole “feel your jaw relax, feel your head sink into your pillow” crap. I squirmed. How the HELL am I supposed to relax when curled up on this hard ass floor? I opened my eyes and asked Nick “Where’s the control? My sleep number is off.”
He grinned and said “I have it here.” He held up his hand and began to make the noise of air rushing out of the mattress. We got a quick glare from the teacher. I couldn’t help it… I giggled.
I closed my eyes again, but due to my rebellious, you-can’t-make-me-do-nothin’ attitude, it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t focus on her words and relax. I mean, I would try and try, but my fingers kept twitching, my mind kept racing… I was just not able to focus. I finally gave up, figuring I would practice relaxing in my sleep number bed when I got home.
Then I realized with horror that the bed that I was going to give birth on may not be any more comfortable than this stupid floor. In fact, it might be worse considering I had a thick ass quilt underneath me.
That’s when it all went to hell. I opened my eyes and completely gave up. I was overwhelmed with terror that the two days or whatever that I spent in the hospital would be sleepless ones. I tried to sleep on a couch a couple weeks ago at my parents, just for a nap, and I was miserable and hurt everywhere… after 10 minutes. Oh God, what has happened to me?
“Nick, maybe we should have the baby at home. On the sleep number bed.”
This got a “you’re nuts” look from Nick. “I’m not letting you risk getting that bed stained. Do you know how much that thing cost?”
I glared at him. Of course I knew! I’m the one who bought it!
Finally, the teacher started the 1-2-3-4 breathing. Now, this would have been easy enough if she had at least a little bit of rhythm. No such luck. She had told us not to hold our breath, but this is how she counted.
“In, 2, 3, 4, (pause, pause, pause, pause,) out, 2, 3, 4. (Pause, pause, pause, pause.)
I’m staring blankly into space. I have a boy that is 4 weeks bigger than he’s supposed to be sitting on my freakin’ rib cage. I can barely breathe in for 4. I’m lying on a concrete floor with shitty carpet, and it sure as hell doesn’t give any to allow my lungs room to expand. My hips, which have gotten wider, are up so high that they also impare my breathing, at least on the side that’s up.
THERE IS NO WAY I CAN BREATHE FOR THE EQUIVILENT OF EIGHT COUNTS, much less exhale in such.
So I once again have pretty much given up. I try to keep up, but it’s not happening. I hurt, I have to pee, it’s past my bedtime, and I miss my cats. I want to go home. I’m not one to go out in the evenings anyway…. I have my routine, and I like it. You’re fucking with my routine and fucking with my breathing rhythm.
I keep trying, but find myself getting dizzy. Fantastic. I focus on getting the room to hold still, and she finally releases us from the hell that is prepared childbirth.
As all of us whale sized women are trying to get off the floor, she says “Okay everyone, your homework is…”
Honestly, I have no idea what she said. Nick and I turned to each other in horror, and I said “Great. It will be just like high school. Neither of us will do it.” He grinned a little and nodded, more relaxed now that he realized that I A) would never remember what we were supposed to do, and B) am a rebellious non-homework-doer, just like him.
Once in the parking lot, after making sure I was at least out of the earshot of Miss Know It All, I looked at Nick and said “Holy crap. We should have done the home course.” I have seriously contemplated skipping next week and going the THIRD week, when we do the tours and learn labor techniques. However, I’m afraid that Nick will not let me get away with that, especially since the class costs 35 bucks.
I got a sub for dinner though, so all in all it was an okay day.

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