Everything is Fine

“Every pregnancy is different.”

I have heard that over and over this time around and it still never ceases to amaze me how true that is. I know there are a lot of factors that go into it: my age, the way the baby is positioned, maybe even the sex of the baby among many other things.

My pregnancies with the boys were similar, but still not exactly the same. Eddie was a fairly “uneventful” pregnancy compared to his brother and sister.  With Charlie I had partial placenta previa and had to really be careful at work or risk being put on bed rest.

My body really seems to hate being pregnant.

I mean, first of all, it won’t stay pregnant without medical intervention.  Once pregnant, it protests almost the entire time. And it has gotten worse each pregnancy.

It’s not much of a secret that this time around has been incredibly tough on my physically (and subsequently mentally as well). Part of me feels terrible and guilty complaining. So many of my friends have had such a hard time getting pregnant (or can’t get pregnant at all) and would love my problems. But they are still my problems, and I have to give myself permission to not love puking and reflux and pain everywhere. It’s really ok to not love that stuff.

And then yesterday I started to have contractions.

Actually, looking back, it might have been Sunday. I started feeling a little crampy and uncomfortable.  I took a giant nap, but then Sunday night I had an awful night sleep. Not because I wasn’t tired, but because I thought maybe I had gas pains.  Monday it was worse.

By the time my final hour of school came around (thankfully my planning period), I had trouble walking because it was so bad. Rather than pick up Eddie, I let Cortney know I needed to go straight home.

When he got home, he found me in bed. Because I am 35.5 weeks pregnant, we decided just to go in to the hospital and get it checked out.  Thankfully my mom was available to come over and sit with the boys (she ended up also getting them to bed, scrubbing my stove top, and emptying my dishwasher which made me cry because I was exhausted and emotional).

Urgent care sent me directly to the ER who sent me directly upstairs to the birthing floor. I kept saying, “oh we are not staying. This is not me going into labor.”  The nurses later told me that they put me in Room 1, the room that is sort of reserved for people they are sure are not staying.  Phew.

I got all hooked up to the baby monitor thingys. Alice was doing great and moving around. I was having contractions.

WHAT. O_O

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By a stroke of grace, my very own OB happened to be there because he was about to deliver a baby.  Not MY baby, thank goodness.

He checked everything and “everything” was not ready to have a baby, thank goodness. So he decided to give me a shot to stop the contractions, test for a UTI, and wait to see what happened.

What happened was a bunch of boring waiting, jitters from the shot, and feeling sorry for myself.

Eventually I was released to go home, given some pain meds that would help me sleep, and a bunch of info sheets about what to watch for in pre-term labor.

Everything is fine.

But I couldn’t help thinking of that phrase “every pregnancy is different” as I fell asleep last night.  I know you’re not supposed to wish time away. I know I’m supposed to cherish these last few weeks…especially because it’s my last, but I can’t help but want March 6 to get here and have everything just be fine.

Everything will be just fine.

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