Random musings of a very pregnant builder

Last updated on: September 29, 2009 at 4:01 am by Kellie "Red"

Random musings of a very pregnant builder 2009-09-29T04:01:00-06:00 Kellie "Red"

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So I’m wondering why so many friends and family have forwarded me the link to this story? Is a 19.2 pound baby going to make me somehow feel better about my tendency to have very large babies? Or maybe this is just funny and I fail to see the humor because my due date is 11 days away and I’m rather anxious about my baby’s size. I have a hope that she will be smaller than my last (10 pounds 13 ounces), I’m praying she won’t top 11 pounds, and I’m really praying for a healthy delivery free of any broken collar bones. But I am frightened that a woman’s body could grow a child THAT large. I’m praying my body is not capable of this feat. I don’t have gestational diabetes, so that’s a start.

The last days of pregnancy seem to be a real emotional battle for me. One day I’m optimistic that it will soon be over, the next moment I can actually convince myself that I will be the first woman to be pregnant forever. In the last weeks, as the sleepless nights increase, my ability to view my situation with a level head practically disappears. I start dreaming about robbing the local pharmacy and injecting myself with pitocin. I scour the internet for labor inducing techniques and I actually start believing that eating pineapple will put me into labor. In my more sane moments, I remember MaryAlice’s wise words, “If chinese food or spicy mexican food or pineapple actually put women into labor, there would be no need for pitocin.” I realize how irrationally I’m behaving. Suddenly, I feel trapped, hopeless, and depressed. I then think about my baby, and I feel guilty for having any depression–how lucky I am!

The insanity continues, day after day, sometimes for several weeks, and then it happens. Labor begins and in the time it takes to watch a football game (or at least I hope that’s the length of my labor!), I have a beautiful baby in my arms. The babymoon ensues, and most of my suffering is soon forgotten.

The end of pregnancy is so hard precicesly because it is so unpredictable. The wait, the uncertainty, the what if’s dominate those last weeks. I am reminded each day, and often each hour, that I am not in control. For a type A control freak like me, this lesson is hard to swallow. I pray for the grace during these last days to trust in God’s plan, and in his perfect timing.

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