A whole 40 weeks spent counting down to yesterday.
Today begins a new count: Due Date + 1
And a new set of fears. The fear that I won’t go into labor at all and will have to be induced. The fear that, by being induced, I won’t progress, and will have to have a caesarian section. Or, given the genetic predisposition for large babies in this family, that the kid is now getting too big to be born vaginally (this is no dis on those of you who have been induced or had c-sections; but I’m guessing that probably wasn’t what you wanted, right?).
Worse, that the baby will run out of room and break limbs (or its neck), the placenta will detach, or the cord prolapse and I will deliver a dead baby. Probably there are other scenarios related to past-due pregnancies in which this happens – please allow me to stay in the dark on those, as I can barely handle thinking about the ones I know.
And the guilt. Oh, what part of motherhood is without guilt? Except for my mom, of course (who is so damn sure of everything that I am convinced she has never experienced guilt over her decisions), I think all moms experience guilt in some fashion, but it has sure come to head for me this past week. I do nothing. I mean it. Nothing. Tony works full time and is now the #1 parent. I don’t clean. I don’t cook. I don’t even brush the dog. I didn’t go into work today because I am so swollen and tired that I can’t concentrate, and besides, the intern is doing fabulously. I feel guilty for checking out. I feel guilty for being incapable of more. I feel guilty for taking Charles to preschool and then coming straight home to relax.
We had an eventful Saturday, one that ended with a trip to the hospital – but not for me/baby. Rather, for Charles.
We went to a birthday party and he and a friend were playing with a large, round sandbox toy. Charles tried throwing it like a frisbee, so his friend tried to do the same thing. Only, the friend didn’t let go of the disc and smacked it straight into Charles’ face, where it shattered. He had all sorts of cuts across his nose, but he calmed down after being cleaned up and we couldn’t see anything wrong with his eyes, so we sent him back to play.
He fell asleep on the way home (of course. It’s really the only way he naps on the weekends anymore).
When he woke up, he screamed and screamed, and wouldn’t stop screaming. Tony managed to see a quick glimpse into his swollen right eye and thought he saw a cut or a flap across the cornea, so off to the ER we went. 2.5 hours, some luminescent eye drops, some antibacterial opthalmic ointment, and a dose of ibuprofen later, and we were back home with a diagnosis of a corneal abrasion. This type of injury usually heals within 48 hours, and we have a follow-up this afternoon to check progress.
I think I lost a few years of my life in the ER as I flashed back to my brother’s eye injury. I had visions of going down to Seattle Children’s for eye surgery, of having to deal with a newborn and a kid getting used to operating with one eye. Oh, God. It’s amazing how fast my brain can get to the worst possibly outcome.
In the ER, feeling much better after some drops in his eye and a snack (we were way past dinner time).
Couch cuddles (pre- eye injury).