- We are both still awake, and there are birds chirping outside and What. The. Fuck.
- Way, way too many skinny, pale, almost-vaguely-ethnic, blonde chicks up in my fashion editorials right now. Diversity, PLEASE.
Why choose homebirth? I hope to share that with you.
Published June 7, 2010 | 
Before having my homebirth back in February 2009, I was basically unaware of women’s rights when it came to their own bodies and giving birth. Ever since the experience of giving birth here in my own living room, the very same room I’m typing this in right now, I’ve become aware that the very reason I can look back at my birth experience and feel so empowered is because that, throughout the entirety of it, I was in control and comfortable and didn’t spend a moment doubting myself.
Tonight, I’m going back to my midwifery practice for the first time in over a year. I’ll be their guest speaker at their monthly homebirth night, and I’ll be speaking to pregnant women who are want to learn more about giving birth at home about my experience and perceptions. I’m so excited about this! I feel so lucky that I was able to have the birth experience I hoped for. I was so nervous about it for a long, long time, though, so hesitant to accept the thought of having a homebirth, and it was a night session like this very one, in January 2009, that settled my mind about it.
If you’re interested, here’s my take on the homebirth meeting we attended: Home Birth Night
Here are my thoughts on the hospital tour we attended: Maternity Ward Tour
Here’s the story of Maia’s birth: The Birth Story
The strength I didn’t know I had.
Published August 11, 2009 | I’ve shared my birth story with you all before. Every time I think back on it, I feel so incredibly empowered — as I imagine most of us do — and I try to quantify how much the process changed me mentally, spiritually, and emotionally (but let’s not even talk about the physical changes). But I remember, early on, being terrified of homebirth. I remember being so upset that I wouldn’t be able to give birth in a hospital.
Recently, I saw a post on the Mothering.com forums about Attachment Parenting International seeking writers for their blog. API is an organization whose ideals — or 8 principles — I strongly believe in, and even though the posting was nearly a month old, I queried about it. Turns out, they were (and are!) still looking for writers to post once or twice a month. If you’re interested, send an email to Melissa, apispeaks AT attachmentparenting.org, and let her know. The fact that you’re only asked to blog once or twice a month is a serious plus in my eyes!
Anyhow, today my first post there is up. It’s about how I came to accept the fact that I was having a homebirth and how I found the strength to do it, titled (boringly!) “Natural Birth & Pain Management“. Please check it out, and remember, if you want to post for API, send an email to Melissa!
Animals give birth in their living places. Animals wail and shriek as they bring life into this world. Not me. I wanted to give birth somewhere sterile, not my living room. I wanted to give birth quietly, painlessly.
How that Home Birth Information Night changed my perspective!
Also, I’m still giving away 2 copies of Baby Activity Logger, an app by Nerdtown, over at my new review blog. And, for Ottawa-area moms, I have a free family photography session to give away!
The Birth Story, Part Three
Published March 31, 2009 | This won’t be a chronological retelling of what happened after the birth, but I just wanted to type out a few other random things that I don’t want to forget:
I was apparently very polite during my labour. I remember apologizing to Chris for freaking him out (“I’m sorry, I know this is scary honey”), saying “no thank you” when offered a popsicle, saying “yes please” when asked if I would like some ice chips, etc. But I did lose my cool once: during all of my contractions, Chris was saying breathe, breathe, remember to breathe, and finally after forty minutes of pushing I screamed at him, “SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!” I remember everyone laughing, and the shocked look on his face — and then I apologized for yelling at him.
My legs were trembling — from exhaustion, anxiety, and god knows what else, after Maia was born. At some point as she laid on my chest, I felt a jabbing pain in my left thigh, and yelped. The midwife had jabbed me with a needle to inject some sort of hormone (I could look it up, but I’m lazy — pitocin?) to help ensure contractions would bring out the placenta quickly, but she hadn’t given me warning that she was about to do it right then. We’d discussed beforehand that she’d do it, I just hadn’t expected it at that moment. I was kind of caught up in my baby.
I have no memory of delivering the placenta at all, but I do remember the umbilical cord stretching down my stomach and into my body. It was hot and pulsing, and unexpectedly grayish and translucent looking. Chris did not want to cut it, so once it stopped pulsing, the midwife did. I don’t think any of us even paid attention to the placenta coming out or what happened to it afterwards, so when I found it in a tupperware in the freezer the next day, well… I was pretty surprised, to say the least. Our initial plan had been to give it to our primary midwife, Georgia, who couldn’t be at the delivery, and she could take it to the hospital and burn it — but our plan has been revamped, and my mom has it in her freezer in Connecticut. When we go down to visit this summer, we are going to bury it and plant a tree over it. It will be awesome!
We all chuckled about her being born on Friday the 13th, but at one point the midwives all gasped, and one said: “She’s a very lucky girl indeed” and held up the umbilical cord. It was knotted. One good yank and my baby would have been in distress. The thought still haunts me.
I dealt with the discomfort of stretch & sweeps just fine, as well as, obviously, labour — but when, after the birth and some skin-to-skin time, Sarah took me into the bedroom to check out my tearing and see if she could stitch it, I had a hard time. She and the other midwife poked at my coochie, running their fingers along my tears to check their depth and length, which really fucking stung. I said, “Sarah, that’s REALLY uncomfortable,” and it was — like what I imagine being jabbed with searing, red-hot needles in your most sensitive, battered area would feel like.
What hurt more was when I got to the hospital to be stitched, and the doctor sprayed saline over the tears to clean them. I honestly thought I was going to jump through the ceiling and need to be sedated.
I was separated from Maia because I was at the hospital from 2:30am (she was born at 1:07) until 5am. It felt like an eternity. A midwife stayed at home with Chris and the baby until 4, but he was alone with her for the next 90 minutes. That must have been so crazy for him. As for me, I started to get pretty grouchy with my doctor and her student (the student was doing the stitching) because I really wanted to get home to my family.
That’s all I can think of, for now.
The Birth Story, Part Two
Published February 23, 2009 | So I can push. Finally. I’ve never been so happy to know that I was about to put myself through something so unfamiliar. I’d spent the last 45 minutes trying desperately not to push, although anytime that I fucked up and did, it was an awesome feeling, like this is what I am supposed to be doing. It lessened the pain.
As I felt the next contraction coming, I grabbed for Chris’ hand and Sarah started coaching me: “Push with your butt, like you’re trying to take a giant poo.” I leaned my head far back — I was so afraid I’d stop breathing if I put my head down — and screamed as I pushed. You know all those early concerns I had about the amount of noise I’d be making in labour, and whether it would inconvenience or annoy the people in my building? They were irrelevant. And apparently I didn’t make enough noise to disturb anyone, as we never heard anything about it all (in fact the landlady, who lives next door, said “wow, the hospital got Tatiana out fast, huh?” when Chris saw her Friday afternoon). Pushing felt … good. I mean, it was intense, and I felt like I was really working, but it was nice to know I was making progress.
At some point earlier in the night, Chris crushed up some ice into chips for me. As he and Sarah rushed around the apartment setting things up for the birth — and called a second midwife to come help as well — I sucked down those ice chips. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to try and force myself to drink. Chris kept asking if I wanted a popsicle but really, I didn’t want to hold anything either.
I lost track of time as the contractions continued. I’d swear they were one on top of the other, but I really don’t remember them being excessively painful — just exhausting, and uncomfortable. The second midwife, Susie, showed up. I remember her and Chris and Sarah all talking, but I was either pushing or had my eyes closed and was focusing my strength and energy inwardly. Then I remember someone asking if I minded if Susie called her student to come join us — as if I gave a damn at that point! All I wanted was to have a baby.
My timeline is a bit confused as I try to look back on it all, over a week later. I remember labouring in the living room and screaming at Chris, “WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR MOTHER?!” since it was after midnight, and we’d called her right after the midwife, a few minutes after 11. I think both of the midwives and the student were there, telling me what a phenomenal job I was doing, when one of them said, “I can see hair!” My response: “She has hair?!” I expected a bald, Polish-looking baby. “Lots of it!” was the answer.
At some point after my mother-in-law MJ arrived (and she arrived about 30 minutes before the baby), Sarah said I should go labour on the toilet because the gravity would help the baby to come faster. I did NOT want to move, but I knew we’d make good progress with my body in that position and so, after the next contraction, she helped me into the washroom.
I sat down on the toilet. She told me to tuck my head down into my chest — I was “pushing with my face” too much — and focus all my pushing into my rump. One contraction like this and I could already feel a difference; there was something more happening here than when I was sitting up. It must have shown on my face when I looked up at her after the contraction, because she smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t let you have a waterbaby on the toilet.” I was so hot, rubbing ice chips over my face and chest; Sarah grabbed some wash cloths, wet them, and laid one on my back and one on my chest to try and help me cool down. We laboured there for awhile, with me closing my eyes and rocking back and forth between contractions. There was a long period between one set of contractions where I was able, blessedly, to relax a bit more and keep myself calm. Sarah says that happens sometimes during labour and it’s basically like the mother’s body is helping the mother’s mind. I was wearing a nursing bra when we went into the washroom, but by the time we left I had torn it off and thrown it into the bath tub, leaving me completely naked.
When we walked out into the living room, I could feel the baby’s head down low. I hobbled along bow-legged, with MJ and Chris sitting on one couch, the other midwife & her student on the dog’s loveseat, with all sorts of little stations set up around the apartment (weighing the baby, oxygen if she needed, an injection of some sort for me to help deliver the placenta, etc). I remember asking Chris to straighten up my pillows behind my back after every contraction, because I wanted to be sitting up more than lying back. I wish I could remember looking at him, but I honestly don’t; maybe we didn’t make eye contact. Maybe I was too distracted and he was too scared. Someone asked if I wanted a mirror so I could watch the baby being born, but I definitely didn’t want to see it at that time (now, I kind of wish I had, but I think it’s more because I love her so damned much that I regret missing out on those few extra seconds that I could have been looking at her).
I remember women’s voices: she’s down so low, she’s ready to come out, you’re doing so amazing, we can see her hair, every time you push she comes a little closer, push long and hard this time, just one more time… I remember Chris: you’re doing amazing baby, you’re amazing…
And then this strange stretching feeling, this burning sort of achiness. It was so incredibly fucking uncomfortable, but it was NOWHERE NEAR the pain that I thought I would be experiencing. “Stop pushing,” Sarah said. “Just relax. We need you to relax and let your body stretch for her, and then you’re going to push her out when I tell you to.”
Again, my body gave me a break between the contractions, but this time I couldn’t enjoy it: “GET HER OUT GET HER OUT GET HER OUT!” I screamed. All I could imagine was a squirmy little baby face sticking out. I felt a weight down there. I wanted my baby to be out already, because I was tired of being in labour, I was tired of pushing, I was tired of not holding her. But I didn’t push, because my midwife wasn’t telling me to.
I felt a contraction coming. “Incoming,” I whispered, then started to push. I made up my mind that I was NOT going to stop until the baby came out, and I don’t even remember hearing anyone talking to me; I just remember pushing, putting every ounce of my energy and heart into bringing my baby into this world. Then this rushing sensation down low, the weight in my pelvis disappearing, and a chorus of cheering as a hot, slimy little body was laid on my chest.
The first time I saw my daughter’s face, I was in shock. I expected that I’d have an ‘ugly’ little baby, and I had steeled myself for the possibility that she would be slimy and bloody and gross, but I hadn’t prepared myself for looking at someone so damned beautiful. I wasn’t ready to be instantly enamoured of her. And apparently I immediately said, “Oh. My. God.” but I don’t remember it, I remember looking at her for what felt like forever, not knowing what to say, feeling like I should say something amazing and important, and then settling on a rather unsatisfying “Oh. My. God.” Chris was talking too, and I can’t remember what he said, but I remember him and his mom both laughing when I spoke. Maia wasn’t screaming at me. She seemed so calm, so accepting of the fact that here she was, here I was, and here we were as a family together now.
Who put the hat and the blanket on her, and when? I don’t remember. I know Chris moved off the couch and came to kneel at our side with the camera. I know he touched her hand and she gripped her fingers around him. And I know that I was — and am — so damned proud of us and our baby.
The Birth Story, Part One
Published February 20, 2009 | Sometime after my last update on the Early Labour? post, I remembered that my mother had asked me to take a belly picture when we talked on Thursday morning. So, between contractions, I had Chris take this picture:
Shortly after this, I returned to the couch to continue labouring on my side. However, it’s possible the movement stirred something up; I puked after my next two contractions. Chris asked me to move off my side, at which point I think I lost my shit and told him there was no way I was moving because it was too comfortable here, but then I realized I really didn’t want to throw up again and so moved to sit on the floor with my back to the couch.
Hours went by. The contractions grew a bit stronger, but they were still short, and we watched television together while continuing to track things. Chris brought out the air mattress, put our clean shower curtain down on it, our least favourite bedsheet over that, and I returned to sitting on the couch.
Around 10:45pm, I hit a point where I had to start really focusing on my breathing during the contractions, and had started some vocalization (and had debated with Chris whether “mmm” “ohhh” “ommmm” or “shhhhhhhhiiiiiiiittttttt” would be the best sound to make, a debate that lacks resolution); at 11pm, as the DVR switched to Comedy Central to record The Daily Show, I finally accepted this was real labour and said, “I think you should call your mother.”
“Nah,” he answered, “let’s let her sleep a little bit more.” My contractions were 4-5 minutes apart, but still only 30-45 seconds long, and it’d been an hour like this, but we were waiting for the contractions to hit 1 minute long before we called the midwife.
11:02, it feels like a bubble pops inside of me, and a GUSH of water (I’m talking like Niagara Falls) comes surging out. Onto the couch. It didn’t hurt, but it was strange, and I screamed: “MY WATER JUST BROKE!”
He stared at me. “What?”
“CALL THE MIDWIFE, MY FUCKING WATER JUST BROKE!”
“You can feel your water break?” (Clearly, at this point we were both in shock)
“Like a fucking waterfall, call the midwife.”
“Okay, was it clear? Get up, go take care of it.”
So I stand up, amniotic fluid dribbling down my leg, my shorts totally soaked, knowing MAIA IS COMING OUT TONIGHT. I look at the couch and don’t see anything dark or bloody looking. “Take care of it? I think it’s clear. What am I supposed to do?” And off I go to the washroom, tottering back and forth, to sit on the toilet. I hear him on the phone and yell, “It’s clear!”
I get back to the living room and lay down on the air mattress just in time for a contraction to seize me. Now, maybe this is my memory moreso than reality, but while it hurt and was uncomfortable, it was NOT agonizing. It was intense though, and I had an overwhelming desire to push. Chris grabbed my hot, sweaty hand and talked me through it.
We had stacked up something like six pillows behind me, to keep me propped up. I knew I didn’t want to lie down, and in all actuality I had every intention of labouring in any position OTHER than one that put my weight on my pelvis like sitting, but once I got settled there I Was. Not. Moving.
And then began the most terrifying part of the labour. He and I, alone, the baby coming, the contractions growing more intense, me wanting to push so badly, his mother on the way, the midwife on the way, my mother not on her way. It felt like this part lasted forever; we were both so scared. With the start of every contraction I would grab his hand — I didn’t actually want to, because someone touching my skin felt horrible, but I knew he was terrified and just trying to comfort me.
Stephen Colbert was on the television, so it had been over half an hour since we called the midwife and my water broke, when I told Chris to turn off the fucking TV (I’m so nice) and he said, “Well, I’ll change the channel.” NO YOU WILL NOT, TURN IT OFF. “But I want the TV on.” AND I FUCKING DON’T! “What about turning on some music?” NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Poor dude.
We were sitting there in silence. Between every contraction I would close my eyes and slip into some zen semi-meditative state, then during them we’d scream at each other: “DON’TPUSH DON’TPUSH DON’TPUSH! *pantpantpant* DON’TPUSH!” Finally, at one point he said, “Oh my God, I need to breathe, I’m going to faint.”
Finally, at 11:40 or so, we paged the midwife again. Except — get this — the paging service put us on hold. I honestly thought Chris was going to lose his shit as he waited and I sat there screaming “DON’TPUSH!” through another contraction. When we were finally answered and put through our page, Sarah called back within two minutes; she was right outside of the building. Chris decided he was going to help her carry her things up, although I was just about in tears at the thought of being left alone, but he didn’t want me waiting any longer than necessary for her to get up here.
So I went through two contractions on my own.
The door flew open and in rushed Chris and Sarah. She said something — some sort of joke about how fast this had gone so far — then threw on a pair of gloves. I have to tell you that nothing in my entire life had ever sounded as unappealing as having someone check my cervix at this point in time, but then she said the magic words:
“You’re fully dilated. Push when you feel like pushing!”
The Frankenvag
Published February 18, 2009 | After today’s shower, I finally pulled out my mirror and looked at it.
And you know what? It looks AWESOME. Seriously. It looks almost as good as brand-new and I didn’t notice any swelling or redness. Phew!
Also, I’ve been typing up the birth story in bits & pieces as I can, adding in things as I remember them and clarifying others. It’s coming, eventually, but I’m not rushing it.
Post-Week 38 Midwife Appt
Published February 3, 2009 | After yesterday’s midwife appointment, as we were driving home, Chris finally admitted to some sort of uncertainty: “I can’t believe you’re going to be early. I’m not ready to be a daddy yet.”
My heart melted for him. Throughout this whole process he has been so ‘tough’ and almost obnoxiously blasé about the fact that he’s going to be a father.
Example: we were lying in bed at a few minutes after midnight on Sunday and I whispered, “Holy fuck honey, it’s February.” He was silent. “I’m having a minor freak-out,” I continued, prodding him, “seriously dude, we’re having a baby soon.” He shrugged. I said again, “We’re having a baby,” and he finally replied: “Yep.” I could have punched him, but instead I grumbled, “FINE, JUST GO TO SLEEP THEN,” and, with all the dignity and grace of a beached whale, rolled over to turn my back to him.
So when he finally said that in the car, I kind of fell in love with him a little more.
—
Arriving home, we got ahold of The Grandmas. I talk to my mom on MSN almost daily, so I updated her on what Georgia had told me, and she tells me not to go into labour tomorrow (today now!) since there’s supposed to be a snowstorm. Chris called his mom and left one of his typical messages: “It’s me, call when you’re home.” At this point, I’m still cramping and there’s some light spotting going on, and it feels like as soon as I drink water I have to pee all over again. My abdomen is tightening off and on.
He goes into madman cleaning mode. The living room is now arranged for us to pull the air mattress out into, and the mattress itself is inflated in the nursery. He scrubbed the floor all around where we’ll be setting it down, even to the point of lifting our rugs and cleaning beneath them, then vacuuming the rugs. He told me to go pack a hospital bag “just in case” (you know, one of those things I should have done weeks ago and hadn’t). We hung up the pictures in the nursery finally, since it was high time for them to stop colonizing the top of the dresser. Sometime during all this, his mom calls back and apparently freaks out over the thought of me being early to deliver, then hangs up to reschedule her flight again (first she was scheduled for February 1st, then February 12th).
As he’s scrubbing the floors, she calls back and I answer. She’ll be here on Friday the 6th. “You need to put your feet up, cross your ankles, not exert yourself, and keep that baby put until I get there!” she informs me. Laughing makes my crampy self even achier, but I’m happy. I love how happy everyone else is. Even the chihuahuas seem bouncier than usual.
All night, I catch Chris watching me . One sharp contraction makes me exhale; another startles me with how intensely it comes on. I’ve hardly reacted and he’s already leaning over to rub my back and ask if I’m alright. The whole situation makes me laugh, as if I’m in danger of suddenly going straight into active labour and we’ll end up with a baby in a few hours. Labour will come when it comes!
But now it feels like that time is so… damned… close.
Contraction?
Published February 3, 2009 | I wish I had a better idea of what a contraction feels like.
Which is a really stupid thing to say, since I’m going to get to know them really well within the next little while. But I’m sitting on the couch trying to read and getting these deep crampy pains going on. It doesn’t feel like my muscles in my abdomen and uterus are tightening though, which is what I am anticipating a “real” contraction to be like. Still, I am not feeling very comfortable…
But only “probably”
Published February 2, 2009 | 38 weeks, 1 day. 3:30pm midwife appointment, but the place is packed with women in various stages of pregnancy, midwives with oodles of paperwork in their hands, the phone is ringing off the hook, and we don’t get in to see Georgia until 4pm. Her student, who I met back in week 36 (so long ago, right?) is there as well.
As they’re checking my blood pressure, Maia starts to hiccup. When I lay down and the student begins to palpitate my uterus, the baby is hiccuping; Georgia checks the baby’s position as well and there are still hiccups. Not only that, but she’s squirming all over the place. So they get out the heart monitor, and this is how it sounds:
thumpthumpthump SWISH thump HICCUP thumpthumpthump HICCUP thumpthumpthumpthump SWISH
I was trying so hard not laugh, I really really was. Chris, sitting beside me, was trying to hold back his laughter too. I finally had to ask them to stop listening so I could get all my giggles out, THEN they could resume counting her heartbeats!
They finish. Georgia looks at me and asks, “So, are you okay for the stretch and sweep today?”
I nod. I’ve been preparing myself for this for weeks now. Having not had BHC in the last two days, I’m a little worried that my body is doing something wrong and I’m going to end up carrying really, really late. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
So a few minutes later I’m naked from the waist down, lying on the doctor bed, my knees up and legs spread. Chris looks as nervous as I feel. Georgia and her student return to the room.
“Bring your ankles together and let your knees flop apart,” she says as she puts on a glove and opens some lube. What? I think. Not the stirrup position? It’s actually more comfortable to lie like this and I assume easier on her. I’m worried about the fact that there’s a 99% chance my stinky feet are clogging up her breathing space and she probably hates me for it. “Now remember, you’re in control. If it hurts, you tell me to stop. If you want me to stop for any reason, just tell me. You’re going to feel some cold goo.”
There I am, my husband sitting beside me, her student standing on the opposite side of the room, my midwife’s fingers in my coochie trying to find my cervix. “I’m looking for your cervix… it’s posterior. That means it’s still in the back. Annnnd, there’s your baby’s head,” she smiles, “I can feel the bones. She’s in a good position.”
“You can feel the baby’s head?” Chris asks.
“Yeah, of course she can,” I answer. This is probably snarky of me.
Then Georgia announces: “My fingers are through your cervix.”
WHAT? It feels more comfortable than when she was poking around looking for it. “Um, okay.”
“I’m going to start the sweep, please tell me to stop if you need to. Your cervix is actually thinned out quite nicely. Not as far as it will, but there’s definitely something happening here. You’re definitely progressing.”
The stretch and sweep was WAY worse in my mind than it was to have actually happening. I’d even venture to say that on its own, it’s not even as uncomfortable as a pap smear.
“Remember, you can tell me to stop.”
“You can stop anytime,” I say, laughing a little. “It doesn’t hurt though, I thought it would be way more uncomfortable.”
“Good, I’ll really sweep it well then,” she answers. Cramps are starting to happen as the stretch and sweep continues. Then, in a totally non-chalant tone: “You’re probably going to be early. You’re really well progressed for a first-timer.”
I wish I had a camera so I could have taken a picture of the look on my husband’s face. Of course, he probably wishes the same for me. “Seriously?” he asks.
“Yeah. You’re two centimeters dilated. Baby is about two centimeters above the pelvic bone.” (Click here for an image of “stations” in relationship to pregnancy. Maia’s at +2.)
Finally: “You can stop anytime,” I choke out. The cramps are getting pretty uncomfortable and I feel as if she’s most likely swept me well enough that stopping is a fine idea and she’s accomplished what we set out to.
“You may see some spotting tonight,” Georgia says as she pulls her hand out, “but that’s perfectly normal. If blood starts to run down your leg, page me immediately. I’ll let you get dressed.”
When Georgia and her student leave the room for me to get straightened up, I make Chris turn his back. If there’s goo or blood or whatever, I don’t want him seeing it. Everything seems alright, though. They come back in.
We go over the things she mentioned — the baby’s position, the cervix’s location, the effacement (about 2/3 effaced), the dilation, what I can expect as a result of the stretch and sweep, etc. And then Georgia says:
“Well, you probably won’t go into labour tonight.”
And then when I booked my appointment for next week, she said goodbye with, “I’ll see you on Monday, if you don’t have the baby before then!”
Oh. My. God.
I’m so not ready for this.
I don’t call it “deprivation”, I call it “practicing”
Published January 27, 2009 | Sleep is getting really, really sparse and uncomfortable these days (and afternoons, and nights, because anytime I can grab a nap I do). But honestly, no matter which side I sleep on I end up with that hip aching and waking me up. This shooting pain in my left hip is really obnoxious, and getting rid of it will be one of the best things about having my baby — well, at least I’m banking on it going away at that time!
Of course, I’m getting up to pee all the time. This isn’t honestly too bad, except for the “getting up” part. If I had a pee pan I could use in bed, I wouldn’t mind it. Okay, well, in THEORY I wouldn’t mind it, but in PRACTICE I’m sure it’d be uncomfortably gross.
Speaking of uncomfortable, something that’s been on my mind about giving birth is wondering what I’ll wear. I’m kind of leaning towards nothing, except I’m not sure how I feel about being totally ass naked in front of my mom & mother in law. Clearly I won’t be wearing anything from the waist down, and I don’t really want to wear anything on my chest. Part of this because I want immediate skin-to-skin contact with my girl. I’ve even debated asking Chris not to wear a shirt when I’m in active labour so he can have skin-to-skin immediately too, but then I realized that taking a baby out of her warm swooshy uterine environment to put her on her daddy’s hairy chest is probably a really mean thing to do. Another part of it is because whenever I’m sick with a bellyache or whatnot, being naked makes me feel better. Another part is because I hate the thought of being sweaty with fabric sticking to my skin. I don’t know. I guess it’s one of those things that is impossible to plan for and we’ll just have to see what happens!
PS: 37 weeks, 2 days!