Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Excuse My Unpleasantness

This past weekend was a fun one. I headed out to Long Island for a family wedding all by my lonesome. It was the first time I'd travelled without E and C since well before E was born, and of course my mind was racing with all the impending disasters waiting to strike: plane crash, car crash, drowning, choking, terrorists.

The only one I could reasonably cross off my list was the last one--there's usually little chance of terrorist activity on a 45 minute flight from Buffalo to JFK. I hoped.

Anyway, my craziness in check, I made it through the weekend in one piece--and even managed to have some fun. The highlights, aside from my cousin and his new bride's infectious joy, were the mini-lambchops, delay-free travel, family time and my very own king-sized bed, from which I could rise at any hour I chose. Heaven.

E and C had a good time without me, too. I was gone from early Saturday morning to late Sunday night, but by mid-afternoon on Sunday I was ready to be home. It was hot as a fresh biscuit out on Long Island, and all the walking around in the heat made me just a teense crabby. So, I spent a little while by myself lying in bed with the AC cranked.

But I would be lying if I said it was just the heat making me crabby. You see I'm at this weird point in the pregnancy where I can feel the little guy moving with some frequency, but not enough to feel him all the time. So I'm like a pressure cooker during those points between nudges. "Didifeelhimishemovingishethereishealive?" runs a constant loop in my brain, its intensity and speed increasing until the next little thump or twinge. "Wasthathimwasitgasisheokwasthathim?"

It gets a little loud in my brain. And were I afforded every luxury in life, I could simply sit down with a hershey kiss and await confirmation. But that's rarely an option. So I get to a point in the day where conversational skills escape me, I can't concentrate on anything and I turn into somewhat of a t.roll. Until I have affirmation that he's in there, moving.

Sunday afternoon I'd reached my threshold, and a weekend of indulgent eating and not having a lot of time to pay attention to the inner workings caught up with me. I should also mention this little guy seems to have a "do not disturb" window in the late afternoon. Which nicely coincided with the height of my worry.

I arrived at the train station early, plopped down in a seat and turned on the iPod. I tried not to cry. I was tired and hot and bloated and sure that he was dead. As the train rolled on and took me to the airport, I felt him. Here and there. And I exhaled.

This is really, really hard. It was easier when it was earlier. I could check in with my queasies as a sign of everything being OK. But now . . . there's a lot of downtime. And it's rough when my obsessive, worrisome brain takes control. I turn inward, I shut out the external noise, I listen and feel desperately for a sign. It makes me an excellent companion, let me tell you. I get grumpy and short and lose all concentration.

With the exception of E, no one is spared my wrath. Until I can be sure.

Don't even get me started about seeing other pregnant ladies or infant girls when I am this tr.oll.

1 comment:

  1. Yes I remember weeks 17 through to about 24 being particularly........... shit for this very reason. A girl could make herself go completely insane. I did make a mercy dash to the hospital at 22 weeks because I was so freaked out. It scared the hell out of me to go in there, but I made a pact with myself that if I ever got really worried, I'd go right in. Because NOT going in cost Hope her life. I even had a doppler at home with Angus, but still I freaked. I thought the movements were just not enough, so therefore he must be in trouble. Then when he did start moving again, I thought it was too much and he must be in distress. Arghhh, it never let up until he came out alive.
    So all that to say, I'm really thinkin' of you mama.