Killing time...

Actually, I almost feel like I could/should/would kill someone or something else. No idea what, though, because it's really nobody's fault that, again, at almost 1 in the morning I'm sitting at the computer, trying to figure out what to do with my body. 

(No, it's not about my life; I'm not being hit by any sort of mid-life chrisis, or anything.)

In all honesty, I wonder if I will ever sleep again. Technically I know I will, perhaps some years down the road, or maybe even sooner than that, if I get lucky every once in a while. Right now, however, it just doesn't work. In order to fall asleep and get through at least one small portion of the night, I need to be literally dead tired. I feel that way quite a lot during the day, but who cares if I'm at work, right? I can't really get up and leave, just to crawl into my bed and get some deserved rest. When I finally get home, even though I still feel pretty damn beaten up, all I can do is ignore the exhaustion and carry on with my day until some more or less reasonable sleep time.

Then I sleep. I can't say that I don't. It just doesn't really last all that long because I either have to pee, or the cat decides to annoy the hell out of me for reasons that I'm not even sure she understands herself. This usually happens after about two hours of my initial sail-away time, and then I am, for the most part, done for. If I do sleep again, it's more of a session of tossing and turning and some semi-conscious slumber. Bleh.

Tonight I didn't even get as far because I stupidly crashed around seven in the evening and snoozed for a couple hours. I went back to bed around 10:30 and accomplished nothing, other than perhaps nearly finishing Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. Ok, I suppose that's an accomplishment of some sort, but it doesn't really help with the chronic lack of sleep, does it? 

My back is falling apart if I sit in this chair, the couch makes the kid goes crazy if I attempt to sit in just about any position, I can't lay flat on my back either and my sides... I'm not sure those can deal with the pressure anymore. The left one has been numb for weeks (I read somewhere the other day that the sciatic nerve tends to do this to you) and the right one is just overall not particularly comfortable. It makes the baby hate my stomach, pretty much. 

I suppose I still need to consider myself lucky, because if I really think about it, this is the one and only thing I can really complain about when it comes to pregnancy. I've been enjoying it, otherwise. I got out of the first trimester with just about no morning sickness (ok, no morning sickness at all, because whatever icky sensations coming from that area of my body were actually appearing in the evening, without any grand finale kind of things). My blood pressure has been perfect, or actually low, as opposed to sky-high, which easily could have been expected of someone of my age (and size). No gestational diabetes, which seems to be a pretty rare thing at least here where I am (I keep hearing that the majority of women at least fail the first glucose test, if not both, especially if they're my size). So none of that, for me, either. Even my iron looks good and I tend to get more or less mild anemia when not pregnant. I still do yoga twice a week and have pretty much nobody do any housework or other chores for me (I did attempt to have a cleaning lady over last week, but I think I won't do that again, as I'm way too anal to have someone else mess with my things). I sit at work because I have to, but once I'm done for the day, I keep (stupidly?) running around. 

I really do wish I didn't have to work, though. I wouldn't want to trade it in for boring days in front of the TV (we don't really have cable or anything similar, to begin with), but I would enjoy spending more time outdoors while it's still possible, and I would definitely enjoy taking a nap here and there, to make up for all the sleepless nights. But oh well, I suppose. It was my own choice to get stuck in pretty much the one and only developed country that has not yet heard of maternity leave, so I get to have my cake here, as well as eat it. Whee. 

Either way, I'm not ready to get the little guy out just yet. We've got a month and a few days left, at least, and that's how it should be. We got to see him on Monday and he was doing well. Perfect heart rate, good movement, good amount of fluid, placenta in the right spot... etc. Estimated weight was 2666 grams (5lb 14oz), which was the 70th percentile for his gestational age and still means we're growing a hippo. Or so says the doctor. At the same time, I am not so convinced he's a giant because the majority of Croatian women who report the estimated weight of their babies, around the same time in pregnancy, happen to have either bigger ones. So either Croatian doctors exaggerate, or the American Hadlock scale really does run off of different percentages. Who knows. And who cares, actually. So many women say that it's easier to get a big baby out, so I'll just choose to trust them on that one. The doctor said that, at this point, they would not stop labour should I start getting contractions. Hm. Well, I hope I don't get to experience them just yet. There needs to be some more cooking time, as far as I'm concerned. 

We're meeting with our doula tomorrow and then, I suppose, I really need to work on my birth plan. I've not written one yet. Oops. My hospital bag is nonexistent as well, even though I can at least say that, for the most part, I own things that should be stuffed into it. Or have an idea of what they should be. 

I'm getting the car seat installed by some Public Health person next week, right before my next doctor's appointment. Actually, she wants me to give it a go myself and then bring it to her for further inspection and an install from scratch, too, if need be. I told her I could as well try to duct tape it to my back seat, because that's how much I understand the installation process. I'm also working on getting a pediatrician for the kiddo. My ob/gyn recommended someone and I've been trying to schedule an appointment to meet the guy before we commit to his services (it's easy to switch doctors, too, but I'd still like to know in advance who to have the 1-week appointment with, I suppose).

The list of things that are still not done is actually pretty much endless. The upstairs is still being worked on, too, but at least we're now fully done with the filthy parts and it's all more related to various degrees of fine tuning. Another trip to Ikea is due, thanks to my random spurts of creativity, as well as this goldfish brain I've been nurturing for the past month.

I'm also getting hungry, which is just plain ridiculous. Hippo, there's no reason for you to want more food, really. I've gained a total of 10 kilos up to this point, which I guess is pretty decent. Hopefully I won't add another 10 to it within the next month, or something.

Hm.

I guess I'm done with my random rant for the night. If there are typos, please make sure to enjoy them. After all, there need to be some visible signs of all the insomnia.

Five weeks, some days

Yup, that's pretty much what we have left to end this race if our Hippo decides to stay inside until his due date (November 19th). Forty-three-days-to-go. Scary. 

I don't know if I'm excited. I suppose it's hard to describe the feeling. Of course I'm looking forward to have the little guy around, well, around on the outside, but at the same time, I am not sure if I'm ready. Not so much ready for motherhood itself, as I believe you can never really be prepared for something as random and unpredictable; it's much more about being more or less anxious about the whole labour and delivery thing. But can one be really prepared for that? Hm. I suppose. Some women say that they can, or could be, while some, from what I can see, don't really care much about what is going to happen there.

Well, I care. Probably even a bit too much. 

I'm a pretty big control freak, but at the same time, I'm aware that this particular event won't really be something I will organize and manage the way I'm used to. While it's good to have some plans and general, uhm, guidelines, I'm fairly sure that the little Hippo, as well as my body, will actually lead the way. I'm not scared of pain, as weird as it sounds, but some other things terrify me to at least some degree: puking and C-section. The first one is just an old irrational fear of mine, while the second happens to be something I really would not like to be put through. I know they are sometimes necessary and, yes, I'm aware of the fact that it still might happen for some reason, but I just don't want it. It's too hard to even imagine being conscious and right there, while they cut you open and whatnot. Ick. At the same time, though, I'm fairly sure I wouldn't agree to be put fully under either. 

Another thing I know I don't want is an epidural. Ick, again. I suppose the main thing about this one is some sort of a, hm, primal instinct, perhaps? Basically, I need my legs. I need to know that, if I have to, I can use them. Granted, it's really highly unlikely that I will start running away from the scene, out of my room, then out of the hospital and whatnot, but I need to know that I can, okay? I guess that's the animal in me speaking. If I can't run, I'm not safe. So please shoo that thing away from me. (We had our preregistration meeting at the hospital the other day and I did put in my chart that I would not like to be offered any drugs at all. I said I'd request them myself if I really wanted some, instead.)

Speaking of all this hospital-related stuff, I suppose I should finally pack my bag, too. I have most of the things ready, as in lying around and/or existing in the first place, but they are not organized, let alone folded into some sort of an actual bag or a suitcase. (What does one even take in, anyway? A carry-on bag? Or a full-sized suitcase?!) People around me, well, mainly those from my online group of mothers-to-be whose due date is also in November, talk a lot about their babies' coming home outfits, so I assume that's something we should pick, too. Hm. Well, I hate planning outfits in advance even for myself, let alone somebody else. Argh. At least all the diapers are ready. Washed (several times), stuffed and put away. I wonder if Hippo will even fit in his collection of the smallest, newborn ones. Last time the doctor measured him, which was in September, around 31 weeks, he was estimated to be 1990 grams (4lb 3 oz). 75th percentile, if I remember correctly. Piggy-hippo! I hope I won't be delivering a giant, to be honest. Even though, as long as it's manageable and doesn't include puking, I suppose I'll gladly push out a ten pounder, too. 

Hmm. What else to say? Not much, I suppose, for now at least. After nearly a month and a half of no posts, I shouldn't just overdo it, right?

I also have absolutely no pictures to show. Hippo is too big to fit into an ultrasound printout and is, actually, to hard to see on the screen, too. I get to watch him move pretty much all the time, though. He pushes and pokes and rearranges the furniture, err organs, pretty much all day long. Well, okay, he's more of a night owl, just like his parents.

As for his parents, we're doing fine, too. Excited, anxious a bit, but overall more or less ready for the unknown. Or so we think. :panic_mode_on: 

I really don't mind this whole pregnancy deal. Sure, life is getting a bit harder now, but I'm still very far from feeling miserable. I wish I could sleep more, but that's about it. Okay, I have to admit that I hate going to work now, too. All the countless hours of sitting are outright killing me. I feel better when I have to walk all day.

Off to bed with me now!