How far along? 39 weeks
Total weight gain: DONE KEEPING TRACK…
Feeling: like crap! My back hurts, my feet are swollen, I have cankles, the weight of my stomach is so uncomfortable, it rests on my lap and makes me snore when I sleep. I’m moody and irritable and just want this baby out of me.
My midwife’s appointment on Tuesday involved a membrane sweep. Sweep…it sounds so gentle right? Don’t fool yourself. Without going into too much detail, it is extremely painful, especially after days of hard contractions brought on by raspberry leaf tea, resulting in…get this…a “tight 1cm dilation”. Seriously? That was it!? My midwife told me that the baby’s head still hadn’t dropped (station -2), my cervix still wasn’t all the way ripe and I wasn’t dilating as she had hopped. I had spent so much time walking around I thought my feet would fall off. I had been using the primrose oil as recommended. I even did a few squats, since bouncing on the ball is not going to happen with a whooha this sore. As we talked about the week before, we discuss induction methods for the next week. Since I knew it was a possibility, being induced didn’t surprise or bother me. The surprise came when I asked how big Aria was. “Oh, I don’t think she is nine pounds.” My eyes must have bugged out of my head. Nine. Whole. Pounds? I’m five feet tall, and weighed about 105 when I wasn’t pregnant (silly me, I thought I had a few pounds to loose). “Oh no…no no no.” Is what I said. “If that’s the case, screw induction, we are scheduling a c section.” Yep, I said it. The one thing I said I didn’t want when B and I sat down to work out our birth plan. The one thing we both tuned out of when they talked about it in our birthing class, after both of us turning green several times.
She wouldn’t allow me to make a knee jerk decision, however. She told me she supported anything I chose, but I needed to make an informed choice, and scheduled me another ultrasound for Wednesday. Driving home, all I could think about was this giant baby. Remember that dream I told you about? The c section with the giant baby? All I know is the ugly part won’t come true…but I can’t help but imagine my little girl sitting next to her peers dwarfing them. Like a little baby jabba the hut. It’s the hormones, I’m sure. But it doesn’t do anything for my self esteem…since I have gained much more weight that I had intended or wanted. I must have done this to her. I made a big baby. I thought she would be little. Like a 6 pounder. One of those babies that people comment about how little they are, and I complain about how nothing but preemie clothing fits. A 9 pound baby would result in big girl comments. You know the ones, you probably said them yourself. Oh! She’s so rolly polly and cute! What a big girl she is! Would she have weight problems all her life? Ultimately, I know all of it comes back to me, and I know I am the one with the issue, one that I have had since I was 11, but that is another story for another day. I can’t help but feel like a land whale, and no amount of “oh you are so cute!” really fixes anything.
The ultrasound went well, and it was determined that Aria is 7lbs 10 oz. Perfectly normal…well as little above normal at 54%, but I’ll take it. Whew! But with babies gaining a half a pound a week, the clock was certainly ticking. We stepped up trying to get my cervix ripened to get this baby out before she got too big. I met with another midwife on Thursday, and there was still no progression at all. She still spoke of induction, but warned that they can only induce with the cervix ripened, or we are just setting me up for failure. She told me to work on it getting my cervix ready over the weekend, and hopefully we could induce on Tuesday of next week.
Fast forward a few hours, and I’m just looking at the ultrasound report. HC…hum…what is that? That’s an awfully high number. 65%? I google it. HC stands for what you probably assumed it did. Head circumference. Perhaps that number by itself wouldn’t be so terrifying…but the BPD measurement, which is very indicative of gestational age, and is also a head size measurement was. 81%. My midwife thought Aria was big because of her head… just like her daddy. There are things I am more frightened of than a c section scar. They would be: forceps, vacuums, and 3-4 degree tears.
Friday, I called my midwife to talk about scheduling a c section again. She discussed with me that we could still ripen, induce and try, and see if Aria’s head would even fit in the birth canal, and if not then we could go c section route. Or, we could just schedule a c section.
Faced with this decision, I was paralyzed. I don’t want to labor with a baby that might need an emergency c section. I think of what if they HAVE to use mechanical methods to get her out. What if I have a third (or fourth!?) degree tear. My midwife said this is a legitimate fear…and your body will never be the same after that. What if she never drops at all, and I have to get a c section anyways. The thought of laboring for hours, only to be wheeled into the hospital doesn’t sound like a pleasant birth experience. After tearfully speaking with B, we decide we are just going to schedule the c section.
But coming to terms with this decision is far more difficult and complicated than I have ever imagined. I confess that a lot of my self esteem is wrapped up in my body (really?! you say). In what it’s capable of. I know that pregnancy isn’t an illness. Its not something that needs so many c sections. I know that some people really do need them, but I wasn’t one of them. At least, I hadn’t thought that I would be one of them. I know this c section can be seen as a medical issue, rather than “elective,” but I can’t help but feel like I have thrown in the towel, and given up. Taken the easy way out. However, I can’t push my head in the sand, like I did during my miscarriage, and make it go away. I can’t see the writing on the wall and choose to ignore it. For whatever reason, the universe wants this for me, and I better embrace it because it’s going to happen whether I like it or not. I can go in this with open arms, and accept the good and the bad of what life has to offer, or end up feeling dejected and disappointed.
I’m no fool. I know this will not be easy. It’s a major abdominal surgery, one that will take me weeks of recovery. A surgery that will render me completely useless and incapable. If anyone can step up and be Mr. Dad, that would be my husband. He knows he will be serving a major role with the baby for a while at the very least (though I never once thought any differently). But I had wanted the “ideal experience,” where I go into labor spontaneously and they wheel me in, give me some narcotics if I need them, give me an epidural if I need it, and push out my little baby girl, like my body was built to do. Having B support this decision to schedule the c-section…even prefer it…makes me feel so much better about it.
We still haven’t scheduled it, since I wasn’t able to get ahold of my midwife a second time to let her know of my decision. I will speak with her on Monday, and we will get this thing scheduled. If, I don’t go into labor before then I suppose.
A Portrait of a Pregnancy 