(Note: I wrote this yesterday morning. I was not at my most patient or cheerful, having been denied breakfast. So, you know, maybe a little more vitriolic than I would ordinarily be… which doesn’t make it any less true.)
Lots of people seem to think that this pregnancy is an unequivocal joy. To a certain extent, that has made it a bit easier to move forward; when we are reminded that this daughter is part of a family who already loves her, it’s easier to remember that we ourselves are loved and that we have access to the support that we need. All that said, though, we did not plan this pregnancy. We did not volunteer for another C-section delivery and recovery from same, and that alone was reason enough to call ourselves done. We did not deliberately and knowledgeably choose in favor of swollen ankles and the numbness in my hands that makes it hard to sleep and drive and wash dishes and write and knit and hold a book of any size.
We have just under six weeks left; these things were predictable and they’re all more or less manageable. But I have felt more than a little railroaded about this pregnancy from the beginning. It is not an unequivocal joy. In short, the actual pregnancy pretty much sucks.
(Before I go on, it’s important to say out loud that I’m excited to meet this baby girl. Barring disaster [I am painfully aware that we’re not immune to disaster, and I will not feel totally okay about this until we have a healthy baby girl OUT], she’s going to be an excellent person to know.)
Today I’m spending my morning in the waiting room at the lab. I am having a three-hour glucose tolerance test, which involves not eating breakfast, drinking 12 ounces of syrupy goo, and getting blood drawn four separate times. I’ve been told not to walk too much, because it burns off sugar (!), and that says to me that this is not a realistic test to begin with. I never spend three hours sitting still in the middle of the morning (or skip breakfast, or drink a lot of empty calories on an empty stomach). I am more than a little testy about this.
I am gloomily certain that I am going to fail this stupid fake test, and my doctor is going to want me to involve myself with lancets and test strips and all manner of unpleasant things. I am just sick to death of all this intervention. My body knows how to do this and would very much like to be left alone and given a sandwich. Right now I feel like the things that are happening today are unhealthy for me and for my baby. I feel powerless and stuck, and I feel that if I do fail this stupid fake test I am not going to do very much about it. So. THERE.