As I mentioned in my last post about the non-stress tests, last week was a bit, oh, busy. Scratch that - last week was
insane. It was the culmination of a two-year long project at work and I am thrilled to say that everything was finished as of 6 PM on Friday night, but it left very little time for anything else, including sleeping, eating, and blogging. That didn't stop me from composing blog updates in my head, however, so without further ado, here are the things I've wanted to tell you from over the past week:
My uterus isn't the only one who's feeling irritable
The non-stress test last Tuesday morning was only slightly eventful - most of the time I sat there with the elastic bands over my belly (one is a Doppler that measures the baby's heart rate and the other is a pressure sensor) and sipped apple juice or water. The baby performed marvelously by kicking or fidgeting occasionally and his little heart rate would go right up by about 10 beats per minute before settling back down to baseline. My uterus, however, was not as compliant. The monitor showed a series of minor peaks and valleys, kind of like gentle waves on a breezy day out on the water. Apparently, I am having some light contractions about once every minute and I'm not even conscious of them (I did not get a Braxton-Hicks contraction during the test, which would have been interesting to compare since I am definitely aware of those!) However, they don't appear to be making any differences to my cervix, which remains long and closed. The diagnosis: irritable uterus. The treatment plan: none, since it's apparently normal at this stage of pregnancy.
But who else was feeling irritable? Why, that would be me, every time I had to sneeze or cough or blow my nose from the awful cold I came down with last week. Perfect timing, as ever; sleep went from difficult to impossible and I had no way of taking any time off work to try to recover. The weekend was helpful in that regard although I think I'm going to have to give in and take a Mucinex since my lingering cough is a little scary to bystanders.
Breastfeeding Class, or as we called it, Boob-Food Class
Breastfeeding class turned out to be held in the same room where we attended childbirth class, so Harry and I settled right into the same seats and had our pillows ready (seriously, we brought two after
the last debacle, and this time we didn't need them at all. Of course.) The instructor went through a Powerpoint presentation that was only slightly preachy, we practiced holding baby dolls in some of the recommended positions, and we watched an amazing video about the rooting reflex and how babies instinctively find the nipple. I do feel more prepared to breastfeed now, and it was worth the $30 registration fee. But.
Why does everything with women's health have to become politicized? Seriously, I want to breastfeed. I will admit that it's not something that I'm particularly looking forward to doing. (Feed a person every 2 hours using my body? On the surface it just sounds less fun than many other activities - it's not like someone is proposing I eat a slice of pie every 2 hours.) But it seems intuitively like the best choice for my child, and I like how natural it is, and many women have no problems with the actual process so why start worrying proactively. What I really
don't like about the pro-breastfeeding message is that I feel it overestimates how good it is for the baby, and it underestimates the value of women's time. Sure, the research is there that breastfeeding is better than formula feeding... but only in a very few, highly specific ways, and even those advantages
may not be as impressive as first stated when the research came out (such is
the difficulty of doing large-scale randomized controlled double-blind studies on infants and nursing mothers.) And it is free to breastfeed, but only if a woman's time is free, and for many women that's just not the case. I feel torn between wanting to validate the importance of motherhood and childcare and breastfeeding, and wanting to stand on the side of the working moms who balance many different obligations and ultimately choose formula as the best overall choice for them and their families.
Your bump looks different
On Friday afternoon, a colleague said in passing that my belly looked different. I glanced down, saw nothing immediately out of the ordinary, and laughed about eating too much pizza for lunch. Later that night, I went into the bathroom at our house and looked in the full-length mirror, and... wait a minute. I turned from one profile to the other and then called for Harry to come up and verify what I was seeing. The baby has definitely
dropped - my bump is much lower than it was 24 hours previously. His little foot used to be kicking right under my ribs, and now it's consistently about 2 inches lower; the bulk of his body seems to be a little lower, and I'm peeing even more frequently than before.
Naturally, Harry and I both panicked that I was about to go into labor, so we packed the hospital bag we had been meaning to put together, started a load of laundry, took the dog out, etc. Turns out the baby can drop up to 4 weeks before your due date (and I was at 36w1d when we noticed it) so it was actually a nonevent, but it was a good reminder that we need to get a little serious about this. Part of getting serious was heading back out to our friendly neighborhood maternity store, since I realized I had basically no breastfeeding-friendly clothing besides one bra and a few sundresses that weren't going to cut it as we move from fall into winter. I had also been freezing at work for the past two weeks (cf. the aforementioned sundresses, which were starting to look and feel comically impractical on crisp 50-degree autumn mornings.) I have a new pair of pants, some tights, a few nice pajamas for my hospital stay, and a bunch of tank tops with snaps so I can flash onlookers anytime I want. Remember buying clothes just because they were cute? Yeah, me either.
In conclusion, I'm
pretty sure I'm not going to go into labor before my maternity leave starts on Oct. 5th, but we'll see. That's a story for another time!