Oh, hello. It appears we’ve arrived at the point in my pregnancy, approximately 8-10 weeks ahead of schedule, during which I cannot fathom how I will go on being pregnant and managing my day-to-day life.
It must kick in earlier with a second baby because the terror of trying to figure out how I’ll survive with two children is so much more acute–the sleep deprivation, the diaper explosions, the perpetual leaking of fluids–that it makes evolutionary sense for me to be so blindingly miserable as a pregnant person that I’ll take anything to get out of this. Including childbirth, and the aforementioned sleep deprivation, diaper explosions, and leaking fluids.
Before I go on, though, let’s talk stats:
At 29 weeks, baby is pretty well fully formed and is just putting the finishing touches on everything — in the form of more fat and muscle, eyelashes, and lung development. The baby is about 16″ in length and 3 pounds, give or take. You know, pineapple-sized (or a butternut squash. Or an acorn squash. Wasn’t it already an acorn squash a few weeks ago? I hate these comparisons.) My Ovia app tells me that as space is becoming more cramped in there, the baby’s “movements are getting less violent and more regular as s/he grows to the bounds of your womb.”
On Tuesday, it felt like the baby was nearly successful in tunneling out of the side of my uterus Shawshank Redemption style. While it was only painful in one area (just to the right of my belly button), the pressure was so intense it had me Googling, “Contractions or baby kicking.” The kicks had me doubled over, unable to talk. And I am speaking from the experience of already having one unmedicated childbirth behind me. I had an anterior placenta with my first pregnancy, and either that was some valuable cushioning or this baby is going to be a human wrecking ball.
In response to my agony, The Husband showed me an article he saw on Reddit in which a fetus actually did punch through her mother’s womb, almost killing them both. The top comment described a second incidence of this happening. In reading further, I found that both women had scar tissue in their uteruses (uteri?), from removing fibroids, but that is NOT COMFORTING NEWS WHEN YOUR BABY IS KICKING, SIR!
We’re now deep into Snoogle season of this pregnancy, which is marked by me spending the night embracing a big, G-shaped pillow that takes up 85% of the bed. While it does nothing to improve my maneuverability, I need it “to help hold my bones together,” as I explained to The Husband when he whined recently that he was falling off the bed. (I wake up in the morning and my spine sounds like an upturned rainstick. Without this pillow, annoying as it is, I fear I’d wake up as nothing more than a loose pile of bones in a skin bag.)
While all my joints have been feeling a little loose for weeks, this week in particular marked the beginning of another fun symptom that has flared up (again, happened last time, too): symphysis pubis dysfunction (self-diagnosed, but I’m pretty confident). As I understand it, this means that hormones have rendered my ligaments so relaxed that my hips are barely attached to each other anymore. I guess it’s time to quit hitching a leg over the electric fence to pet the goats every day.
Because of this, I was so miserable on Tuesday I made The Husband come home early-ish from work with takeout pizza because I couldn’t get off the couch to make dinner or adequately supervise our son after his nap. While I haven’t been formally exercising lately, I have been pretty active in doing chores and general toddler-chasing, but this is slowing me down.
I suppose in some ways this is good, as I’m barely 20% finished with a baby blanket I started knitting months ago, and I’ve also become a late adopter of the Internet craze that is bullet journaling.
After making and losing 100 important lists in the last few months, I’ve found this to be very helpful in at least containing the overwhelming thoughts and plans I need to wrangle as I approach the chaos of a new baby again. Mine certainly doesn’t resemble any of the more elaborate, colorful journals you find on Instagram (and has, in fact, been snatched up and scribbled on by The Toddler at leasst once since its inception last week), but its utility is undeniable.