We didn't go anywhere this year. We didn't even buy a turkey (too heavy.) Instead I made a chicken and some roasted vegetables and called it a day. The night before I hadn't slept much so I didn't even get dressed, but that's been the norm with this preggo. Clothes can be so restrictive. Baby no like.
At around 7 Doug went to a friend's house for dessert and I got comfortable in front of the TV. This is my usual time to feel the baby doing her body pops (yes, much like ReRun.) Only I wasn't feeling them. I wasn't feeling her hardly at all. So I did what I thought was best, that is, I screamed the baby's name loudly and started gently thumping my belly. I made hot chocolate. I took a bath. Nothing. Then I did the worse thing of all. I went on the internet and read about baby movements. Some site said I was supposed to feel 10 an hour. Then I did the next worst thing of all. I freaked out. Doug was home by this time and after calling our doctor (not there), we decided to take a little walkee to the nearest hospital. I was crying as I got dressed but in the back of my head thought that this kid would start kicking like crazy on the stroll and then I'd get to come home and feel relieved.
No such luck.
We got to the hospital at 9:45, and (still crying) were lead to the triage unit on the labor floor. One nurse was nice, telling me that everything was going to be all right, and the other one sucked on a lollipop and was slightly terse with me. It didn't feel nice, but whatever. I just wanted to hear my baby's heartbeat. And I did. That was the good news. The bad news, or rather the strange news, is that as I was being monitored for baby movements they noticed that I was having contractions. Five minutes apart. That's evidently not a good thing when you're not dilated.
So the next thing happening was me pretending to be a-okay with two nurses jabbing an IV into my hand (3 bruises have appeared already) to get the contractions to stop. I was laying on my back, belts strapped around my waist to monitor heartbeat and contractions, IV in my left hand and a click buzzer that I was supposed to press on every time I thought I felt the baby move in my right one. I felt like I was on some sick gameshow. A doctor who looked like Taye Diggs came by to feel my cervix to see if it was open. It wasn't, so that meant that I wasn't in labor or preterm labor but was just having contractions. Which again, the doctor didn't like. After another bag of IV juice and a shot of something in the arm (not to mention a very embarrassing walk to the bathroom with my underwear around my ankles), the contractions stopped. We got to have a sonogram to see little Baby Rushkoff swimming around -- and moving. It's just that she's gotten so big that she has less room to kick violently and so I don't feel her breakdancing anymore. Which is so weird because those movements hurt, but as soon as they stopped, I missed them. On the walk home, 3 and a half hours later, I let it all out. I was scared. But I also realized how I much I care about this baby. Whatever she needs, wants, desires, is fine with me. I just want her to be ok (she is moving as I write this.) Whew. On a lighter note, I also realized that I hadn't even bothered to bring my purse with me -- although I did purposely throw a lipstick in my coat pocket. Typical.
So, I'm ok. I'm cried out, bruised, tired and my husband has a migraine -- but I'm fine for now. Right now we're washing baby clothes and getting my hospital bag ready because my doctor said that if contractions begin and I do start to do my cervix thang, he won't stop it. I'm 35 weeks pregnant, so it's ok.
And I'm thankful for that.
At around 7 Doug went to a friend's house for dessert and I got comfortable in front of the TV. This is my usual time to feel the baby doing her body pops (yes, much like ReRun.) Only I wasn't feeling them. I wasn't feeling her hardly at all. So I did what I thought was best, that is, I screamed the baby's name loudly and started gently thumping my belly. I made hot chocolate. I took a bath. Nothing. Then I did the worse thing of all. I went on the internet and read about baby movements. Some site said I was supposed to feel 10 an hour. Then I did the next worst thing of all. I freaked out. Doug was home by this time and after calling our doctor (not there), we decided to take a little walkee to the nearest hospital. I was crying as I got dressed but in the back of my head thought that this kid would start kicking like crazy on the stroll and then I'd get to come home and feel relieved.
No such luck.
We got to the hospital at 9:45, and (still crying) were lead to the triage unit on the labor floor. One nurse was nice, telling me that everything was going to be all right, and the other one sucked on a lollipop and was slightly terse with me. It didn't feel nice, but whatever. I just wanted to hear my baby's heartbeat. And I did. That was the good news. The bad news, or rather the strange news, is that as I was being monitored for baby movements they noticed that I was having contractions. Five minutes apart. That's evidently not a good thing when you're not dilated.
So the next thing happening was me pretending to be a-okay with two nurses jabbing an IV into my hand (3 bruises have appeared already) to get the contractions to stop. I was laying on my back, belts strapped around my waist to monitor heartbeat and contractions, IV in my left hand and a click buzzer that I was supposed to press on every time I thought I felt the baby move in my right one. I felt like I was on some sick gameshow. A doctor who looked like Taye Diggs came by to feel my cervix to see if it was open. It wasn't, so that meant that I wasn't in labor or preterm labor but was just having contractions. Which again, the doctor didn't like. After another bag of IV juice and a shot of something in the arm (not to mention a very embarrassing walk to the bathroom with my underwear around my ankles), the contractions stopped. We got to have a sonogram to see little Baby Rushkoff swimming around -- and moving. It's just that she's gotten so big that she has less room to kick violently and so I don't feel her breakdancing anymore. Which is so weird because those movements hurt, but as soon as they stopped, I missed them. On the walk home, 3 and a half hours later, I let it all out. I was scared. But I also realized how I much I care about this baby. Whatever she needs, wants, desires, is fine with me. I just want her to be ok (she is moving as I write this.) Whew. On a lighter note, I also realized that I hadn't even bothered to bring my purse with me -- although I did purposely throw a lipstick in my coat pocket. Typical.
So, I'm ok. I'm cried out, bruised, tired and my husband has a migraine -- but I'm fine for now. Right now we're washing baby clothes and getting my hospital bag ready because my doctor said that if contractions begin and I do start to do my cervix thang, he won't stop it. I'm 35 weeks pregnant, so it's ok.
And I'm thankful for that.
Notice how I focus on the lipstick, even though your post was .01% about lipstick? See what I mean?
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