I had what I was calling an epic birthday weekend [in July]. While this might not live up to most people’s definition of ‘epic’, I got to be with friends, have a big sushi dinner, play my favorite board games (Hacker and Pandemic), fireworks, and while it wasn’t actually a part of my birthday, the weekend ended at a bar covering the ‘adult’ time I was hoping for.

Then, almost as another birthday present to myself, I started working part time on Monday. My hours were intended to be 10am-2pm, although in practice it didn’t work out that way the first week. The first day was especially awkward, leaving early (even late-early) when we were especially short-staffed already. I felt like there was resentment coming from my coworker, not necessarily directed at me but at the situation she was left in. The next day my boss came to me because the coworker had expressed concern that I wasn’t able to leave on time so it was sort of a no-win-win in my head.

Eventually, the other coworker who was out indefinitely for a hip replacement decided to come back (although I honestly can’t imagine why) and things returned to a new definition of normal. Still some frustrations about people not bothering to learn how to do things themselves despite plenty of warning that I would be gone in the future. Overall I loved being part time, still getting a paycheck and reason to get out every day, but with more time to sleep and get things done. Most surprising was how busy I was in my “free” time, I guess because of everything that had been put off when I was working crazy hours.

Vacation time let me keep full-time pay until September. My last day was supposed to be September 13, and I had it on my calendar as “Last day of work!?” with the ‘!?’ meaning, ‘Really!? I finally get to leave!?’ A week before that date, my boss called me into his office when I got in and told me that Other Coworker had given her two week notice. He begged her to stay and she refused. He begged me to stay longer and help out… I gave another week, minus a Tuesday off because I already had a prenatal massage already scheduled during my ‘I should no longer be at work’ hours.

I had previously worried about what I was going to do with myself when I was fully unemployed. That extra week pushed me into worrying about how I was going to get everything done in time instead. My calendar was full for almost two weeks straight, and that doesn’t count things that need to get done but aren’t scheduled, like cooking freezer foods.

Two days of ice packs on the top of my stomach, extra time inverted, and one attempt at the Rebozo all did nothing except tell me that this baby is stubborn! Meeting with the doula did reassure me about the C-section possibility. Basically being told that even women who give birth vaginally should be spending the first week in bed, even though society doesn’t support that, so my impression is now that having the surgery just forces the kind of recovery period that should already be happening.

That Friday I had an appointment with a psychiatrist first in the morning. I’d decided not to pre-emptively go back on my meds, but to make sure I have all of the groundwork in place in case I need to in the future. With the number of hoops that have to be jumped through to see a specialist, let alone a mental health professional, I know there’s no way I could or would bother if I was actually experiencing post-partum depression (or worse). I now have a plan – that I’d start back on the Lamictal at half-strength if needed, and an appointment at the end of November to check in regardless of how things go before then.

From there I went to Northwest Hospital to get a glimpse of my future. They set me up in a labor & delivery room which had the heater broken so it wasn’t actually being used for labor and delivery at the time. I got warm blankets though, my favorite thing about hospitals! Fetal monitors on my stomach. Andrew showed up not long after. Due to the slight risk of complications and an emergency C-Section, we both thought he should be there just in case. We talked about that slight chance we’d have a baby that day and I kept thinking of my lunch in the car and chicken to be cooked in the fridge that would go bad. We’re not ready!

After a good deal of monitoring, and reminder of the future hurry-up-and-wait nature of labor, I got a shot in the arm of a drug that’s supposed to relax the uterus but has the side effect of heart-racing jitteriness. They told me it would feel like having five cups of coffee. Then another 20 minute wait. Since I was no longer hooked to the monitors I got up to use the bathroom, and felt the shakiness by the time I walked back to the bed.

One of the midwives was there to assist the OB who did the actual procedure. She held the ultrasound while the OB did the turning. It wasn’t pleasant but never got unbearable. My stomach felt bruised in places later which makes sense given that I had some hardcore poking going on. The baby was actually transverse (sideways) which is lucky for a better outcome, and explains why I seemed to feel all movements up high. I imagined him laying in a V-shape so that he always kicked ‘up’.

Afterwards it was more waiting and monitoring. They kept me longer because the drug raised his heartbeat for a while as well, did a couple checks to make sure he stayed in place, and then I was free to go. And eat lunch, because I wasn’t supposed to eat beforehand.