Whimsically Crazy

TMI blog time – perineal massage edition!

The things that scare the most about labor are not the contractions. I have mixed feelings about how I’m going to handle that part, because I feel like I have both a higher than average pain tolerance (my doula said this is common in people who deal with chronic illnesses) and at the same time, no tolerance for that kind of pain. However what really scares me is the “ring of fire” and tearing.

The ring of fire because my first time having sex was very, very painful for me. Not, ‘oh it hurt and then it got better’ painful, like stories I’ve heard, or anything else that could be considered normal because I’m convinced that if my experience was typical, the human race would not have survived this far. It ultimately took years before sex wasn’t painful at all for me. So I can’t imagine that accommodating a baby’s head is going to feel any different than that first time.

In fact I think I scared myself more by writing that out!

Tearing then doesn’t really need an explanation – the whole idea is terrifying. I’ve been intending to do perineal massage to help prevent it, although like my plans for prenatal yoga, good intentions haven’t made things happen. Now that I’m at the point of running every little symptom through the ‘is this early labor?’ filter, I’m hoping it’s not too late to have an effect.

One of the sites I looked at had Evening Primrose Oil on the list of possible lubricants so great, I thought as far as that goes. I don’t have to decide between the fancy lube or something out of the kitchen. I have a bottle of capsules bought originally because it’s supposed to help with menstrual cramps, then stopped because it’s supposed to aggravate UC, then put in the get rid of pile and never gotten rid of.

All of the instructions list both ‘solo’ and partner versions but I wanted to get a feel for things by myself first. (Pun not intended… or was it?) Plus it’s a little weird to have to say, “Hey in preparation for not being able to have sex for a long time, do you want to come get all up close and personal with my vagina, in a totally non-sexual way?”

I set up the bed with a towel, mirror, pillows to prop up on, and the fingernail clippers to help puncture my EPO capsule. On the baby forums I’ve seen a number of warnings against getting out the mirror and looking… it’s apparently a traumatizing experience for many. I’m kind of proud to say that I have looked a number of times (like checking on my piercing) and things have pretty much looked the same, except for one day where there was some definite swelling. Or it’s possible that I’ve been swollen ever since and my brain has just decided that this is the new normal, much like it thinks that since I started off a little round, I’ve always been walking around with a bowling ball in my stomach.

What I didn’t expect was to not be able to actually find my vagina! I mean I feel like I know my body, and I was still thinking, “Isn’t there supposed to be a hole in here somewhere??”

And my next thought apparently was that I need to share this experience with the Internet.

Anyway the mirror is irrelevant when you don’t have three hands to hold it in place so I had to go by feel anyway.

1. Wash your hands.

Done.

2. Find a private, comfortable place and sit or lean back in a comfortable position.

There’s really no such thing as a comfortable position at this point, but I’ll let that one pass.

3. Put a lubricant such as KY Jelly, cocoa also butter, vitamin E oil, or pure vegetable oil on your thumbs and around the perineum

Emphasis mine. I’ve also seen olive and coconut oils mentioned. This is what I mean about pulling something from the kitchen.

4. Place your thumbs about 1-1 1/2″ (3-4 cm) inside your vagina…

And this is where I find out that reaching thumbs that far is impossible with that bowling ball in the way. Impossible. Hopefully fingers count. I did my best. My perineum better appreciate it.

The downside has been that afterwards everything smelled like boiled chicken to me. I’m assuming it’s the oil. Pregnancy nose is weird.

Then in the shower I started thinking… Baby C is technically still a fetus, as long as he’s inside, but I’m thinking of him as a baby since at this point he could come out any time, at term. So essentially I have a newborn baby inside of me… which is weird on its own.

But where exactly is the dividing line? While coming out, will he be a half-baby/half-fetus?

Pregnancy brain is weird too.

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.

Also, Baby C needs to flip. He was again/still breech at my appointment yesterday and at 36 weeks this is a concern. I’ve got a week to convince him to do it on his own and then I have an appointment to try to have him turned manually. If that fails, then it’ll have to be a C-section.

I know the goal is just supposed to be a healthy baby, however the idea of a planned C-section makes me feel like all of the preparing I’ve done for a normal labor and birth will have been for nothing. Not to mention, I can’t imagine having to take care of a newborn and recover from surgery at the same time. It’s great that it exists as an option, but I wasn’t planning on it being my option.

The midwives suggested the Rebozo from Spinning Babies which I need to show to Andrew since it takes two people. I was also told that sometimes just talking to them and telling them what you want can help, so I’ve been making an effort to talk to my stomach, insisting that it will be better for both of us if he will turn into position.

I believe I’ve found the true, secret reason for the pregnancy waddle.

Now this is a good time to mention my ongoing annoyance with the misuse of the word vagina. Because if I Google to make sure this is normal, I find posts like “Feel like I’ve been kicked in the vagina.” and I can’t tell if we’re experiencing the same thing. My vagina feels fine (thankfully), but my vulva is suddenly sore.

It actually started around my clit, making me wonder if this is the pseudo-unforgivable thing for the third trimester. (All this time I had assumed it would involve peeing myself at some point.) Now it’s moving down as well, but any self-troubleshooting – that is, poking around trying to find the sore spot – doesn’t lead to anything. But the slight pressure from my thighs when I walk, or move a certain way, or lay on my side… that causes pain.

I’m trying to look normal when people are around because I don’t want to be a pregnant cliche, but this certainly gives an incentive to walk funny.

I want to make note of yesterday, exactly 8 months and the day I officially lost my ankles. I expect to find them again sometime after the baby is born.

Eep, 35 weeks… I’m going to have to write like a madwoman if I’m going to get all of the pregnancy stuff written while I’m still pregnant. But there’s FFXIV to play…..

I’m trying not to feel guilty about either playing games or sleeping, because I know it’s going to be my last chance to do either. But right now I feel like I spent the weekend binging on the game. I feel much like if I had overeaten for two and a half days straight and I’m ready for some mental vegetables. And some real vegetables, because I’ve gotten lazy about cooking again and there hasn’t been enough healthy food in the kitchen.

One of the suggestions I read for dads-to-be to be involved in the pregnancy is to practice driving the route to the hospital. I had to laugh at this, because while it would be a good idea for most, I know that Andrew already know five separate routes by heart which he can choose and modify in the moment by time of day and traffic and moon phase and pollen count…

I’ve always been more path oriented, so I’ve been proud of myself every time I learn a new path and expand my mental map. I drove to Bellevue for the first time for my massage this week, the one where I said the universe had to make up for it with more stress in my life…

I was describing to a friend earlier that things are in flux right now, which led to Fluxx. Now even though I think everything has been settled, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is about to play a new win condition card any second.

Yesterday I had an official prenatal massage, which was great, but it feels like the universe decided I wasn’t stressed enough to deserve a massage and had to make up for it.

Work frustrations – I’m the only person who knows how to do certain things with our software, and despite writing documentation and suggesting people start poking around (the same way I learned) and trying to figure things out while I’m still around to answer questions, I still get emailed requests that make it clear that they haven’t so much as looked first. This has been making me irrationally, CAPS LOCK style, angry, and I’ve started to wonder if I’m going to get panicked calls asking for help after I’m gone.

Traffic frustrations – not worth mentioning except that it added to the feeling.

At home, I dropped an entire pint of good strawberries in the parking lot. The container opened, and every single one rolled in the dirt and oil and who knows what on the pavement.

Then once I thought my massage had made the day better, I got an email from my doula saying she had to back out, and giving me the names of her backups who are just as or more expensive than her. We were already stretching the budget, but it felt right when I chose her. Thankfully my second choice is still available, and I’m just hoping this turns out to be one of those “meant to be” situations that works out better in the end.

I also waiting too long to sign up for birth classes – because so much of the pregnancy was me being afraid to plan lest I tempt fate, and then suddenly there were too many things to do and not enough time – and wasn’t able to get into one of the Lamaze classes which focuses more on natural birth. My former doula mentioned going over pain management techniques which I was looking forward to because I don’t have full faith in our current class. We’ve only been to the first class of seven, but so far it just feels like regurgitated information I already have. I don’t have a lot of faith in people who blindly quote the pregnancy norms (“don’t eat sushi”) without backup, and I was disappointed at how she glossed over the more controversial subjects, like vaccinations and circumcision, leaving people who are undecided on those to fend for themselves on the Internet drama-fest those topics always are.

Finally, my baby shower had to be rescheduled, even though invites have already been sent out. Although with that being possible, I feel better about the whole thing – another one of those “meant to be” situations, except for the tragedy partially responsible for it.

I’m feeling overwhelmed by ALL THE THINGS, and when I think I have them taken care of, by not having any “things” to be working on at the moment.

This afternoon I was sitting on the apartment steps watching Merlin explore around the hallway. He doesn’t venture much beyond our floor, unlike Morgan, who runs immediately up or downstairs as soon as she gets out. (What’s extra cute is if I don’t follow, she stops halfway meowing at me like, “well are you coming or what?”)

When they were younger I tried to convince the cats that getting out was a Very Bad Thing, on par with climbing into the oven, because if both doors of the apartment building “airlock” happened to be open, and they were able to get out for real, they could be lost. However they don’t have any interest in the real outside world, and run back in if they hear any hint of a door or another person. I also tried to teach them that hallway time was a privilege of being on the harness, but that still doesn’t make them like the harness any more or try to run out the any door less.

I realized that if Merlin could talk, and asked why he wasn’t allowed to do what he was doing just then, I wouldn’t have a good answer beyond, “Because I said so.” So I propped the door open, sat on the steps, and watched, thinking this must be a preview into my future parenting style.

I found a perfect example of a company that needs the services of my imaginary company I came up with years ago – the one made up of people with dirty or otherwise weird minds who points out how things can be misinterpreted. They sell baby shoes and refer to them as “angel baby shoes”.

Every mention of “angel baby” I’ve seen before, on my baby forums, is referring to a baby who’s died either before or shortly after being born. I had to do a double-take and make sure that yes, they’re just advertising regular shoes “for your little angel”.

It reminds me of how when I first started on the fertility forums, I was surprised how many women were excited about their “rainbow babies,” thinking it was surprising so many were expecting and hoping their babies would turn out to be gay.

I’m still able to wear most of my old clothes at this point, but since maternity clothes have that obvious ‘look at my belly’ aspect that accentuates the pregnancy, it depends on the day if I look obviously pregnant or just sorta big. That being said, there were a few ways the scene of me walking back from the grocery store carrying a bag of Cheetos (too big to fit in my bag, and not worth getting out a shopping bag for one item) could be interpreted:

– Fat girl a bag of Cheetos : Oh of course, how do you think you got that way? *eye roll*

– Pregnant woman with a bag of Cheetos : Well of course, that’s okay. *knowing smile*

– Pregnant woman with a bag of Cheetos : How could you do such a thing to your unborn child!? *horrified look*

But they’re natural Cheetos, so that makes it okay, right?

I burned some potatoes last night. Well not just burned but let the water boil away when I lost track of time in the shower and got back just in time for Andrew to be taking the pot off the burner and tell me not to do that. Since I didn’t have the energy to cook more potatoes at that point, and wasn’t that hungry, and even part of me felt like I didn’t deserve to eat potatoes for being so careless, I just went to bed and felt kind of bad about myself.

That’s when I realized that if I do get hit by a true depression, it might not be as easy to admit as I was hoping, because I wouldn’t want someone to think it was over something as petty as burning potatoes (which was totally my fault anyway, so let’s stop bringing it up) when that was just the tip of an iceberg I didn’t realize was forming under the surface.

Then I got up this morning and felt bad about myself for the two baskets full of clothes I can’t seem to be bothered to put away. I feel like all of what energy I have is going towards work lately, but even that I know is just an excuse because there’s been weekends and even if I was told to take the day off consequence-free, I know I wouldn’t be jumping to attack those baskets.

Well after all that thinking about it, I had to dig into them a bit, and then got overwhelmed by the whole process of organization. I decided I want to throw out all of our plastic hangers and replace them with thin velvet ones. Closet dividers. Hanging drawers. I spent as much time on Amazon tonight as I did actually putting clothes away. My biggest problem is that I absolutely cannot figure out the proper way to store skirts when they make up the majority of my wardrobe, yet come in so many shapes and sizes and thicknesses and neither want to fold neatly or hang nicely.

Then there’s socks – I have footie socks, boot socks, and fuzzy socks that take up a lot of room, plus a couple pairs of knee-highs that more than overflow a sock drawer and shouldn’t be commingling for the sake of organization to begin with. And underwear – I’ve been thinking a lot about underwear lately. (Do I need maternity underwear? Should I return the ones I bought that seem too small or hope to be smaller myself to be able to wear them someday?) Can I throw out all of my underwear, along with the hangers, and start from scratch?

I’ve had the words, ‘I’m not sure if this is consensual’ go through my head a lot lately, starting with finding out that there’s a tiny penis growing inside of me. (I’m not sure if that should be weirder than a tiny vagina, or the fact that a baby girl has all the eggs she ever will while still in utero, but it is.) Then I have to remind myself that it must be since I consented to getting pregnant in the first place.

The whole process of reproduction, when I think too deeply about it, has seemed weird to me since we started. It just seems like humanity should have scienced ourselves out of doing it all the old fashioned way by now.

The weirdest (still using that word, it’s all weird!) part now is the idea that I can’t turn it off. I feel like a novelty, a pregnant woman, as I go through everyday life things like working and shopping. I went clothes shopping last week and found out that maternity jeans fit me perfectly! I went to a party dressed in maternity jeans and a maternity t-shirt – practically the pregnant woman’s uniform – and started to get a little self-conscious about whether I should look this pregnant this soon, when I still have months more of looking pregnant to build up to.

I can’t turn off that “look at me, I’m pregnant!” feeling I feel like I’m projecting whether I want to or not.

The good news is I’m finally feeling that reassuring movement I’ve been waiting for. This built up gradually, from lots of rumbling that I was pretty sure was mostly gas or other intestinal stuff with some baby movement possibly disguised in there, to lots of rumbling that I’m pretty sure is the baby moving with some occasional gas mixed in.

I went along to band practice tonight and the baby was actually kicking while Andrew was singing. I could feel it with my hand from the outside, but I didn’t want to interrupt the song to show him. (Also because I knew it would stop as soon as I tried.)

But again, it seems weird I first started feeling this while I was at work. This wonderful miracle thing happening inside of me, but I can’t turn it off until a more appropriate time to appreciate it.

Also, I’m still not entirely sure I consented to having an alien growing inside of me.