This post is part of ChicagoNow’s monthly “Blogapalooza” challenge where bloggers are given a prompt at 9 PM and one hour to complete a post on the topic. Tonight’s challenge was, ““Write about your tomorrow. Not figuratively, literally write about anything that you hope, fear, believe, expect — anything — that you may experience tomorrow.”
And I’m starting this at 9:32pm… so here goes.
Tomorrow I’m going to my doctor’s office for my first solo ultrasound. We are twenty two weeks pregnant with our first baby and my husband has a business conference that he can’t get out of. Us being newbies, we thought that he was supposed to attend each doctor’s appointment, I’ve since found out from my friends that the big ultrasounds later in the pregnancy are usually the ones that hubbies go to. Tomorrow means a lot of different things to me. It means that tonight I definitely won’t be able to sleep more than three hours at a time. Anxiety and excitement have become my nighttime companions for these last five months. Everyone says this is my body getting me ready for what life will be like with a newborn. This doesn’t make me feel better. I dread going to bed knowing that I’ll be up at 3:30am. I usually grab my phone at 4:30am for company. Sometimes I want to go to Facebook and post in all caps, “I’M UP, IS ANYONE ELSE?”.
I miss taking Tylenol PM and lying there waiting for the magic serum to take it’s effect. I should be an expert in this department because since finding out we were finally pregnant I can count on one hand how many times I’ve had uninterrupted sleep. I’ve purchased new pillows, I’ve tried ALL the popular sleep remedies that I see on Facebook, I’ve breathed in and out for 4, 7, and 8 seconds so many times it’s become part of every night routine right after brushing, flossing, and kissing my husband good night.
Tomorrow I hope to see an active figure kicking and waving on the big screen, I hope to hear that everything looks normal, and I hope to God the ultrasound lady doesn’t screw up and reveal the sex of the baby (which may or may not have already happened when we went in for our twenty week ultrasound, my husband didn’t hear a peep, but I’m pretty sure the doctor on duty screwed up and used a pronoun while describing the on screen action.) I fear that they”ll have to poke me numerous times while looking for a generous vein to collect my blood (try my hand it’s more giving than my arm!). Of course I fear that they’ll say that every thing is not perfect. I believe that things will go smoothly and that it will be a normal uneventful appointment. I expect that I’ll be in and out in less than an hour and go about my day. My very tired day.