Soaking It In and Being Done

Soaking It In and Being Done

Welcome to the Third Trimester Twilight Zone. I am both astonished at what my body is doing and utterly miserable simultaneously. Maybe if this were my first pregnancy, I’d just be rubbing my belly, taking regular naps, and thinking what a beautiful miracle this all is. And for some brief parts of the day, I *am* appreciating what a miracle this all is. We are done after this, so I know that I’ll never feel these movements again. I’ll never have two hearts beating inside me again. I’ll never feel someone else having the hiccups again. It’s a sweet, crazy, wonderful gift to carry and grow another person. Especially after years of trying, a loss, and some wild issues along the way.


So, yes, I am soaking it all in. I’m making sure to grab Ryan’s hand and put it on my belly when the kicks are strongest. I’m showing my sons what it looks like to grow a human, and I’m honest with them about parts of it being hard and parts of it being super cool. I’m trying to keep a positive attitude about everything that has transpired this last time around, though that part has been particularly hard.

To fill you in, Dear Reader, not only did I get knocked down with the worst morning sickness of all my pregnancies and end up needing medication just to be able to eat, I had a major bump in the road right off the bat. As I went in for ultrasounds, my doctors kept mentioning an ovarian cyst on my right side, and they didn’t like how fast and large it was growing. As it neared 12 centimeters, we decided to go ahead with the surgery to remove it, in order to avoid further complications like ovarian torsion, not to mention it was so large that it was literally pushing my uterus off to one side. While the surgery, a relatively normal procedure, was underway, my doctor discovered it was actually a tumor on my ovary. The pathologist came running up to the O.R. to say that it was borderline precancerous and the whole ovary should be removed. So I woke up and learned I’d had a tumor, and was down an ovary and a fallopian tube. The recovery was hard and right around Christmas. The baby was absolutely fine, and even gave me gentle kicks so I knew he was okay on the days I was in the most pain.

That would’ve been plenty, but after the new year, I ended up lying on the couch once again, this time with a pinched nerve in my neck that caused me to sob and sob with pain and frustration. Once that healed, I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes, so I had to change my diet, eliminate sugar, and prick my finger four times a day to check my blood sugar. My fingers are full of tiny marks where I’ve poked myself over and over, making sure I’m doing everything right. I had to keep a food journal for a few weeks, and eat three meals and three snacks a day, coinciding with my tests two hours after each meal. Again, were this my first pregnancy and I didn’t have a 3 and 4 year old at home, that might have been a simple enough ask. Trying to feed them, and myself, and test my blood sugar and all that has been quite a bit to juggle.

That’s got to be it, right? Almost. Two nights ago I went to the E.R. and had my very first CAT Scan. I started having episodes of rapid heart rate, sweating, tunnel vision, and dizziness. The doctor thought maybe I had blood clots because I am Factor V positive (oh, I also had an ultrasound of my leg early on, looking for a blood clot. Turned out that was a torn plantar fascia tendon issue). Luckily, I did not have clots anywhere, but the episodes had no common denominator. The next morning, at a kids’ play place of all locations, I had another episode, and this time I caught the commonality: they happen every time I get overheated. So I’m on the lookout for more of those, while trying to stay cool and hydrated, and am hoping that was the LAST thing I’ll be dealing with before this baby comes.


Soooo, yes, this is a Rainbow Baby, a miracle, and what the medical field terms a “Geriatric Pregnancy.” It’s amazing. He’s super active all the time and I’m grateful for every kick and movement. However, I’m ready to be done. I’m ready to recover, to take better care of this body, and to make sure to honor what she has been through this final pregnancy. I’m due in a few weeks, but would be just delighted if he felt like coming out any day now. I’ve felt selfish for hoping he came early. So many people have said, “Hang in there, he just has to cook a little longer!” And I’ve smiled through my teeth while wanting to offer for them to finish the ‘cooking’ instead. I cried to Ryan about being a horrible mother for just wanting to be done. He said, “Are you kidding me? You have two small kids, I work a crazy schedule, and this has been the hardest pregnancy of your life. You’re uncomfortable, you had surgery, and you’re ready to have your own body back. All of that is understandable. You’re amazing. You’re a superhero.”


All this to say, one can be simultaneously grateful for an experience and ready for it to be over. Come on, Little Guy, I think we’re ready now, don’t you?



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