For some reason, I thought that as I got further into the pregnancy, I'd become less anxious.
I was wrong.
I actually find myself growing more anxious with each passing week (hard to believe that I could be more anxious!). Today we hit 36 weeks. The internet tells me a lot of things, including that he could survive if born now, probably with minimal time in a NICU.
That should be comforting.
And it is. Yet it isn't.
Because I KNOW now. I know the stories. I've read the blogs, I've been to the support group meetings for people who lost babies. Being viable is great, but terrible things still happen. Babies are fine, and then they're not fine, and there often isn't any reasonable explanation why.
So I am anxious, so scared for him.
We ended up in the hospital two weeks ago. My blood pressure hit the highest that it's been this pregnancy and it wouldn't go down. It was after hours and I spoke to the on call doctor at my OB's office, who suggested I go into the hospital and get checked. I hung up the phone, cried and had a panic attack. Once my sweet husband calmed me down, we drove to the hospital. I was brought in, hooked up. And he was fine. Once I was hooked up to the monitors, once I heard his little heartbeat, my blood pressure started to go down. They tested me for preeclampsia, and there were no signs.
Then on Sunday night, I noticed he wasn't as active. It normally takes me 20-30 minutes to get to my 10 kick count. On Sunday, it was 93 minutes. Juice and sugar didn't seem to help. They ALWAYS help. It brought me back, back to those terrible times of waiting and hoping and hoping and waiting for her to move, and the terrible times when she did not. I couldn't shake the terrible feeling. So Monday we went into the doctor again. Again I was hooked up, and again he was fine. The nurses were very sweet, saying that I should always come in if I'm worried. Perhaps it's because the second I heard his heartbeat I started to weep.
Monday night, we went home and he kicked up a storm. So he's that kind of baby, perhaps, stubborn like me, on his own time.
I'm in the home stretch at work now, and wonder if being at home will make me even more crazy. Without emails and work to distract me, am I going to go down a spiral of worry?
It's very possible.
I don't want him to come early. But oh my goodness, how I want him here.