Can I just say that these last couple weeks of pregnancy should be classified under Ways to Make an Enemy Speak like Chinese Water Torture? For a type A personality like myself, this is about as cruel and unusual as it gets.

I couldn’t be more done. Over it. Finished. GET HER OUT! And I say that with an air of hesitancy because I don’t want to seem ungrateful. No one, NO ONE, appreciates this pregnancy more than me. I am thankful each and every day for the giant belly, the extra 30 pounds, the stretch marks, the completely irrational crying, heartburn, and every little somersault I feel in my gut. But man I’m done. I think it’s fair to say this wasn’t a “normal” pregnancy. It started all the way back in early July with a six-week fertility-drug roller coaster that turned into pregnancy, that turned into months of unexplainable bleeding, and the fear every day that it would be a fleeting moment and never come to pass.

But here we sit one entire week from our due date and I can hardly believe we’re here. The reality is looming and is unspeakably overwhelming. And I want her out. I want her out because I’m tired of talking about it and planning and thinking, I just want to hold her. I want to get this next chapter started. I’d also like to not cry when my husband holds up cutesy embroidered pillows at Hobby Lobby or I see a red-head in a magazine, or someone looks at me. (All true events.)

So this is the start of week 39. I feel like 38 was a blur. Shelton keeps teasing me for trying desperately to initiate my labor, and it’s all fair. Thankfully the weather is finally nice and we’ve been able to talk a walk every evening, on top of a couple “necessary” trips to Target, Sams, Hobby Lobby and others so that I could literally just wander around. We went to a movie Friday night (Death at a Funeral… hilarious!); I figured we’d watch one more in a theater as they will likely be introducing 9D technology the next time we make it out to one. I hoped the hard belly laughs would break my water. I also hoped that bypassing the slackers waiting on the elevator and climbing the three flights of stairs (then going back down one because we went too far) would start something. But it didn’t.

I did no less than a dozen loads of laundry this weekend. I did dishes. I grocery shopped. I cooked. I cleaned. Nothing.

I keep eyeballing the neighbor’s giant trampoline like a big piece of hot, gooey doughy pizza. They wouldn’t mind if the pregnant stranger hopped on and tried to shake out the baby, would they?

We’ve reached this point – the point of no return and the point of absolute uncertainty as to when she’s going to decide to show up. I take back what I said about flicking her in the bladder (because you know, payback sucks) if she’ll just go ahead and get out already.

Hmm. It appears I completely glossed over doing a week 34 update. For being the only week I’ve missed in this pregnancy, I’d say I’m doing pretty well. I did make a couple of updates that week:

Nesting

The Car Seat

As for week 35. Big exhale! We made it! Our OB told us early on that week 35 was the “safety circle” and if I went early, at this point he wouldn’t do anything to stop the labor because the baby would be developed and healthy enough to deliver. So hard to believe, 35 weeks; how far we’ve come, and yet it’s literally been a blink in time. I’m sure the first 35 weeks of her life will blast past us even more quickly. Part of me needs and wants all of this to slow down, and the other half of me is saying “Are you nuts! Let’s do this!”.

The “I’m dones” have begun. I’m tired, achy, emotional and ready to just meet this little person. I cry every single day. Sometimes it’s a weepy cry, and other times it’s an all out hysterical, sobbing breakdown. It can be brought on by a Kanye West song in the car (no joke), the wrong answer to a question from Shelton, an ache or pain, or simply because. Just because. My mom’s favorite answer to any question!

I’m taking hot baths nearly every single night because my back, hips, thighs and abdomen are so sore and achy that it helps put my muscles at ease before I go in for the long, restless, attempted night of sleep. Shelton generously offers a back rub most nights of the week and I’ve yet to turn him down. One of the things that’s been helping me to fall asleep is he’ll lay behind me on my side of the bed until I crash. I’ve been criticized (and completely agree) of having become more clingy, so these extra few minutes together are so calming and I’m able to drift to sleep for a few hours. Once the middle of the night bathroom runs and achy hips start, it’s pretty much over. I wake up anywhere between 2a.m. and 6a.m. and I’m pretty much up at that point. It’s incredibly frustrating, not to mention exhausting. It’s easier to get up than fight the bed and the muscles and the positions for comfort and REM cycles. I’m mildly appreciative of the insomnia because I’m only going to have to get more used to it in the coming weeks.

My body is a constantly evolving science project that amazes the both of us. The size, shape and feel of my belly seems to change almost daily and I can’t help but take notice and constantly comment. I’ve nicknamed myself The Moose, even though I’ve really only gained a meager 28 pounds. My breasts are worth 10 posts all by themselves. I’ve always had a sizable set, I started as a smaller D. When Shelton and I look at pictures of me from last summer I swear it looks as though I’ve yet to hit puberty and that training bra is more for show than function. The comparison of then to now is striking and yet another thing I know is only just getting started. The DD nursing bras I bought I’m fearful aren’t going to be anywhere near enough.

We graduated birth class this past week. People call it a waste of time but I’m telling you that we found it to be very valuable. There’s so much you assume you know, and you quickly learn there’s a hell of a lot that you don’t know. I didn’t retain all of it, I have no idea what’s supposed to happen at these different stages. But I do know that when I’m in the throes of labor and something comes up it will all be very familiar and I won’t feel like I’m being blindsided. I also found it to be very helpful to get Shelton caught up on anatomy and the logistics of what’s going to happen and I know that will make him an even better source of support during the labor.

The nursery is also done. Done!!! It took us for-ev-er to get started but it’s now a room that’s only missing a baby. It’s beautiful, too! We’ve been so blessed and so fortunate to receive so many generous gifts, and so we have received everything from butt paste to the crib. Monetary gifts allowed us to pick out a gorgeous dresser (Shelton calls it a chest of drawers) and we were so thrilled that our eyes didn’t deceive us and the color is a near spot-on match for the crib. We also had a small bookshelf we moved in to the room that matched the cherry finish. Shelton woke up yesterday and said “Who the hell is staying with us and why did they bring all their baby crap with them?”. I just laughed as we both realized how quickly this house is turning in to one that can accommodate all three of us.

For all the times in my life I’ve whined about being tired, I take it back. Because prior to now I had no idea what I was talking about. And I know (I know… I know…) that two months from now I’ll probably be able to echo that sentiment when Shelton and I are slogging through our days with one eye open running on two hours of sleep and desperately trying to remember what it feels like to actually enjoy a REM cycle.

I think that’s my biggest take away from week 33 – just exhaustion. It’s not from lack of trying. I’m averaging about 10 hours of sleep each night. It’s not enough. I have to beg myself to get out of bed in the morning, by noon I’m ready for a nap (and sometimes I take one) and by the time we’ve eaten dinner it’s all I can do to make it through the next couple of hours.

Last week was also another long episode of neurotic Brandi. I swear if I don’t cry at least once a day then I haven’t lived up to my potential. Sometimes it’s just a few tears; usually it’s an all-out hysterical break down with ugly-cry sobbing that results in swollen eyes and copious amounts of snot. I think I can use this to my advantage when the baby starts crying and won’t stop. I can say “You think you can cry? Oh, I’ll show you how to cry.” And then we’ll both sit in the closet alone together crying until Shelton comes home to save us from ourselves.

What is that you’re reading between the lines? Oh yeah, it’s anxiety. We’ve got a little bit of that up in here, too. You know, just for good measure. Sheesh! I’m ready, I am SO ready for this baby girl to get here. I want to see what she looks like and hold her and finally start this circus act we signed ourselves up for. At the same time, I think someone should step in. I feel in no way prepared to take this on. I mean, we don’t even own a car seat people, how am I supposed to be expected to teach her how to tie her shoes and do simple math. I can’t even do simple math!! (i.e. this is a blog with words, not numbers.) The anxiety comes in waves and it do-si-dos its way in and out with the excitement. It’s like an emotional tornado with the warm air from one mixing with the cool air of another and then it rips the roof right off of our sanity.

We attended the fourth of six birth classes. These are a trip. The lady teaching is a riot, and not because she tries to be. The birthing videos via VHS tape are rather entertaining, as are the scrapbooked posters illustrating the birth processes. This past week was the c-section video and I thought Shelton and I were both going to lose our dinner. We’re squeemish people. And while I can appreciate that sometimes a woman’s abdomen needs to be cut open and a baby removed from the inside, I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to watch my own (God willing we won’t have one) and I don’t want to watch someone else’s. I also find the relaxation exercises to be rather comical because they are broken variations of the yoga I’ve been doing since the start of my second trimester. All I can do is sit there and think “That’s not how you breathe.” “That’s not how you should do a pelvic tilt.” “That’s definitely not how you should meditate.” I’m no expert, but I just want to scream out and tell the other three women in our class not to do it and to meet me at yoga Monday instead.

We were able this past weekend to truly celebrate what’s about to happen as our house was infiltrated by most of my dearest friends and family for the last of our three baby showers. This house was positively buzzing all weekend with a lot of laughing, a lot of playing and a lot of just catching up. It was a gorgeous shower organized by my sister and co-hosted by several women who I count my lucky stars to know and love. We’re feeling a lot more prepared now as the nursery is starting to burst at the seams with diapers, clothes, boppies, bottles, bibs, and even a fish-net-turned-bathtub-floater-remover. We couldn’t be more grateful for all of the gifts and the help in turning our little home into a baby-friendly zone. This weekend Shelton and I plan to sit down and take inventory of what we’ve got, what we need and put those gift cards to good use and buy those final necessities. Like a car seat. And Cabernet.

Even if I wanted to write my typical pregnancy week-in-review post, I couldn’t. Because prior to 6 a.m. Wednesday, I have absolutely no recollection of the events that may or may not have taken place. I think my life will be forever known as Pre-Wednesday and Post-Wednesday. We are currently catching our breath in the aftermath of what was the most painful, dramatic and awful week of my entire life. And while statements I make like that can sometimes have a hint of exaggeration, I assure you that that statement is a hard, cold fact.

I was feeling OK this past week. Monday and Tuesday I complained of being a little more tired than normal, even a little queasy and a touch of not feeling well in general. So I took a long nap on Tuesday and generally took it easy and didn’t think too much of it.

Then, it happened. Wednesday morning Shelton left at an absurdly early hour, like 5:30, because he happened to wake up that early and figured he’d go in to catch up on work. I then woke up about 6:15 to go to the bathroom and then catch another two hours or so of sleep before getting up for good. At 6:16, I swear one of two things was going to happen: I was either go to collapse and die right there in our bedroom, or in that same spot in our bedroom I was going to deliver this baby. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the pain that was emanating from my abdomen, that kept me from standing up straight and made it nearly impossible to walk across the room to use the restroom. I made my way back to the bed and tried to lie down, which proved to be even more painful than trying to stand. So I got up on all fours, pushed my head in to a pillow and started bawling. Then I called Shelton and explained that I was in so much pain and he turned the car around and came home.

By 7:30 Shelton was ushering me out the door to go to the hospital, and I was bawling. The pain was like nothing I’d ever felt before, and the thought of having to fold myself into the Maxima for the 20-minute rush-hour drive to the hospital felt like more than I could bear. He called our OB, Dr. W, who advised we go directly to our delivery hospital as he didn’t know what was going on and they’d get in touch with him when they figured it out.

One of the nice things about being pregnant and going to the hospital for an emergency situation is that you get to roll directly passed the ER and right up to the labor and delivery floor. No waiting, no lines, no BS, just instant medical care. The way it should be! So that’s what we did. By the time Shelton wheeled me in to the L&D check-in, I was bawling again and barely able to stay seated in the wheelchair. They asked if I was in labor and I just shook my head and said I hope not.

They quickly put me in a bed and took a urine sample, which looked like watered down Coke, so that raised some concerns (we later learned I had blood in my urine). Then the lengthy process of taking my history and figuring out all my symptoms. A wonderful doctor came in and started interviewing me to assess what was wrong, they ran an IV line as a precaution in case it was something bad, called Dr. W, and I sat there writhing in pain. By 10 a.m. they had determined that it was most likely a kidney stone and I just sat there thinking how is this possible? Do this many bad things happen to one pregnant woman? Apparently, they do!

I was given a shot of morphine in that IV line and instantly felt like someone just wiped away all the pain. I was in la-la land and felt great for the first time that morning. I  was then taken down for a kidney ultrasound, because you can’t have a CT scan when you’re pregnant, which would have given us a much more definitive answer. The sono showed that my ureter (the tube that transfers urine, and kidney stones, from the kidney to the bladder) was not blocked. That’s really all they could see, that and my kidney was swollen. With that, they sent me home with a prescription for percoset, a filter to catch my urine and watch for a stone, instructions to drink about four liters of fluid, and instructions to come back if the pain worsened or any of a number of other symptoms presented themselves.

We returned home and I begged Shelton to stay with me as I was unsure what the day would hold. He filled my prescription and began pumping me full of Powerade and water. When the morphine started to wear off I took one percoset and went to sleep for three hours. I woke around 5:30 p.m., felt OK, but exhausted and got online to check email that I had missed that day. That would be the last calm moment we experienced for 12 hours.

Around 6:00 the pain started to creep back, so Shelton offered half a percoset. I tend to be fairly sensitive to pain medication, and given how well the whole percoset knocked me out earlier, we thought a half would take care of the pain. But we were wrong. More wrong than two people could possibly ever be. Half an hour after that percoset the pain was back in full force. No amount of sitting, laying, standing, walking would relieve it. So another half percoset. Around 7:00 I climbed in to a hot bath, and while relaxing, it didn’t take the edge off the soul-crushing pain. This was followed by another half percoset. At 8:00 Shelton asked if I were hungry, and the only thing I could fathom eating was a smoothie, so he made one, and it took me a million years to drink it in between grunts, groans and moans. Then I took another percoset. Up to two whole percosets by 8:30/9:00, I had maxed out my dosage and the pain was beyond comprehension. Shelton called the doctor back and he instructed us to go back to the hospital, take another morphine shot, and prepare to stay a day or two.

Due to our recent back/forth to the hospital I had an overnight bag already packed. So we tossed the dog into her kennel, the bag in to the car, and I rolled myself, bawling once again, in to the Maxima. We tried to hit the main entrance and take ourselves up to the L&D floor, but the main entrance was locked. Which meant ER. At 10 o’clock at night. Shelton wheeled me in and the woman asked if I were in labor. I explained that I was there earlier, had kidney stones and just needed to get to the fourth floor. Here’s where the long ranty letter to my hospital will begin, because the admissions woman was so rude and told me I basically didn’t know what I was talking about and she’d figure out what to do with me. Mind you, I’m visibly in so much pain I don’t know how I was able to even speak to her.

For FORTY FIVE MINUTES they parked my wheelchair in a hallway in the ER, taking their sweet time filling out paperwork, that had been completed 12 hours earlier. Shelton was pacing and spitting nails he was so mad, I just kept urging him to relax and let them do their jobs. Finally someone from L&D came to collect me and we were then faced with the second bullet item on my long ranty letter to the hospital. I’ve never encountered a ruder, colder more incompetent nurse in my life. For the encore, she was followed by the dumbest, most clueless, sorry excuse of a doctor I’ve ever encountered in my life. All on the night where I would have rather been run over by a dump truck than suffer through five more minutes of what I was feeling.

Again, having been there earlier in the day, and realizing this hospital in the year 2010 relies on paper records and not a single electronic health record, had to capture my entire history yet again by hand. The doctor was asking questions and checking for symptoms that made no sense. TWICE we had to ask him if had called my OB to which he replied “Oh, we’ll get to it.” Maybe you can get to it when I tear your balls off with rusty pliers and you begin to get a sense of what I’m feeling!!! We told them three, four, five times I had been there earlier, Doctor so-and-so had given me morphine, it worked, just give me more morphine now. What did doctor doofus offer? Dinner. It was eleven o’clock at night and he wanted to know if we were hungry. Ef you and your dinner, give me a mother effing shot of morphine NOW or I’m going to jump out of this window because it will feel better!

Finally, Shelton made it very clear what we were there for and they decided to stop waiting to admit me and run an IV line and just give me a regular shot in the butt of morphine. Around midnight. About 2.5 hours after we arrived at the hospital. The morphine took the edge off just enough that I was able to stop crying and lie down in the bed and relax a little, but it by no means had the same effect it had had earlier in the day and the pain was still excruciating.

Shortly thereafter a wheelchair arrived to take me to my new room, where Shelton and I would end up staying another 36 hours. The bed was super comfortable, we had a private room with a bathroom and a nurse so amazing I was devastated when her shift ended six hours later.  They ran the IV line, drew blood and at 2 a.m. delivered a second, doubled dose of morphine. Which again, had little to no effect on the pain. Shelton stood by my bed while I stepped on his toes, clenched his hands, pushed my head as deep into his chest as I could, screamed, and I tried to not think about dying. At 4 a.m. they delivered a third dose of morphine and it still had no effect on the pain.

However, I was able to finally lie down in the bed and doze in and out despite the pain. I think exhaustion had taken over and I was just broken down. Shelton snuck out to tend to the dog at home and missed the single finest moment of the entire night. At 5 a.m. the nurse returned with a shot of dilaudid, a pain medicine they hoped would actually work. She shot it into my IV and within seconds, for the first time in 12 hours, I felt relief. It worked. So well that I slept for a solid 45 minutes without crying or moaning.

Shelton returned around 6 a.m., at this point awake for more than 24 hours, and took a cat nap next to me. At 7 a.m. they returned for another dilaudid shot and shortly thereafter my OB arrived. I can’t even tell you how thrilled I was to see Dr. W. It was like the hell-on-Earth 12 hours had finally come to a close and he was there to tell me I wasn’t going to die. He told me the rest of the day they would give me dilaudid pills, that way I could prepare myself to be able to go home. The rest of the day I was in a druggy haze, moderate pain (but it was tolerable) and I was making 20-30 minute trips to the bathroom, thanks to the jug of water at my bedside and the IV drip of saline.

I was cleared to eat whatever I wanted, and took advantage of the fairly impressive menu. I didn’t have a huge appetite, but I managed to keep food on my stomach. Shelton worked most of the day and I slipped in and out of naps with frequent trips to the bathroom all day. Around 6:00 that night, they told me I could go home if I wanted and I insisted on staying. I was scared to death we’d get home, have another flare up and have to go through the hell of the ER and L&D check-in once again.

At that point I decided to start going every three hours for my pills instead of two, and I was managing just fine. At 11 that night the nurse came in to do a fetal monitor on the baby and I told her that while I was due for a pill at midnight, I wanted to try to sleep through it and I’d page her if we needed it. So I slept through it, and didn’t buzz for a pill until 2 a.m. When she returned to do the fetal monitor at 5 a.m., she asked if I was ready for another pill and I told her that I was going to pass, I felt fine. For the first time in 48 hours I was comfortable, without pain and relaxed. She also told me she’d had kidney stones at 20 weeks. So I asked her which was worse, and she said the stones were more painful than the labor.

At 7 Friday morning my OB returned to check on me. I told him that with a prescription I was ready to go home and he didn’t disagree. So they started the check-out process. At around 8 a.m. I went in to use the restroom as the nurse was finalizing my paperwork, and found the stone. It had passed. I was sorely disappointed when I saw how teeny tiny it was. For all I’d been through, I wanted it to be something I could brag about and be proud of, maybe have bronzed so I could wear it on a necklace. I just couldn’t believe something so tiny had brought me to my knees in the most unimaginable pain I’d ever been in.

Shelton brought me home, filled my prescription, and I slept the rest of the day, as did he. I think it’s worth mentioning that Shelton was awake for about 50 hours, never left my side, and took care of every whimper, request and trip to the bathroom I had. He was incredible and without him I’m certain I would have died. Throughout the entire agonizing nightmare, I was so thankful to have him there with me.

Also worth mentioning is that this baby I’m carrying is both incredibly strong and crazy. Given the narcotics cocktail I had, which they repeatedly assured me was fine for the baby, she never stopped moving. Not once. Kicking and rolling and playing the entire time. Every nurse that used the fetal monitor laughed as they literally had to hunt her down to find a heartbeat.

Another worthy mention, our friends the Amores, who swooped in and took care of our puppy while we were away. Amidst all that was going on we were so stressed over what to do with the dog and they didn’t hesitate a second to drive out to our house, pick her up, and take her not only home but to work for two days. God sends!

Friday night as Shelton and I were exhausted and ready to head to bed, a knock at the door startled us. I mean, 10 o’clock on a Friday night we don’t typically have visitors. Shelton opened the door to find my sister, sister-in-law, and niece, they’d driven five hours from Arkansas to come see us. It was the best get well surprise ever. Saturday the pain returned so I continued taking my pain pills. My sisters cooked, did laundry and helped take care of me, filling water and doing other small things. That afternoon we’d already planned to have my mom and aunts over to clean out and move the nursery to the basement and get the nursery set-up upstairs. The house was buzzing with a lot of women, and they with Shelton got our entire nursery put together. It’s beautiful and I’m loving walking in there and just looking around knowing that’s where we’re bringing our baby home.

Before this week, I didn’t know it was possible to experience pain like I did. It was brutal. I’m so grateful that it wasn’t anything more than it was, that we had a definitive conclusion and that overall I was very well taken care of by the hospital, Shelton and my doctor.

This morning we started week 30, meaning we’re at the T-minus 10 week countdown. Shelton and I are both praying it’s an uneventful 2.5 months. We can’t take any more excitement like this.

My weekly update is a few days late due to some maintenance we’re trying to do to the site. So not to fear, all is well!

Yes, I said well! I’m on day eight of no bleeding! That is very exciting and a trend I hope we can keep up as long as possible. I pretty much spent the whole of week 28 either sitting in a big chair in the living room or lying in my bed. I even had Shelton move a card table in front of that big chair so I could set-up my office. I only left the house three times the entire week. And while it was mind-numbingly boring and drove me bonkers, I think the self-imposed “do not move” on top of the doctor-imposed “vaginal rest” proved to be worthwhile.

The baby is awesome! She seriously moves all day long. She’s usually up before I am in the morning, wiggling about, ready to start the day. (Probably just ready to eat something!) And then whether it be full-on “shows” or just her head or butt resting in a very uncomfortable position, I can feel her throughout the day. There is no doubt she’s growing either. I can definitely feel a difference in the shape and weight that I’m carrying. But these are all good things! Lots of moving and lots of growing just means a healthy baby!

Last week I signed-up for and paid for our birthing class, which is held once a week for six week at our delivery hospital. You know, I probably don’t need it. Millions of women then and now have given birth without so much as a doctor’s appointment, much less a six-week course, but I think I’ll feel better having done it. Hopefully Shelton will, too. I just don’t want to feel like we’re walking blind in to that delivery room. I have been warned not to watch the epidural video, which, I unfortunately, have already watched online and DEAR GOD you should have to have your mother sign a permission slip before you’re allowed to view things like that! I tell you what, I paid $60 for this class. I’m not getting any kind of college credit for it and my GPA doesn’t depend on it. So if they decide to venture down a road we aren’t comfortable with, I’m taking my two pillows, beach towel and husband and getting the H out of Dodge!

Symptom wise I’m starting to feel a lot slower. Much like in the early part of the pregnancy, I’m very tired most of the time. I’m back to early bed times and sleeping about 10 hours each night (interrupted by no less than three trips to the bathroom each and every night). The leg cramps seem to have waned for the most part, although my thighs, calves and lower back are quite achy by the time I wake in the morning. Rolling over in the middle of the night, or even trying to get out of bed, is proving to be a more difficult task. I’ve moved a stool in to the shower to sit on and I find Shelton helping me up off the couch or out of the tub more and more. The heart burn continues to melt my innards and the Pepcid AC/Tums cocktail is about as useful as putting out a housefire with a 20 oz. bottle of Dasani.

Starting next week I’m on two-week appointments with the OB, Dr. W. It’s an exciting milestone showing us that we’re at t-minus 11 weeks until this little monster gets here. My first of three showers is in 2.5 weeks and I can’t wait to start celebrating with all of our friends and family (not to mention help this nesting bug take a day off).