I'm feeling very cranky the last two days. Well, pissy actually. That would be a more accurate word. Cranky sounds like a kid who missed his nap. I feel a little more like a kid who just had someone come along and steal their ice cream cone or something. I sort of want to punch someone. I keep getting irrationally angry about things like laundry left too long in the washer, to the point of throwing said laundry and then bursting into tears of frustration. I feel like I am stuck in some kind of terrible inertia, wandering around grumpily and spinning my wheels while accomplishing nothing of either housework or good parenting. We returned home from Canada late Sunday night, and it has taken me until this morning to get all the laundry finished up and put away. Don't even ask about the state of the rest of the house, but I just can't seem to care.
I don't know. I know it's normal to be worried until we find out for sure what's going on. I have cried about it like three times already, and I'm not really a crier. I just keep hearing the doctor's voice saying, "Now, this doesn't mean you're definitely going to lose your baby or anything..." And me thinking, "But it is a possibility. You're bringing it up, so that means it's possible." But I can't even think about that too deeply. I keep telling myself that the WORST case scenario would just be that the baby would have to be delivered early, via C-section, and that he'd be in the NICU for awhile and/or would be underweight from intrauterine growth restriction.
Even that is pretty awful to consider right now, but as long as he makes it and we get to take him home I think I'm not going to care too much about the other stuff. And obviously I'm hoping that none of that happens and that somehow this stuff just... resolves itself, I guess, and the baby will be fine and go to term. I just feel so mad still that this is even happening, and that finding out about it kind of ruined the fun of finding out the sex of the baby for me.
I just want so badly to know if something is seriously wrong or not. I want so badly for some kind of guarantee that if I do x and x then the baby will be ok. I want to stop feeling like the universe is totally against me having children and is constantly trying to thwart things, or that I am just genuinely terrible at gestating babies and that we would be better off hiring a surrogate if we ever have more.
Hmm, wallowing in self pity much? I know, I need to snap out of it. For the other kids' sake if not for myself. I did feel a lot better last night after talking to some friends, and making light of some of the otherwise depressing doctoral orders, such as (please look away if you're squeamish and/or related to me) forbidding me to have an orgasm until the baby is born. Yep. The fun just never ends. Since my uterus is kind of irritable and the Braxton Hicks are continuing to come rather painfully on a regular basis and since we're going to have enough early labor problems to contend with if the placenta starts deteriorating, she said I shouldn't do anything that would trigger contractions, and that orgasm was one of the things I should specifically avoid. I can't wait to break THIS one out in about fifteen years: "Son, you had better not give me grief about this! You know what I gave up for YOU while I was pregnant?!"