A Bad Case of Crazy

Okay, so I've avoided writing any of this because I've been hiding and avoiding people like the plague.
... and secretly thinking that if I write this down I will jinx everything and slow it all down even more.

I really thought that I would be writing her birth story by now... not about how mental I've become.

It's quite a long and boring saga. For me, I feel like I've been living in some strange dream where I don't feel anything like myself and absolutely nothing makes sense.

Where to start... where to start?

I guess we'll start at the beginning... and when we get to the end... we'll stop.

WEDNESDAY:
Time for another Doctors appointment. I actually didn't take Ben with me to this one.
One: he was really busy at work.
Two: I ignorantly figured that if I didn't bring him along, we would get some good news and have to rush like crazy people to get our bags and get to the hospital.
I go through the normal process and check. The week before: 1cm and 75% effaced. This week: 90% effaced and STILL 1cm. I had made no progress dilating. I cannot describe how disappointed I was in that news. I cried all the way home. It didn't make sense! Though they weren't bad contractions, I was still having them... I had thought for sure I would have made SOME progress. I was so upset and nothing was making me happy, so I went to bed at 6:30.

THURSDAY:
The next morning, I was moody, tired, and suffering from a cry-hangover. Plus, while work hasn't changed, it's begun to take a toll on me. I just can't keep up with things like I used to any more. It's hard to be nice. It's hard to think straight.
I decided I needed coffee. Even one little cup would be able to help. I go to the back to make coffee... and the coffee pot is messed up. It's pouring out tar... and I haven't even put the grounds in yet. I'm ashamed to say that I got more than a little worked up over the coffee pot. I was so close to cussing, it wasn't funny. Plus, while I was standing at the bar trying to fix the coffee pot, I was having contractions.
I ended up leaving work to go to the gas station to buy a cup of coffee. (Which makes me feel bad because most people do not appreciate seeing a pregnant lady drinking a cup of caffeinated anything. Apparently it makes you a bad mom.) BUT I never made it in the store. I sat out in the parking lot talking and crying all over my mom for 20 minutes... and I couldn't stop crying. Blessedly, I really do have THE most understanding boss in the world. I went home for a couple of hours, drank some coffee, and decided to go lay down. Not long after that, I noticed that I was having pretty steady contractions. For the heck of it, I decided to start timing them. 10 minutes apart... then 7 minutes... then 5 minutes... I call the hubs and the doctor. The contractions keep moving closer together - by the time I call the doctor again, my contractions are 3-4 minutes apart and they aren't getting better with walking or drinking water. It's agreed that I come in ASAP. I let my boss know that I had accidentally lied, and that I would be going to the doctor instead of back to work. I call Ben and he books it home. We throw some clothes in a couple of bags, and put everything in the car. Ben was hilarious - I thought he was going to leave me at home for a minute there. He was fussing at me for moving too slowly. He was out the door, throwing bags in the trunk, and telling me to pull the door shut on my way out. As he put it: I really needed to hurry up and take this seriously - we could be having a baby!
I kept telling him I didn't want to get my hopes up, and that he shouldn't either. Plus, even if we were in labor, it could take a long time. To which he replied that the doctors said to come in when my contractions were five minutes apart - and we were closer than that - AND that he could be excited if he wanted to be. It was super cute to watch him. Like I tell him all the time: "Reminds me why I married you."
By the time we get to the doctors office, my contractions are still 3 minutes apart and I've been counting for over 3 hours. They take me back almost immediately and take us to get a Non-Stress Test. (Which by the way, is wonderful. You get to lay back in this huge, comfy recliner and watch TV - all while getting to listen to your baby's heartbeat.) I was having contractions, so they checked me again. Other than her head being really low, I had made NO progress since the day before. None. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Nothing. Doc said it looked like early labor and that it could last a couple hours or a couple days before I have to come back in... or it could completely fizzle out. He gave me some instructions of what to look out for and asked the nurse to check my blood pressure again before I left. (It was a little high) By the time she came back in, I was crying all over Ben and I  started crying all over her too. She was so sweet about it. Since my blood pressure was still high, the doc had me scheduled to come back in on Monday - if I didn't have the baby before then.
We left, and ate hot wings.
I was able to track my contractions at 3 minutes apart for another 3 hours.
Right before I would have gone to Labor and Delivery, they spaced out to 5 minutes. I was not about to have someone else tell me that I had made no progress, so I went to bed. Kind of pointless, because the contractions kept me up half the night.

FRIDAY:
I tell my boss I'm coming in to take care of payroll stuff, and then I head back home - where I sleep for a majority of the day. I don't really remember the rest of Friday. I'm sure it contained a lot of me trying all of the things that are supposed to put you in labor. (I'm an expert on them now - I should be able to tell you everything that DOESN'T work... which is pretty much all of it.)

SATURDAY:
I get up feeling FANTASTIC. Which, makes me feel even better because EVERYONE says the day before you go into labor you feel like your old self again. PLUS it was my day on the guessing roster... and Mother knows best, right?! Except that by 2pm... I hit a wall. I'm tired, and I realize that this baby is not going to make her appearance on the 12th. Plus, about every five minutes I was being asked if I was feeling any pains. I started feeling rushed. I started feeling like I should be able to do something to make this child decide to come out. Worst part though: Apparently, I'M the one holding us up. I'M the one who isn't dilating. Everything else appears to be all lined up. By this time, all of that - plus contractions were really starting to wear me down.
I'M TIRED.
I decide to give up. Thinking about the fact that it would be another 3+ weeks only made me sad. Maybe if I would stop trying to make her come out, it would help me be less stressed - which worked until I lost my mucus plug Saturday night. (Another one of those things that everyone says happened to them the day before they went into labor. Good luck not obsessing about it anymore.)

SUNDAY:
I skip church and spend the day as a recluse in the house. I thought for sure that today would be the day. I was home alone, and Ben had to drive to timbucktoo (sp?) to get a pony. He would be gone for HOURS. OF COURSE I WOULD GO INTO LABOR WHEN HE WOULD BE FAR AWAY, RIGHT?
Wrong.
I realize that there is no way that I'm going to be able to make it through the work week. As much as I didn't want to do it - I realized that I'm going to have to ask my boss for some time off. This decision did not come easily. I LOVE my job. I enjoy it. Not only that, but I ALWAYS show up. I haven't ever had a sick day. If I DID take a day off, it was usually on a Friday - with notice WELL in advance... and if I could, I would take some of my work with me. But I had been crying at least 2-3 times a day since Wednesday, I was horribly cranky (which would get worse if contractions kicked in, and it's kind of hard to explain that to people), anything could set me off... AND my brain seems to have lost almost all of its functioning.
I was still hoping that maybe I would go into labor that night and I wouldn't have to worry about it. (I even washed the bed sheets because I figured if I put fresh sheets on the bed my water would break.) In fact, my hopes got REALLY high during a trip to Wal-Mart when I rushed Ben out of the store because my contractions were getting strong enough that it was hard to talk through some of them. I even rushed past one of my old roommates and didn't say hi (Sorry Kayla!!)  because I thought that these HAD to be what everyone was talking about - and if so, I needed to get home!

MONDAY:
At least 3 women have their babies over the weekend, not one of them was me. Out of the 35+ women that I knew that were pregnant and due close to me, I am one of 2 left. I'm starting to feel like the kid who always got picked last on the playground.
So, I go to work and I talk to my boss. (Again, he is amazingly understanding.) I work until 1:30 to try and finish up a few things, and then make my way to my doctors appointment. (I left Ben again. We scheduled the appointment without looking at his work schedule because we were sure that I would have the baby by now...)To be honest, I think that the nurses were as shocked as I was to see me waddle in there. We go through the usual. They ask if I've been having any contractions - I say yes, but I couldn't tell them how many because I gave up timing them days ago. I figured it was my best bet to start ignoring them. They send me back for another NST - which was amazingly relaxing. If I didn't have that little button to push, I would have seriously thought about going to sleep. (From what I was able to figure out from watching that little machine, I was having pretty good contractions. (I tried to focus on watching The View, but hey commercials happen.) One of the times I looked over there during a contraction, it was up in the 80's! (apparently it's a 1-100 type deal?) But baby was not a fan. It was funny to watch her kick those little button-thingys... and strange to listen how her heartbeat changed before and after a contraction. The nurse was impressed - and we were both hoping the doctor would tell me to hurry up and get my butt to the hospital.
I go back into one of the exam rooms, where I'm immediately embarrassed because I forgot to wear my socks. I mean, I had my toenails polished, but I had been wearing my croc flats and running around like a crazy person all day... and let me tell you - those shoes feel awesome for my preggo feet, but I could shame a teenage boy with how horrible my feet smell when I take them off. The doc comes and I apologize - he's hilarious about the whole thing and he's super fast with the check up (Which is a plus, because those checks don't hurt, but are not always comfortable.) Apparently, baby's head is REALLY low! And I'm ALMOST at 2cm. (I really thought for sure that I would at least be a 3... but I keep surprising myself.) Again, doc tells me what to look out for, and schedules me for next Monday.

I'm almost used to the disappointment.

Almost.