On Monday, I had my weekly appointment with the baby doctor.
Group B strep test
(To see if I need antibiotics at the birth so as not to pass anything along to the babe)
And that thing they do where they feel your belly and tell you the position of the baby.
The doctor confirmed the head was down and even let me feel it outside my pelvis.
I couldn’t tell you if I was feeling a head or a pineapple, but whatever.
The doctor was friendly and informed me I was measuring a little small, but smiled and said he would order an ultrasound to make sure everything was in place.
He was quick to add that he wasn’t surprised by the small measurement, since I am a small person to begin with.
I could not even contain my excitement about the ultrasound, especially since we were told a long time ago that there wouldn’t be any more.
The ultrasound was scheduled for Friday and it put a pep in my step the whole week.
Except when I woke up on Friday, I was kind of in a mood.
I think it was partly exhaustion from not sleeping (still) and partly because I get scared to get excited knowing I could get some sort of bad news.
None the less, P-Daddy and I strolled happily into the imaging center at the hospital.
I’m not going to lie, the ultrasound images were less than impressive, and I really had no clue what I was looking at.
They were very blurry and it took some serious squinting to make out Squish’s tiny face but I can confirm there was a totally squishable nose.
And there was also some serious hand grasping which I’m just going to go ahead and consider a wave hello.
The technician was very nice and got busy doing measurements.
She informed us almost immediately that Squish was breech.
I think my heart stopped.
But at the same time, my brain was racing.
What does this mean?
Do I have to have a C-section?
Do babies turn after 37 weeks?
Did I do something wrong?
This isn’t what the doctor told me.
This isn’t what the last two doctors told me.
Squish is supposed to be head down and I’ve been mentally preparing myself for labor and delivery for weeks.
This is not what was supposed to happen.
I tried to contain it, but a single tear rolled down my cheek.
I knew if I tried to talk, I would lose it, so I stayed quiet for the rest of the appointment.
I’m not sure why, but this news felt crushing to me.
And in the way that only I can be dismissive of my own feelings, I thought I had no right to be upset about the possibility of a C-section when many women face actual birth related tragedies every day.
But still, I couldn’t deny that I felt sad and defeated.
When my sister called to check in, the emotions got stuck in my throat and I did that weird thing where you choke and try to breathe back the tears.
It didn’t work.
I told her I needed a moment and then she listened supportively while I eeked out the details of the appointment.
Her calmness and patience allowed me to get everything out, and I almost immediately felt better.
Until I got home and cried for an hour while Googling breech births.
Normally, I would be on board with every holistic, alternative, crunchy granola suggestion for turning breech babies, but my heart was not in it.
I firmly believe babies turn or they don’t and no amount of lavender candles burned by your right pinky toe at sunset can change that.
And then I cried because I was angry.
Angry that someone was going to rip me open and pull a baby out.
Angry that my muscles would be tore apart and sewn back together.
Angry that it wouldn’t happen naturally and all the wonderful, natural hormones wouldn’t be able to get busy doing their postpartum job to help me feed baby and bond.
Angry that recovery was going to be long and potentially painful.
After I was done crying and being angry, the more rational thoughts started to seep in.
The truth was I had no real information.
I had no idea what the doctor’s thoughts and explanations would be.
Maybe they would try to turn the baby manually.
Maybe they would wait and let nature take it’s course.
Maybe they really would schedule a C-section just in case.
But would that be so bad?
To know the exact day Squish would come?
To know that Squish would arrive in the most medically safe manner necessary?
To know that I could walk into the hospital and be holding an actual human being within a few hours?
Did I just get a free pass for a pain free labor?
But I’m glad I was starting to see that this isn’t exactly the worst situation in the world.
Rational self told my emotional self to just hang on until Monday when we can speak with the doctor to get more information and discuss options.
A few more conversations with my mom and a good friend had me feeling a little more relaxed about the whole situation.
Relaxed and still sad, but no longer angry.
I had a few more tearful moments over the weekend, but they were fleeting.
Merely tears for the possible loss of the birth experience I expecting.
But my heart knows that how birth happens isn’t what’s important.
And it’s just one more message from the Big Man that I can’t control everything and that I need to stop trying to do so.
Right now, I’m mostly curious about what the doctor will say tomorrow.
And also getting a little anxious knowing that Squish could literally arrive at any time because today marks 37 weeks.
37 weeks is considered early FULL term.
The idea that there could be a real, live, tiny human in our lives any day now brings a whole slew of other emotions.
So thank you for listening and being so supportive of all these new-to-me emotions and experiences.
It’s all a labor of love, I suppose.