Bionic Mamas

you're not losing a vagina, you're gaining a son

Reports of My DOOM Greatly Exaggerated


Good things happened today:

I took another look at those stretch marks. They haven’t disappeared, but they aren’t as bad as I’d remembered, either. As no one has ever thought my stomach was my best feature, perhaps I can Build A Bridge And Get Over It.

Following another 45 minutes listening to the same “song” on hold (I like synth glockenspiel and rhythmic static as much as the next lass, but I do wonder how much my tax bill would have to rise in order for buy them more than a 4-minute loop), today’s phone agent says, no, my insurance isn’t canceled, everything is as it should be, why would you think otherwise? I guess yesterday’s report to the contrary was just a stress test of my cardiac function.

Cervix check was not super-fun but not really that bad either. And did you catch the use of the singular there? Dr. Skinny only checked one. I tried to figure out if she knew there were two without actually accusing her of not reading my chart. She said the Bean is pushing mostly on one — as in my fondest hopes, as that is the way it needs to go for a vaginal birth to work. I’m a little skeptical that she could tell without checking both (they are *very* close together, unless pregnancy has changed the geography of my ute a great deal), but not nearly doubtful enough to have insisted she dive back in. It did hurt a bit, and I spotted quite a lot afterwards and am still a bit crampy (though that is likely partly because of wandering aimlessly through our mostly-useless Target while on hold), but on the whole it was much better than I’d feared.

Dr. Skinny says I am 1 cm dilated and 50% effaced. I know that can last for weeks, but I feel hopeful that my body is doing things on its own. I figure if 1 cm took 37 weeks, I should only be pregnant for another six and a half years.

The fruit stand lady on my way to acupuncture let me choose my own banana. That never happens. This is totally a pregnancy perk, as was the lady at the post office being nice to me. (Note: this was not my local post office, where I’ve had an employee threaten me physically; this is in a much nicer neighborhood. If it had been my post office, I would just assume I had slipped into a coma or was otherwise living in a dream world.)

The White House seems to have located their collective gonads. (Just as the legislative branch loses its mind — Keiko has done such a fine job on this one; you should just read her post. I do not have her knack for explaining why this matters without insulting or enraging those who disagree with me.)

Finally, I have decided that I am having my own glass of wine tonight, dang it. Down with quests for perfection, up with rationality. Aside: I don’t really mind not drinking per se, but I find it enraging to know that no number of studies showing that doing so is okay this late in the game will ever change the medical recommendation that the preggos OMG STOP KILLING UR BAYBEES WITH TEH DRINKKIN. ’cause if you give those ladies an inch…well, it’s just Exhibit Z in Women Cannot Be Trusted With Their Bodies (see above). Whither science, I’d like to know.

Thank you for your hand-holding and other comments on yesterday’s post. Much food for thought. As soon as I locate my brain, I will have to get on thinking about it all more.

10 thoughts on “Reports of My DOOM Greatly Exaggerated

  1. “I figure if 1 cm took 37 weeks, I should only be pregnant for another six and a half years.”

    I heart you.
    And your love of science.
    I really, really do.

  2. Bottoms up! And Down with Puritanism. Glad that the stretch marks have decided to shrink down to a marginally acceptable size, while the cervix is expanding to an also acceptable size. (Hey, do you think maybe your cervix ate your stretch marks?)

  3. Oh, phew! On many counts.

    PHEW PHEW. More of this kind of thing.

  4. I'm with you on the wine!! I've had a glass or two these past weeks and have also been accused of having become a VERY cheap date 🙂

  5. Just close your eyes and you'll be in France! Glad to hear that the babe is choosing it's favorite cervix–I hope it stays that way!

  6. Hells yeah, drink that wine! I do sometimes think Americans are bad at moderation, but maybe the truth is that we're just not given enough opportunities for it. Anyway, this post was filled with amusing gems that totally cracked me up, and I think you're gonna be giving birth much sooner than your estimation.

  7. Oh, I breathe out, I relax, I sigh happily. Good and excellent, that your tummy is not-so-stretched and that your insurance is still there. (Being British, the whole health insurance thing.. no. I can't comment. I go completely WTF within seconds of thinking about it).

    And I am struck speechless by some of the political news coming out of the USA. Again, massive WTF attack. And a great deal of nervous staring at own home-grown politicians in case any of them seem to have joined in with The Anti-Woman Crazy. Bobby Franklin reduced me to hysterical tears and shouting, and I'm on a different continent, so cannot begin to fathom how unpleasant this is for my American sisters.

  8. Oh, and when I was living in Italy, a sturdy nip of brandy was considered BY THE MEDICAL PROFESSION to be a really good remedy for morning sickness, so, eh, a glass of wine now? Is a lovely idea. Cheers!

  9. I busted out lAughing when I read the 6 1/2 years part – just as Hubby walked in the door. I read it to him, and he said, “I don't think I can take that.” LOL.

    As for wine – I was out with some of my local IFers, and I brought a bottle of wine, then asked if they would freak if I had a glass. Thankfully, they are also part of the “a little now and then is okay” camp. Phew. I'm always afraid I'm going to piss someone off if I have the occasional glass!

    If you find your brain, could you see if mine is there with it??

  10. Just FYI, I have a friend who was ordered by her OB to drink wine regularly during her last trimester because she was having so many contractions. Apparently back in the day they used to give women IV alcohol drips or something to slow down contractions when it was too early. That baby is cooked and ready to go so drink up (you know, responsibly).

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