Well, I keep waking up pregnant. I keep going through the day, pregnant. I keep eating, sleeping, talking, showering and doing my job, all while pregnant.
The pineapple seems to be a dismal failure.
I go back to the OB on Thursday, and I have this huge, well-founded fear that I will not be dilated, effaced or anything. People keep telling me that the baby has dropped, and that may be. but she has not dropped OUT yet, so I still feel like I'm going to be pregnant forever. E has started asking about exactly when in July the baby will be here. No clue kid. Wish I did.
In related, but less whiny subject matter, today Dooce posted about her post-partum depression. She was on meds during her pregnancy, which I have chosen not to do, and yet she still had to deal with that monster. I have an appointment with my physciatrist somewhere in the middle of July (note to self-really should call and find out when that is) to address any such issues. The current plan is to start taking meds as soon as I get over the shock of having birthed a child. As in within hours. Like Heather I have talked to my army of doctors and all agree that what I will be taking, and have taken, is safe for breastfeeding. Whew. I view my meds as a kind of armor, and I'm looking forward to strapping that shit back on. I'm also looking forward to making sure my impending child has all her fingers, toes, and is not horribly deformed. Can you tell that without my meds I'm kind of an optimist? No? Crap.
I have a healthy and very real fear of post-partum depression, and I am going to work very hard on making sure I take care of any and all problems as quickly as I can. My heart goes out to all those women who don't know what they are dealing with, are ashamed of what they are feeling, or are unable or not "allowed" for various reasons to get the help they need. (Scientology and all other religous/faith healing types: I AM LOOKING RIGHT AT YOU.) Hormones can make women crazy, and it's extrememly unpleasant to be that out of control. So I praise the doctors, researchers and other science-y types that made these drugs possible. I lurve them.
And on that note, I'm going to go organize baby clothes, because I haven't done a whole lot of that yet. John thinks I'm nesting, because I've been doing things like this for the past few days. I tried to tell him no, it's just that our refrigerator was disgusting and that laundry really should be done by both of us before I start my work week with no clothes. He's not listening. Shit. Needs. Finished. Before the baby arrives and we are lucky not to walk around all day with sore lady-bits and random spit-up/food/whatever else stuck to us. OH! That's right: he'll be the one that didn't give birth or start feeding a baby with his boobs! To be fair, he's an awesome Dad and husband who doesn't shirk his duty at all. He just doesn't seem as motivated to have everyting ready, like I do. Now if I could just get that "big burst of energy" they keep telling me about...