InterroWHAT‽
They say that baby should have distinct waking and sleeping patterns by now, and if that's so, I'm giving birth to the Amazing Non-Sleeping Baby, who boldly defies the basic human need to sail of into unconsciousness for at least a few hours every day, thereby maintaining a little thing known as sanity. Sleep is for the weak, indeed; this kid is awake and squirming constantly, and getting stronger by the day. Unfortunately, of all the things I'd hoped my newborn might not do according to the books, I'd selfishly hoped it would be pooping, not rejecting sleep. The Amazing Non-Pooping Baby! Now that's something to get excited about.
At least he's not alone in his amazing non-sleepingness, though. I'm having trouble myself, which is perhaps the most shocking pregnancy symptom to date, as I've always been a champion snoozer, able to zonk out for twelve hours at a time with nary a wink. Alas, nowadays, between the reflux and the rib pain and the cats (why on the belly, guys? WHY?) and the racing mind and The Hunger and The Bladder and the impossibility of finding a comfortable position in this new body, I'm now dreading my nights the way I used to dread mornings. Last night I was wide awake between 1:30 and 5:00 and NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT. I had a pee, a drink, two bowls of cereal, watched some On Demand (Girls Next Door, Martha, and a segment about how to introduce your cat to a newborn), had another drink, another pee, and then got back in bed and stared into the darkness for another hour and a half. The only good part is that I wasn't awake because of severe rib pain, which is what kept me up several nights ago. In that instance, the only way I could breathe let alone exist for another minute was by sitting straight up against the headboard and trying to sleep that way. Simon kindly informed me that John (Joseph!) Merrick had to sleep sitting up too, and then I punched him (Simon) in the face.
And hey, speaking of punching! Last night we were on the couch watching Rocky Horror (Simon showed me some of the dance moves he remembered), and Wombat kicked me so hard it quite literally knocked the wind out of me. It felt like I'd been punched in the gut, which, well, I guess that's exactly what happened, and damn, it hurt! If my spleen had been where it normally is instead of mashed up somewhere under my collarbone, I might have been in trouble.
And speaking of being in trouble, I had an OB appointment yesterday and was only mildly chastised for self-treating my irritable uterus. "You know you should call us if you think something is wrong," the doc said. "Of course. See, when I had all of those contractions, I never really thought anything was wrong, which is why I didn't call," I said. "Well, call us if you keep getting four or more contractions in an hour," she said. "So you want me to call you every day?" "No. I guess not. But call if you have a lot of contractions and they don't go away. Okay? Promise?" "Fine." And then I rolled my eyes like an embattled teenager.
We were both at least concerned enough about the contractions as a whole that when I requested (requested!) an internal exam, she was just as eager to perform one as I was to strip for it. Everything was as it should be (no dilation, no effacement, no fetus parts sticking out and waving red flags of warning), but holy uncomfortable, Batman! Internal exams while pregnant HURT. That's the last time I'll let her do that to me! Except, well, shoot...I guess that's not really an option at this point, is it?
And speaking of internal exams, I learned a new word this week--interrobang--and it's not what you think. (This in turn opened up a whole new world of punctuation marks, including suggested points for irony, sarcasm, doubt, indignation, and love.) Where have you been all my life, interrobang‽
Finally, can we talk about miracles? After a second trimester of gaining nearly two pounds every week, guess how much I'd gained in the four weeks since my last doctor appointment? Eight pounds? Ten? Get this: ONE. One solitary pound. One is, as they say, the loneliest number. And loneliness is, as they say, best treated with doughnuts. Will I never ever learn?
I will throw myself a damn parade if I've only gained one pound my next appt. This has seriously been the month of the Wendy's drive-thru, and that CAN'T be conducive for low weight gain. (I mix it up with apples and pineapple though!)
I wonder if the cats know you're pregnant. Like is it something animals can sense in one another?
Thanks for the link for interrobang, I can't wait to use it.
I, too, am housing the Fetus That Never Sleeps, but how can we complain? It's hard to worry about a baby who's wriggling all the time. Although I did read that by your stage of pregnancy, a lot of their movements are while they are sleeping, so perhaps you have a night wriggler?
I gained 6 pounds in the past 5 weeks. So said the nurse. But I HATE the way she weighs me: she never waits for the scale to fully balance before declaring my weight for the world to hear. She just slides the little thingies around to where I guess she thinks they should be, and reads my weight while THINGS ARE STILL CALIBRATING. It drives me batty.
In other news: INTERROBANG!
Oh, the irritated uterus. So, well, IRRITATING.
I'm glad there were no red flags waving out of your hoo-ha.
I "gained" 10 pounds between weeks 28 and 31. They checked me for bad stuff; I started taking my blood pressure at home. I "lost" 3 pounds between weeks 31 and 33 despite being visibly larger. I no longer trust their "scale."
The interrobang has long been one of my favourite punctuation marks!