I'm actually finding it a bit mind-boggling that it has been a week since I last updated my blog, but then again, I haven't actually been on the computer properly for most of the week. The strangest part of this time with Sam home has been not finding a minute of time for myself. Usually my de-stress alone Angie-time is lounging with coffee/tea, writing and commenting at the computer. Sam usually accuses me of having hypergraphia, because we will be having a conversation about, say, dinner, and I will run off, because I had something I had a brilliant turn of phrase stuck in my head and it became two pages. But right now, I have a ton of work to do on still life 365, a load of emails to respond to, and yet my energy for writing has been almost nil. I haven't much done anything creative. I have read other blogs where people say that they have a lot to say, but can't say it during this time of wait. I don't. I have nothing to say. I just don't feel like I have much to offer right now in the way of insight. No higher thought. No revelation. My lizard brain has taken over. I am not capable of higher anything other than: "Eat Bug," "Lounge on Sunny Rock." "Drink Water."
I am wracking my brain right now, trying to figure out what the heck I have been doing. I guess existing. Eating ice. Playing with Beatrice. Trying to make sure my house doesn't resemble third world squalor. Sam returned to work this week for exactly three hours, twenty minutes, before HR got involved and sent him home again. Apparently, the boot he must wear for recovery is not allowed in the operating room, which means that he is not allowed to return to work for the next few weeks. So, at least, probably until Thor is born, Sam will be home. He is now more mobile, and able to help. I told him that I am ordering a case of bon-bons and sparkly water and ordering the entire collection of some HBO show. And he is working off the last month. Still, despite the fact that I want him to maximize his time with Thor, I am also grateful to have time with him home where we connect, enjoy each other's company and get mentally prepared for this baby. Also, having him be able to watch Beatrice during my many appointments makes life that much easier. In general, I am grateful for this newfound time, plus, it helps that because his hospital won't let him back, he can now claim disability and use his vacation time for Thor.
Part of my lack of existence in my parallel, but equal, on-line world is that since last Saturday, I contracted some sort of bronchitis-y thing from Beezus. Because of my gigantic belly and nighttime already being a chore, I didn't actually sleep most nights this week for more than two hour stretches. I had asthma as a child, and when I become sick, it goes to my lungs fairly quickly and harshly. So while I did not sleep, I did, however, catch up on every shitty show that television has to offer. Lack of sleep does a number of your emotional state, which can only be described in the best of moments as tender. The past two nights, though, I have slept. All night (besides pee breaks). And that makes the world not so intimidating.
I am on the mend, most certainly. Coughing frequently and emphatically has helped me work on those kegels. After three children in three years, I have to prepare physically and mentally for the large lung cough, let me tell you. I am unapologetic in my discussion of bladder control where my stance is such: kegel exercises are bullshit. I have done them all my pregnancies religiously. I have worked on my pelvic floor. I have isolated muscles during birth. And still, I cannot watch Raising Arizona without Depends.
Two weeks. Five days. Thor will arrive. I admit that while that sounds like no time at all when someone else relates that time frame to me, e.g., "I am going to Jamaica in two and a half weeks", when I see it written out I can only it as 27, 360 minutes, or maybe more like 1,641,600,000,000,000 nanoseconds. That a lot of nanoseconds for something to go wrong.
But the frequent doctor's appointments are doing their job of calming me. Truly. I feel energized and giddy when I leave those appointments where they tell me he looks great, and I am doing great, and to keep it up. Yesterday, I had my fluids checked. The awesome radiology tech took some 4-D pictures of Thor. The child is genuinely chubby. Funnily, he actually was smiling in there. Smiling. What if my freaking out and crazy over-reactive brain is still creating a happy child? As I walked to the train yesterday, I thought maybe. Maybe I am still capable of not fucking this child up with my constant freaking out. Maybe he will play basketball in our backyard. Maybe he will be a stinky teenager, and a handsome kind man. Maybe he will find my blog some day and say, "Mom, this is embarrassing."
Next Friday is another growth scan, which I am anxiously awaiting. I have a theory that something happened between week 31-35 that restricted Lucy's growth. At my 31 week check-up, she was measuring three weeks ahead and at 35 weeks, she was two weeks behind. I always wondered what happened there, so hopefully, Thor is still big and things are consistent. We will discuss the actual date of Thor's birth, which I am hoping will be April 2nd. I can't say that I believe this child will be living with us in April. I am still confused about the logistics of all of this--going from week 35 to born--but one way or another, I will kiss that nose, and hold on to that chubby baby thigh, and enjoy whatever time I have with my son. Hopefully, it will be until I am old and more lizard-y and wearing Depends, for real.