Back in December, a friend of mine went into preterm labor and delivered her baby at 27 weeks, 2 days. Her tiny daughter spent 3+ months in the NICU and finally went home a few weeks ago. This freaks me out: if the same scenario were to happen to me, I would be delivering TODAY. Thankfully, I'm not. Little one seems snug and content in there. But holy shit: it's now the third trimester.
I had an appointment on Wednesday. Everything was fine: bp, weight, heartbeat, belly measurement. My next one is in 3 weeks, and then I'll start going every 2 weeks, which is good—a month is a long time between appointments, and the appointments themselves are over almost before they begin. I used to walk out feeling totally assured, but not so much anymore. Now that I feel the baby move regularly, I have become attuned to her active and resting patterns, and any unusually quiet times find me locked in an empty conference room at work, lying on my left side—on the table, no less—counting kicks.
So when I mentioned to the doctor that her movements had been feeling different the past couple of days, I’m not even sure it was true. I might’ve just subconsciously wanted him to order a test so that somebody would give me a little more to go on than a stupid measuring tape. He stepped up: gave me a kick chart and sent me to the hospital for a non-stress test. As soon as he mentioned the word “hospital,” part of me wanted to bail, but I went.
The test was kind of pointless and the results were fine, but I’m glad I had it because otherwise I might still be paranoid. She was very active all morning, since I drank a bunch of cold water as well as the sugary drink for the gestational diabetes screen. In the hospital, they made me lie on a bed and strapped a monitor to my abdomen, which amplified everything she did: every bump, squirm, roll, stretch and hiccup. Now, instead of paranoid, I am impatient. I really want to meet this little person. But not now…I want her to keep baking for another 3 months and ding when she’s ready.
I had an appointment on Wednesday. Everything was fine: bp, weight, heartbeat, belly measurement. My next one is in 3 weeks, and then I'll start going every 2 weeks, which is good—a month is a long time between appointments, and the appointments themselves are over almost before they begin. I used to walk out feeling totally assured, but not so much anymore. Now that I feel the baby move regularly, I have become attuned to her active and resting patterns, and any unusually quiet times find me locked in an empty conference room at work, lying on my left side—on the table, no less—counting kicks.
So when I mentioned to the doctor that her movements had been feeling different the past couple of days, I’m not even sure it was true. I might’ve just subconsciously wanted him to order a test so that somebody would give me a little more to go on than a stupid measuring tape. He stepped up: gave me a kick chart and sent me to the hospital for a non-stress test. As soon as he mentioned the word “hospital,” part of me wanted to bail, but I went.
The test was kind of pointless and the results were fine, but I’m glad I had it because otherwise I might still be paranoid. She was very active all morning, since I drank a bunch of cold water as well as the sugary drink for the gestational diabetes screen. In the hospital, they made me lie on a bed and strapped a monitor to my abdomen, which amplified everything she did: every bump, squirm, roll, stretch and hiccup. Now, instead of paranoid, I am impatient. I really want to meet this little person. But not now…I want her to keep baking for another 3 months and ding when she’s ready.
