Give anxiety its due

One of my many pregnancy mantras this go-round has been, "I don't remember being this emotional when I was pregnant with Sam." Another, less kind one is, "I'm a fucking wreck."

Yesterday when I woke up and looked at the birth countdown clock, and it read 93 days, my heart pounded a little harder. It seems that the closer I get to delivery, the more anxious I get. I couldn't figure out for the life of me why, until the answer that is so glaringly obvious slapped me upside the face:

When I delivered Sam I had 37 hours of labor followed by an emergency c-section followed by preeclampisa followed by a relapse of preeclampsia. All of this netted me 8 days in the hospital and what Rob and I lovingly call "post-traumatic birth disorder." (I'm big on the disorder-talk these days, huh?)

So it is only natural that I'm a bit nervous of having a repeat performance.

I don't know why it has taken 7 months of pregnancy for this revelation. This whole time I've been beating myself up for being so anxiety-ridden and short tempered. I've not understood why I've been freaking out at every test; holding my breath until the results come back. See, a c-section wasn't even on my radar screen last time. Preeclampsia wasn't even in the realm of possibility for me seeing as how I have such naturally low blood pressure. And since both of those possibilities, remote as they seemed, came to fruition I subconsciously adopted the philosophy, "Hope for the best but prepare for the worst." This, coupled with the infertility shit that kick started this whole mess, has led to nail-biting, gut-wrenching anxiety.

I just want this baby born. On time and healthy.

That being said, my glucose tolerance screening test results came back normal. (Sigh of relief.)

92 days to go.