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Established 1991
So I know I said I’d learned my lesson the last time around and I would go to the midwife this time. And I dutifully went today. It was the usual stuff. I must say I’m glad I don’t have to bring my own refrigerated urine anymore. That was back in the day. Now we just need to get a stick out of the bathroom.
And they take your blood pressure, and you listen to the baby’s heartbeat. Until the baby kicks the doppler.
And nobody says anything about the serious pain you have in your future. The baby and I are marching towards that ultimate end. Yes, we finally get to meet face to face. After the pain.
I wonder if I can skip all the little pointless appointments and just take the tests and then call them on the big day. Because by now I have just run out of pleasant commentary for these appointments.
I remember when all this was new. When I was pregnant with Yanni, I couldn’t wait for my Dr.’s appointments. I couldn’t wait to hear how well the baby and I were doing, blah, blah, blah. Everything was so fresh and exciting back then. I didn’t have to drop everything I was doing, get the little children dressed and race out the door for an appointment.
Back then I didn’t have anything to do, and looked forward to finding out more about the inevitable. The more I found out, the less I knew what birth would be like.
Now I know. Having been through the most nightmarish of births, it’s hard to think of anything else. So I know why I go to be bored out of my mind once a month. After the next visit, it will be twice a month. . . until we meet face to face. From what I remember, Yanni’s birth wasn’t that painful. I remember thinking, “is that all? I could do that again!”
I certainly couldn’t have anticipated Xay’s birth, which happened so fast it was overwhelming, or Esteban’s enormous shoulders, or Yasha being crushed by the whole experience. I wish someone could tell me exactly what to expect. I wish I didn’t have such a big space between Esteban and this baby.
I wish and wish and wish, and ultimately, we march toward the inevitable. And pray we get the prize at the end of the birth tunnel.
This blog is written by Angie.
Team Gray! » Blog Archive » it’s the midwife, dummy
January 11th, 2008 at 6:41 pm
[...] Let us review. The last time I went to the midwife, I left questioning the necessity of having prenatal care. I mean all that time I took out of my day to sit in the office staring at that silent woman. But today, I met with Linda, the midwife that delivered Imani and Joy. The midwife that cried with me and told me that Yasha was not my fault. [...]
Diane
January 21st, 2008 at 3:22 am
I think it is great you have a caring midwife for this birth. You know why it is not exciting this time; you have been through a traumatic experience with Yasha’s birth and death. It’s okay to grieve. When this child is born, so much of the pain you feel (subconsciously) will be relived and relieved.
Please try to remember that even though you have been through the pregnancy process many times before this is still a ‘new’ experience because you have never been through it with THIS child. If you ‘pretend’ it is fresh and axciting it just may become that way for you.
Some day you will reach the end of your child bearing years and there will be sadness there too. (I have seven children ages 8-24 (and now grandchildren) and although I know I don’t really want to go through all the trials of new motherhood again, a part of me still grieves that I will never give birth to another child and share all the special times with an infant that is so much a part of me.)
Sibyl
January 24th, 2008 at 2:17 pm
I agree. I am just (slightly) older and less brave than you, Angie. And, having lost 2 to miscarriages (far easier than what you dealt with) and having given birth to twins, it would have been *easier* (in a normal person’s mind) to get it all fixed–you know what I mean–but I knew that God knew what we could handle, and if I didn’t have children for 5 years between my oldest and the twins, then he could keep me even after that. I couldn’t bear to think of cutting off the opportunity to have another child, IF that was what God wanted. And, apparently, 3 is it for me–and I am fine with that.
Enjoy your latest miracle.