Yep, still here

I started this blog not thinking anybody was reading it. Now that I know several of the people who do, I tend to want to censor myself, not to reveal too much... or to try and be entertaining when I really just want to whine or moan or bitch. Today, I'll just be straight up with you and you can decide if I'm a nutjob or what. Yesterday the nurse practitioner said I MIGHT be dilated about a half centimeter. That's sort of progress anyway. We also had the non-stress test, which I was more stressed about than I realized. But all went well -- baby is moving just fine and the heart rate is acting like it should. I was so relieved I felt much better for most of the day. Honestly, though, I must admit that behind everything -- especially behind the latent grumpiness and oversensitivity -- I'm at least 50% terrified a lot of the time. Excited, yes, but also scared. Being overdue with an oversized baby scares me. The talk about C-sections scares me. Possible induction scares me. Epidurals and episiotomies scare me. My doc being out of town scares me. Going into actual labor, despite the relief of "finally, we're on our way," well, that scares me too. Well-meaning, kind, loving people tell me that all of this is perfectly normal and it will all work out just fine. I know that intellectually, and appreciate the support. But to know things in your head and yet still contemplate them actually happening to your actual body...those are two different things. It makes me want to hide from everybody, for fear of insulting people or hurting someone's feelings when they mean well. Of course they mean well. But being scared makes me prickly, and I don't have the energy left over to create that veneer of social graciousness. I slept terribly last night, up until 2:00 and then spent most of the night on the couch tossing and turning. I was worried and upset. Frustrated that my emotions are not my own. Angry that the world, my belly, and SLEEP FOR GOD"S SAKE won't cut me any more slack. Pregnant ladies get a lot of slack, but there are still moments when it's just not enough, dammit. The unrelenting mental pressure cuts no slack. The non-stop discomfort and aches and pains cut no slack. The anxiety cuts no slack. And, of course, the only way to get beyond all of this entails the spectre of unfamiliar new pain, hospitals, the unknown. So I simultaneously want this to be over and also dread what that means. I've been having some tummy cramps and backache since last night. Maybe we're on our way. I'm crossing my fingers -- hoping for what, I'm not totally sure. There's no way out but through. Please, don't tell me it will all be okay. I do know that, I do. Hearing that really really frustrates me, for some reason. I guess I want empathy for how I feel right now, rather than promises that I will feel better eventually. Or at least permission just to feel crappy and scared and irritable and thrilled and excited and lucky and crampy and weary and whatever else I feel today.