lynthia: (Dixie seriously)
[personal profile] lynthia
Monday was [livejournal.com profile] shofixti's birthday. To mark this momentous occasion, I decided to use my precious kid-free time (while he was at school) to go to his apartment and scrub his bathtub. I know, it's an odd choice of gift, but it's definitely something only I would give him. Personalized!

Anyway. I thought I was being so very careful. I opened the windows before using the cleaning chemicals, changed into grungy clothes, left the room while the soaking happened... too bad I never have been able to account for klutz. Apparently I splashed a little bit of water outside of the tub, and then put my foot in that puddle when leaning over to get to the back wall. Thus, my feet both shot right out from under me, and I landed with my stomach right across the metal track for the glass doors.

Normally, I'd just shake that off. I fall all the time, it's part of my charm. But I've never fallen directly ON my stomach while pregnant before, and I was raised on a steady diet of soap operas. You can't stumble on a soap opera while pregnant without suffering from an instant miscarriage. So I sat on the floor of the bathroom, held my breath, and just waited. I have no idea what I was waiting for... there must be something cataclysmic about to happen, right? But nothing happened. I felt a kind of tightening in my abdomen, and then it released, and that was it. So I got back up, and finished cleaning, and just kind of went about my day. That tightening would happen again, here and there, and then it would pass, and I didn't think anything of it. By the end of the night it was just another "ha ha, Hallie is a klutz" story, complete with awesome bruise.

This is the part where anyone who has ever given birth wants to smack me over the head. And rightfully so. There's a name for that "tightening" that I was experiencing. It's called a CONTRACTION, DUMMY. And they're not supposed to happen when you are 26 weeks along. Fortunately my husband has more sense than I do, and when I told him the story (he saw the bruise or I might not have) he asked me very nicely to please call my doctor in the morning. I thought he was just being a little overprotective, but I figured I'd humor him. Aren't daddies so cute?

So to the doctor I went yesterday at 10 am. She was very nice, never called me an idiot, and banned me from scrubbing my bathroom pretty much ever again. She also attempted to do a test to see if I was going into active labor any time in the next three weeks, but somehow there was no result. Not positive or negative, just nothing. So instead she informed me that I was having contractions (DUH) and that we really wanted that to stop. Fortunately at this point that just means getting off my feet for a few days. So far it has worked like a charm. Sit on the couch or in bed? No contractions. Get up and try to do dishes? Contractions. The message here is clear. And she assures me that if I'm good about it right now, it'll all clear up and by the weekend I can go back to normal. However, if I'm stupid, then I'm going to get stuck with "restricted activity" for the next 14 weeks, and that would SUCK OUT LOUD.

I really think the hardest part is the mental shift. I've always just felt like this hearty, sturdy female who was clearly designed to pop out babies with a minimum of effort. You know, the kind that people talk about being out in the field, squatting down to give birth, and then continuing to harvest the crop. That's supposed to be me. This idea that one stupid little fall has me actually in danger of screwing up this pregnancy is messing with my sense of pregnant identity, or something. I keep going back and forth between "It's okay, it's only for a couple of days," and "I really have to be more careful... all the time... everything needs to be reevaluated." I'm sure that (as always) reality lies somewhere in the middle, but I'm not quite there yet.

Either way: not indestructible. Bummer.
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Hallie Smith

November 2016

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