2004-12-24 - 9:02 a.m.
Well, today is Christmas Eve and I'm having my family over for dinner. It's going to be really, really nice. Hubby's making the beef tenderloin later and he's very excited about being able to cook for many people. He actually loves doing it and looks forward to it. The meat is beautiful and it weighs more than our baby right now. He knows exactly how to cook it, so he'll do a great job.
He's very sentimental this Christmas. Last night, he was reminiscing about how long we've been together and how this is our last Christmas we'll ever spend alone as a couple. I didn't think he ever thought about that, but I guess he did. He says that we'll always have someone else with us, after all these years of it just being the two of us. He's happy about it, but he's also aware that it's the last year it'll just be the two of us. I guess he's saying goodbye to "couplehood" in his own way, just like I did.
Our baby will be about eleven months old next Christmas, probably walking/teetering around the house. It'll be interesting to see Hubby with a "Daddy" hat on next year, in addition to his Santa hat. I look forward to that as much as he does.
Even though we're saying goodbye to a life that only included the two of us, we're saying hello to a little life that includes parts of the both of us. It's just a brand new beginning. I honestly feel that the best part of my life hasn't even begun yet. What's better than being a Mom and Dad?
This week has been hectic and hellish for me. I wanted the holidays to be special and unforgettable, but for very different reasons than the ones I'm thinking of right now. I can't help thinking about the tests my doctor's ordering, my womb possibly not being the "proper environment" for my unborn baby, and the "taking him out" early part. I got very little sleep last night because I just can't sleep with this heavy weight on my shoulders. I thought my womb was a glorious place to be. I don't like the term "IUGR" and wish I'd never heard of it. To me, it only means small baby, not deprived baby. I'm not a crackhead or heroin addict. I'm not a bad Mommy, but the term makes me feel that way. "These are just precautionary tests since your baby's abdomen is slightly smaller than what it should be." "Don't worry and have a Merry Christmas." "Don't think about it until Monday; you can call me then." "We'll probably set you up with an appointment with the obstetrical consultant so he can explain this to you." "According to your calculations of your due date, this baby is normal. According to our calculations of your due date, this baby is small." Even though I only had sex twice last May and I know exactly when I ovulated and conceived, they still don't trust that I know just how long this baby should be inside me. It's not my fault that doctors count the two weeks prior to you even being pregnant as part of your pregnancy. Women are NOT pregnant for 40 weeks; they're only pregnant for 38. Yes, it's possible for a baby to stay inside a month longer than normal. But to take my baby out weeks ahead of its time because it may have a better environment in a plastic fucking box is bullshit. No one is taking him out of me unless I'm dead.
These are the things that weigh so heavily on my shoulders. I can't think of anything else, not even Christmas. Yeah, this Christmas is very special and memorable. These are thoughts that I've never had in my head before and they are clouding my visions of sugar plums. The only present I want this year is a healthy baby next month. I'm so devastated by all of this that Christmas means very little to me right now. Other than the quality time I'll be spending with my family, there is nothing that will make me feel better right now. It's a somber holiday for me, not a joyous one. The if's, and's, and but's are making it impossible for me to feel jolly. And nothing anybody says will make me feel any better.
I want my baby to let me know when he wants to come out. I don't want him to be "scheduled" to come into this world because it's more convenient for other people. I have had a beautiful pregnancy with no mishaps up until this point. I have one month left to go and the doctors want to fuck with me NOW? I'll get these next set of tests done, but I'll make them perfectly aware in standard Amy style that they are by no means ripping this child from my womb. He will be born when he wants to come out and they can't do a damn thing about it without my okay, anyway. Put it in black and white that he's dying inside me and maybe I'll let you induce. Under no circumstances will he be cut from me because I "may" be inhabitable. "May" is the key word and no one seems to be able to give me anything more concrete than that. So, they can't have him and they're not going to house him in a little plastic box with cords and wires popping out all over the place. His tiny little body is mine. I grew him, I made him, I love him. And I don't care what they tell me, they're going to let him stay in there for as long as he likes.
Almost thirty-three years ago, I was born at five pounds, before there were ultrasounds. Doctors didn't know shit back then. Doctors still don't know shit right now. That's why they call what they do "practice." Practicing really is what they do and I will be no one's guinea pig. And all the tests they contrive for me to have, I can say no to. And they can go hound a stupid person who won't question their skills. I, on the other hand, have already begun the fierce fighting I will do for my child until the day I die. I will protect him for all the days and love him and keep him from harm as best as I can. And this is a harmful world. My womb is not improper; it's what he calls his home right now. And I will keep it cozy for him as long as these doctors leave me alone.
Unless they can give me concrete proof that he's in fetal distress and/or dying inside of me because my womb is such a bad place; unless they can put it in black and white for me that I'm already a bad mother; unless they can guarantee me that my womb is inhospitable, they're not going to get him before he wants to come out on his own. And there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it because it's MY body. And this baby's been fine for eight months already. The doctors can pick on someone who isn't educated and doesn't know a doctor from God.
If I'd had babies when I was young and stupid, I would've given in to anything they told me to do. But I know better now and maybe that's a flaw. I know in my heart that my baby is fine and healthy and loving my womb. So he's slightly smaller than normal, according to their fucked up dates...So was I. I was born early, though. These doctors have their dates wrong and they don't trust that I know exactly when I conceived. They must think I'm stupid and easy prey because it's my first baby.
I'm one of the smartest people I know. They can use big words on me and I can respond with intelligent answers and questions. They can't fool me. They can cover their asses all they want, but they're not going to use me as their lab rat because they have vacation plans to make.
This baby isn't coming out unless he wants to come out on his own. If my womb weren't the right place for him, he'd already be trying to do that. Nature takes care of itself. And if I had a serious condition, I'd be in the hospital already. So they don't need to worry me anymore about the could be's. They don't need to do this to me anymore.
After next Wednesday's ultrasound, I'm hoping they leave me alone. And if they don't, I'll make sure they do...vehemently, in classic Amy style. They won't know what hit them and they'll know they fucked with the wrong person. My only ammo is knowledge and my instincts. And I've learned to trust my instincts because they don't fail me when I listen to them.
And now that I've vented, I can finally enjoy my holiday. Thank you, blog. This truly is an unforgettable holiday. I feel better now.
