Sunday, March 25, 2012
Put Me In, Coach
This is pretty much what I've lived in the entire pregnancy. Old sports bras. Running pants. A decent pair of New Balance.
Over the last several months I've logged hundreds of miles and spent countless hours in the gym. Running. Lifting. Visualizing. Stretching. Pushing. I've considered myself in training. For the baby's delivery.
It hasn't been easy considering how sick I've been. I'm still incredibly nauseous on a daily basis, and I've been having contractions for over a month. I'm anemic. I blacked out several times in the second trimester. I'm in constant severe pain.
(I know I sound like an asshole for complaining, and in a way I am, considering that we've escaped a lot of complications. But I don't want to pretend like this pregnancy has been a cakewalk.)
I stay this active because it makes me feel relatively better and reminds me of myself, of my own strength. And I think it will be important to be physically strong for before and after the birth.
Andrew and I refer to what's coming as The Baby Olympics or The Big Show. Even though I've intentionally avoided birthing classes and prenatal yoga and reading the labor parts of my baby books (which probably explains why I didn't fully understand the risks of carrying a breech or why we had to rush to the hospital the other night which, by the way, totally interrupted our March Madness plans), I've been actively mentally and physically preparing myself for the day. Sort of in the same way I did when I ran track in college.
(Before you say anything, yes, I realize that pushing a refrigerator out of my jayjay is drastically different than racing a 5k, for example, I'm fairly certain you don't wear Lycra and spikes in the delivery room. But I'd probably know for sure if I was actually down with the baby lit.)
The longer that Aston remains parked with his brain in my ribs, the more I wonder how likely it is that I'll even get the chance to try a vaginal delivery. Which is very discouraging. It's not that I'm some granola muncher who needs to experience natural childbirth, it's more that I've been preparing myself and working towards something that might not have the finish line that I was looking forward to. The thought of a caesarean recovery intimidates me, but it pales in comparison to the risks that Aston would face if I had a spontaneous breech birth.
So. I'm crossing all of my fingers and toes and choosing to have an open mind. No matter how the end of this pregnancy happens, I have to believe that it's really only the beginning.