|I'M KIDDING...KINDA, SORTA, BUT NOT REALLY...|
Here's the deal. I always imagined that if I had a boy, he'd be an ornery little guy. After marrying FB, I realize this was a given—I just didn't think Max would be scheming so soon! Yesterday's events had me referring to our baby as "The Boy Who Cried Wolf." Was he going to make his entrance or not?! I just know that I never wanted to be that preggo who was alerting her family, only to take the exciting news back hours later. I guess I'm reminded once again that I have little to no control of the current sitch. That's pregnancy!
Yesterday started with an appointment to see my nurse. After a relaxing weekend cozied up on the chaise lounge, I figured my blood pressure had surely improved. With Flyboy by my side, they strapped the cuff on me and I was still registering around 160. WTF, mate?! After multiple attempts to try to get me to "relax", they opted to hook me up to a machine and monitor my heart rate, the baby's movement, and my contractions. Of course, Max decided it was nap time and I was ordered to eat a granola bar to wake the fella up. C'mon kid, work with me! After an hour of evaluations, they sent us home and told me that depending on the protein levels from my 24-hour "specimen" collection (sorry, that was the prettiest way to word it...), there was a good chance I would be induced as soon as Monday evening. Flyboy went back to work, and I hung out around the house waiting for their phone call. I tried my best to relax, but for me that usually entails cleaning. Naturally, I whipped out the ol' steam mop and scrubbed my worries away.
Around 2:30 pm, my nurse called and said I needed to report to the emergency room for more observation and to bring my hospital bag in preparation to be induced later that evening. Of course, my doctor was out of town, so I'd be seen by someone else. Hey, I guess that's a perk to only meeting the guy twice, right?! I called FB to fill him in on the news and immediately called the local kennel to see if they had any availability for Tripp and Beesly. I packed kibble and toys for the pups, laid some clothes out for FB, and within thirty minutes the four of us were headed into town. I couldn't help but be overcome with emotion; I thought D-Day was upon us.
Long story long, I changed into a hospital gown, they strapped a bunch of machines up to me, and monitored my BP for 1.5 hours. After a brief discussion with the nurse on duty, we bonded over our mutual white-coat syndrome. Finally, I felt as though someone understood what I was going through! I obviously didn't want to take the elevated BP lightly, but I also know that I'm a bundle of nerves. As soon as she advised me to lay on my side and started taking my blood pressure again, we were back down to 114. Phew! Before they could allow us to go home, we needed Max to start moving again. I downed some orange juice and sucked on a Werther's. C'mon kid, work with me! Finally his movements were regular and I didn't seem to be having any contractions, so they sent us home around 6:30 pm. Part of me felt a giant sense of relief (I was REALLY hungry!), but I think a tiny piece of me hoped we could get the show on the road already. I guess that's a good sign I'm ready—or as ready as one CAN be. For now, we continue to sit and wait. The pups are still at the kennel (just in case), and my hospital bag remains locked and loaded in the back of The Rig.
Thanks for hanging in there as blog posts are intermittent. When he does arrive, you'll know. I promise!
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