I’m a little less than a week away, but the pressure is on.
Though I adore my midwives, they seem to have 3 patients due on my due date. Not cool. I suddenly feel like I’m in a race to get the care I want. They assured me that they rarely, if ever, have to shuffle providers and if it happens it’s usually in early labor. Since something like 10% of women actually go into labor on their actual due dates, this makes logical sense. However, it is emotionally infuriating to worry and wonder. I also have also internalized the message they they’re expecting me to be the early one since I’ve likely been the most vocal about needing this baby out. And every day that passes where I don’t go into labor, I worry more that I’ll be SOL on the birth tub or have an unintentional unassisted homebirth and STILL have to pay the full amount.
We could delve back into the financial reasons for needing the baby out, but you’ve been briefed on those. Insurance, taxes, etc. But it’s really the insurance that makes me fear financial ruin.
Being due around Christmas just sucks. If you’re a fertile Myrtle and get to make decisions about these things, don’t be humping around in March. I genuinely thought it wouldn’t matter–it’s not as if the years of unprotected sex had resulted in anything other than depression, so who cares? Not only does the kid’s birthday suck, but you basically miss Christmas.
In my case, missing Christmas is missing my family. My favorite thing about Christmas is being with my family at the cabin which is too far to safely travel to when you’re due “any time.” Since our married families all have adult children, and MY family has an 11 year old, my whole family (of 6) shows up pretty much every year with husbands (3), cats (4), and dogs (6) and most of the time my grandparents and my flaky but hysterically awesome uncle. It’s a riot.
Two years ago all the “kids,” the cats, and the dogs, and my uncle spent Christmas Eve hunting a mouse. We spent hours leaping across furniture, shrieking and screaming until we were able to corner the mouse into a single room. We threw some very confused cats in there who only wanted to play with the poor thing. Finally, my uncle trapped the mouse between a sheet of cardboard and a large pyrex cup. The mouse was SO CUTE. A sweet, brown forest mouse, not a beady eyed monster at all. We couldn’t kill him. So we fed him cheese through the lip of the glass and waited until morning to drive him to the edge of the property and set him free.
Last year, we were making our annual family predictions on Christmas Eve. For reasons I can’t remember, we started talking about pseudo illegal activities. Stuff like having too many dogs on one property (that year we had 7), growing marijuana (which I assure you, we are one of the few property owners in Oregon who do NOT do this), and building forts on the property without a permit. Just then, JUST as we were talking about our heinous crimes, a police car with its lights on pulls up to the house. This house is set back on nearly half a mile of winding driveway covered with “NO TRESPASSING” and “NO HUNTING” signs. He really had to mean it to be there. The dogs go BERSERK. We’re all laughing hysterically while my dad tries to answer the door with dignity as we shout out things like “I have glaucoma, officer!” and “It’s a temporary water feature! Not a dam!” Apparently he was just a neighbor dropping off mail (remember this is on Chirtsmas Eve) and he turned on his lights–get this– “so as not to alarm us.” He says. But we know Big Brother is watching.
I’ll get to read the Birth of Jesus and watch Fitzwilly on my own. But am deeply depressed to be missing cabin shenanigans this year after already missing the family vacation because I was too pregnant for air travel.
Despite how infuritating my family can be, I’m sad to miss them. I’m sad that my parents–you know, the grandparents of my child–“accidentally” schedulred a vacation THREE DAYS after my due date. Mind you, these are the people who own a cabin and just got back from a vacation within so recent a memory that I was too pregnant to go. It’s not like they’re hurting for a break.
Ma promises to stay home if I haven’t had him yet. It’s…what it is. It ultimately changed the dynamic from, “LOOK! Your first grandbaby! I made this!” to “I just made you stay home from something fun and waste money on a vacation you wanted to go on so ONE of you can see this kid I made before catching the next flight out of here.” I know they didn’t mean it this way. They’re not bad people. It just. Sucks.
So, did I mention the pressure is on to have this kid sooner than later? Yeah.
Ultimately, I’m happy that these are my issues to complain about. I’m so happy we finally stayed pregnant long enough to have extreme emotional breakdowns and body aches and pains at 39 weeks even if it comes with a side of destitution, a year without Christmas, and disinterested grandparents.