So what’s the problem with a large baby? Having come from a family of large children, I always thought that six pound babies must be especially weak (no offense). Growing up I didn’t know any better, since I was large, my brother was large, my father, and everyone else in my family. I thought it must mean that I was especially strong.
Well, apparently I was completely off. Apparently the truth of the matter is that if you don’t meet the weight requirements of a “normal” 6-7 pound baby it’s an emergency. At least, that’s how I feel right now. Having been seeing this new doctor, I can appreciate that he is a nice gentleman. He is not very imposing in personality and his staff has been very friendly. However, on a regular basis comments are being made about Cesar’s size. Upon my first appointment, it was that he was most definitely a large baby, and that might be difficult. Last week it was, “How large were you when you were born? And how large was Vincent?” and this week the inquiry was, “So how big do you think your baby is going to be?” Slightly annoyed, I replied, “Ummm.. 15 pounds.” This led us to the discussion of how that would make the doctor shriek, and that led to him telling me that I will be fine since I am getting the epidural, then stopping and saying, “You are getting it right? Yeah, you have that look in your eyes like the type that does.”
While I understand he doesn’t know me, and that he is trying to form some kind of connection, I think sometimes if you say presumptuous things to the wrong person the effect can be somewhat counterproductive. I’m the wrong kind of person to say these things too. Especially when I have already tried to make it clear that I don’t like hospitals, doctors.. ect. In fact at the last appointment we had spoken about this, and I thought we had a good understanding of one another. Well, politely I reminded him that I am open to just about anything should the situation arise, but that we would have to see. I’m not so pompous as to assume that I don’t need one, but at the same time, I feel like this is a big challenge for me.
In any case, I am appreciative of my mother, who gently reminds me that in the end, it’s up to me how calm I want to stay, and within reason it is up to me how I want to handle the situation and somewhat within my power to have Cesar where I want to and how.
So they say any day now. I’m pretty much full term at thirty seven weeks. He could come tomorrow, he could come a week late. I would prefer sooner rather than later, although it has become clear Vincent doesn’t feel the same way. I can’t blame him, since he’s not having quite the same experiences I am. He is still drinking, working, having fun, and I suspect part of him does have that worry that things are going to change so drastically once Cesar comes that he won’t be able to handle it if it’s too soon. I on the other hand, while I share this feeling to some extent, probably feel like most mothers do. I’m ready to be able to move around again without my ankles blowing up. I’m ready to start being flexible and active again the way I was. I’m ready to start losing weight, and to be honest, I’m tired of feeling like two people in one, sleepy all the time, and am becoming increasingly irritated with work. In fact, just today I wanted to walk out, so irritated was I with my manager. Now, in all fairness, that’s not really because of the pregnancy. It’s more because I am trying to get ready on my end for Cesar, yet the small hotel I work at is not doing so well management wise, and with the stress they give to me I end up sleeping on my days off instead of being productive as I would much prefer. Yet I remind myself, I do have an end in sight.. or rather, a new job just about to begin any day.
No comments:
Post a Comment