This week I’ve had the luxury of being able to focus on myself, my journey, my health.
- Monday I went to see a new OB, liked him, decided to jump ship with the other group.
- Tuesday I went to see my chiropractor, followed by a massage, for lower back pain.
- Wednesday I had my therapy appointment.
This afternoon I’m hoping for a nap followed by a yoga workout while V. is at Grammy’s. Tomorrow is V’s 2-year check-up, which we’re doing a month early so we can talk about her sleep issues. Friday I have nothing going on in particular.
This may all come just in time as T will be gone for the next 3 weeks. I’m a little apprehensive on how well we’ll weather this time without Daddy, but a number of people have said “if you need anything while he’s gone…” and I plan to have my regular sitter come over a couple evenings a week to help out with dinner and bath stuff. Hopefully it won’t confuse V. too much.
So, the new OB. I made the switch at all of 26 weeks because I want to give my body the opportunity to go into labor naturally, and a chance, at least, to push the baby out on my own. This doctor actually has a relationship with my old OB, in that they do backup for each other, but the difference is he’ll give me the chance to try for a VBAC. His approach is cautious, and he wants to do a lot of monitoring, which to my mind isn’t super-ideal, but I’m fine with it – and it will make T. feel better. He worries more than I do about the chance of bad outcomes, I think in part because everything feels so far out of his control, and control is how he copes with stress.
I’ve been paying attention to the things that make me feel like crying, because then I know something is hitting a nerve and there’s some truth or insight to be uncovered. One thing has been remembering how tiny, vulnerable, and thin V. seemed when she was born. She was early, 37 weeks, and I’d been having hypertension for 3.5 weeks. The skin on her knees and elbows hung in folds. She had this worried little monkey face, her forehead all crinkled in horizontal lines. I felt so sorry for her! I just wanted to tell her, everything is going to be okay! You can relax, mama’s here and I love you so much. I felt like I hadn’t done a good job taking care of her while she was in utero.
My therapist says I need to forgive myself for the circumstances of her birth, because it wasn’t my fault. Besides, she was, and is, healthy. I always wonder if her current sleep issues derive in any way from how she was born, but I guess there’s no way of knowing that for sure. Maybe I just need to let it go.
I keep thinking of the quote that got me through the cesarean: “you have to want the pitch you’re going to get” (baseball reference). You have no control over what life is going to throw at you; the best you can do is set your mind to receive it, and rise to meet it, whatever it may be.