Thursday, November 17, 2005

okay then,

let's scratch that bullshit about my mum and I getting along.

Monday, I found out that the weebee is still breech. Ordinarily at 34 weeks, this isn't a big problem as the kidlette typically has enough room to do a nose dive in time for its big day. Things rarely go typically for moi, so when my OB prodded the bump, he went 'oh my' as apparently I really do have abs of steel, and because of them, the weebs is likely to have a time of trying to turn if it waits too long.

Before I continue, a word about my OB, who is but one more Chris in my life, and there are already thousands of them. Dude thinks like me more than I do. Everything I want for this birth, he's been doing for years already. Unlike most OBs, he hands the control right back to us wimmen, and even though he's touted as a high risk maternal specialist, he believes his job is to allow us to do ours, to coach us if need be, and to catch the baby. He also belives that, left to our own devices, we know what to do, and we do it well. At first I figured they must all be like him, that obsterics was different from my perception of its practioners, until I said some waffle about 'my doctor bla bla bla' to a midwife, who immediately guessed I was talking about Chris, as his views are so outstanding that even the midwifery group think he's marvelous (news in, midwives aren't generally fond of OBs)

Per essempio: Chris doesn't routinely do episiotomies. He has maybe four situations in which he will, but otherwise prefers not to as natural tears heal better - and after all, our bodies know where to tear and how much to do so. Other OBs, word has it, take a look and cut where it's convenient for them. (also, my eyes are watering at the disturbing visuals which may, one day soon, become my reality)

He also prefers to avoid caesarians, breech presentation or not, as the baby can turn at any time, even at the last possible moment. Like me though, if the baby is in distress, he's all about ripping that sucker out and saving its life. Other than that, no. Meanwhile, other OBs love the predicability afforded by yon elective slashiness to deliver a breech baby.

I'm seriously all gooey eyed over this scrumptious man.

So this breech thing. Usually sometime after 37 weeks, if the baby hasn't turned, Chris will consider manually turning it, but due to said abs of steel, if my baby hasn't turned by 36 weeks, we're going to turn it then. In the meantime, I've been sitting with my bum in the air and my head on the ground (not because I'm a kink (well...) but because it's meant to dislodge the weebs from my pelvis so it has room to do the flippedy do), and swimming and doing handstands on the bottom of the pool. Aside from anything else, this being breech deal is killing me. Having a head jammed in one's diaphragm is not condusive to an adequate oxygen supplies.

Oh, and I nearly fainted when he suggested that a really good way to avoid manually turning the weebee was to try acupuncture. I mean, I knew I'd be asking about it, but I didn't expect him to suggest it first. So while there's a small chance (like an eeenie weenie not even documented type chance) I'll go into labour, I lined up an appointment and will be going in today.

On Monday though, I called mum (and can anyone else see the neon light above my head flashing the word *sucker!*?) and mentioned the breech, the doctor, the turning, and the acupuncture. Of course mum's idea of 'being involved' is to shriek 'why don't you just have a caesarian?!!'

Apparently 'because I don't want to' isn't an adequate answer, and nor is 'and neither does my doctor'. Her reply? 'Why are you always so defensive?!'

Then she hammered me with the her usual accusation of 'You're talking too fast!! You're talking too fast!!'.

At that point, I commenced rolling my eyes and making the necessary preparations for banging my head against the wall.

Having successfully dulled my senses, I kindly (no, really) told mum that she needn't hurry here, that I was fine, and that we're both stressed enough (exhibit A being this phone call) so relax, take her time, etc.

What I wanted obviously (and typically) didn't mean diddly squat to her, as evidenced by the
e-mail she sent to her 'darlings*' (that'd be me and fucknose, my bro') on Wednesday evening, to announce her arrival this morning at 9.40am. That's it. That's the message. So until I subjected myself to the verbal equivilant of an anal probe called her last night, I had no idea of her plans, which are that my sister in law will pick her up and that 'I might stay at FN's tonight...' Might? MIGHT?! She told me she WOULD.

Initiate panic stations.

Oh yeah, about her intial plan of arriving on Wednesday, which she told me about last Wednesday? Well, without saying anything to me about it, she cancelled that idea. Is it just me, or is it that I should be FUCKING PSYCHIC, but isn't it polite to keep people informed of when you're NOT coming to stay, once you've told them you will?

I forgot about Tuesday though, when I had Kinesiology for baby turning- and how's this for cosmic something or other? My kinesiologist, who is booked MONTHS in advance, called out as she had a cancellation, and did I want to come in? Did I what?! During the session, weebee, who is ordinarly the quietest baby in the world, wriggled up a storm, and by the end of the session, had unjammed it's (98th percentile sized) head from my ribs and moved sideways, leaving me with an ability to breathe and greater faith in ooobie doobie things I can't understand. I figure that, with today's acupuncture, we should be home and hosed for a cepahilic presentation.

Wish us luck.


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