This morning I woke up totally uncomfortable and tossed and turned through some yucky contractions for about 3 hours before I gave up and got out of bed still tired.  Of course the minute I was out of bed they calmed WAY down, which was lame.  But I'll admit I was relieved to just not have to deal with them any more.  I laid on the couch for a while, but still tonight I've been totally beat since before 7PM.

I was going to upload pictures but it took forever and then gave me issues.  So maybe later.  I'm irritable.

Still no definite progress, though nobody physically checked my cervix.  I am struggling to try and recall how it all went down when Amaris was born.  Did I drop?  Did I have any regular contractions before I started my active labor?

I can't remember the smaller details.  That worries me a bit, I think.

I am officially sick and tired of being sick and tired.  Everyone in the house has recovered from this cold except me.  I am hacking nonstop.  I can't get enough rest.  I am miserable.  I'm popping Tylenol Cold pills just to survive the days (and nights) and because of the size and position of baby girl, almost every time I cough I end up peeing myself.

Yes, seriously.

I've been doing laundry constantly because of it.  Lest I run out of yoga pants.

Yesterday, I thought to myself, it'd be nice if she was born soon because then I'd at least be able to take whatever medicine I wanted to rid myself of this crud.  And then I decided that having one kid wake me up in the middle of the night for no freaking reason was enough and that I had better just cross my legs till I'm feeling healthy again.

Amaris has been struggling to recover her old sleep habits since she recovered from the cold.  She got so used to us getting up with her when she'd wake up mid-way through the night to tend to her needs that now she's addicted to the attention.  She wakes up between 1 and 5 AM each night, crying and asking me for the "smells good" or for "may-sin".  Then we have to explain to her in her half-sleeping state that she doesn't need Vicks VapoRub or Tylenol because she isn't sick anymore.  And that it's not okay to wake up in the middle of the night every night and ask for those things anymore.

So my nights are spent sleeping from somewhere around 10PM till about 9AM, with several interruptions.  Every time I wake up, I cough.  Every time I cough, I pee.  While I'm up peeing, I end up hacking up lots of phlegm into the bathroom sink, and then I continue on coughing for around an hour before I can get back to sleep.  Which I feel is pretty rude of me, so one night I got up out of bed after half an hour of incessant coughing and dragged myself, my blanket and my pillow to the couch, where I stayed for four hours before Mark noticed I was missing and came to retrieve me, saying that he didn't mind the coughing.  (Yeah, right!)

I just feel pretty hopeless at this point.  For some reason I'm not able to kick this.  I recall reading somewhere that during pregnancy the mother's immune system takes a big dive as it applies itself to keeping the baby healthy.  I had just never tested that theory.  I can vouch for it's legitimacy now.

This sucks.

Everyone, that is, but me.  I keep thinking to myself that I sort of feel like I'm going to be pregnant forever.  I'm not particularly miserable though I am looking forward to being unpregnant again.  It just somehow doesn't feel like I'll ever be in labor and heading to the hospital to have this little girl.  Like, I can't fathom it actually happening.

And then I feel guilty.  The biggest mood swing that has come with this pregnancy is the feeling of guilt.  Nonstop.  I alternate which daughter I feel guilty for.  The one I currently lack patience for, who is walking around at nearly three years old in diapers because I can't get myself to stick to a potty training regimen, or the one in-utero who spends a lot of time lately listening to me yell at her big sister.  I'm sure she's super excited to come out and play.

When I was pregnant with Amaris, by the time I hit 37 weeks, I was beyond miserable.  I was impatient and anxious and ready to have her out of my body and into our arms.  I was extremely eager to meet the little person who was causing me to expand and behave in strange ways.  This time, I'm eager to meet baby girl, of course, but I realize that I won't be pregnant forever - the end IS in sight - and it'll happen when it happens.  Is that fair?  Is it fair that I'm just so go-with-the-flow this time?  It's not that I'm not excited to meet her, hold her, get started on really getting to know her...  I'm just not uncomfortable, I'm not miserable.  I wouldn't mind having my body back to normal, but for now, I just don't feel like her birth is imminent.  Which seems weird.  Because, honestly, a month from now, I'll be shrinking instead of growing, and there will be another mouth to feed in this house.  She'll be a real, live person, crying and needing to be buckled in when we go places.  Whether I'm ready or not.  Whether I want it or not.  I don't know why I struggle to accept that.

And I'm not a stupid girl.  I am not naive, I knew there was a possibility that I'd be unlike my mom and would not have one of each gender after the first two tries.  My mom had a son, waited 6 years, and then had me.  I just guess that I never really considered that it would actually pan out this way, and that I'd be faced with the challenge of one day dealing with two moody high school aged girls.  I mean, how bizarre is that.  I have daughters.  Instead of being like some families that end up with a boy and a girl or a girl and a boy, I've got two girls.  I just really didn't figure that would be how it worked out for us, for some reason.  And I know Mark didn't think so either.

I'm not really complaining.  I have always said that I'm happy to have whatever gender child as long as he/she is happy and healthy and has ten fingers and ten toes.  And the more I think about having another girl, the more excited I become.  Honestly, Amaris is going to LOVE having a little sister.  I always wanted a little sister growing up.  They're going to have a bond and they're going to grow up close and I love that.  We figure when we leave Okinawa and head back to the states three years from now, they'll start sharing a bedroom, which will be a blast for them.  I guess for me, it's just kind of weird in the grand scheme of things.  I might never have a son.  I mean, we want to try again, but not for another three years or so.  And in three years there is certainly no guarantee that we'll have a boy.  We could just as easily have another girl, obviously.  Things don't always work out the way you want them to.

I guess I just feel like this pregnancy is coming to an end and I'm kind of just letting things happen.  Which I thought wasn't my character.  But nothing else feels right.  I don't feel like complaining about every ache or pain.  I don't feel like having a nonstop pity party.  I don't feel like focusing all of my time and energy on attempting to get myself into labor sooner than necessary.  Really, I don't feel like anything.  I just kind of feel like I'm floating along and things are happening without me paying attention.  And really, I don't know if that feels right either.

Today I took my 36+-weeks-pregnant-ass on the most ridiculous hike ever.

Through the jungle.

While I was sick.

Honestly, I think I climbed something like 4,000 stairs.  In a sweater and jeans.  I thought my body was going to break into a thousand pieces by the time I hauled my sweaty self up the last flight of stairs.

My friend said, "I'll bet you give birth to baby girl sometime next week!"  I said, "I'll bet she at least starts to really drop by tomorrow!"

So far, I don't think we're dropping.  But I looked at the belly in the mirror when we got home and thought to myself, "good LORD, that thing is huge."

I guess that's what nearly 37 weeks looks like.

Amaris is also completely obsessed with pretending to be pregnant.  She has stretched out many of her shirts by stuffing her bear up underneath them, and then will lay down next to me and stroke her belly.  Many nights I've gone in to re-tuck her in to bed and I find her sleeping with the bear wadded up underneath her pajama top.  She is quite a character.

I've been taking it easy lately.  Just keeping up with my normal "household duties" and such, but I've decided that starting this week, we're going to be taking walks at least once a day.  I need to get outside and get active or else I'm pretty sure labor is going to be a very slow, painful process.  Again.

Oh, and I REALLY want this.

Everybody said she'd come late, and I was determined for her to prove them wrong. Just like she proved them all wrong about being a "she" instead of a "he". I'd been walking around at 1 cm dilated, 70% effaced for a week. 

It was Seabee Days 2006. I was at the base all day with Mark because I didn't want to go into labor at home alone and wind up unable to get a hold of him. So I was spending the weekend under a camoflauge net canopy, sweating up a storm and trying to consume as much water as possible. I alternated between the inflatable camping couch that we had bought at the PX and the chair in front of the cashbox where I acted as "Den Mother", my usual task at Mark's work, pitching in where needed and making sure everybody was taken care of. It was June 24 and 25. 

A lady I knew came walking through (most likely to flirt with all the uniformed Marines, as was her usual goal), and told me she knew a massage guaranteed to put women in labor.  She was a massage therapist. So naturally I offered up my stinky, sweaty, dirty feet. Well, maybe not naturally, but I was desperate. And they wouldn't have been dirty if our booth hadn't been the only one not on asphalt. The foot massage was not enjoyable. It hurt like hell. I gritted my teeth the whole time. It didn't help that the masseuse was a really obnoxious woman I was predetermined to hate. She had told me my kids would look just like hers. She insisted "it" would be a boy. She made dirty comments about the married Marines to me. She was disgusting. 

Anyways I would spend a while each day walking. Walking is supposed to bring on labor, right? People were making bets on when I would give birth. The 1stSgt insisted it would be June 28th - Wednesday. On the 25th, I lost half of my mucous plug in a port-o-potty. I lost the other half throughout the next 12 hours or so, every time I went to the bathroom. I was elated. I showed Mark. He was intrigued. That sort of thing interests him. 

I did all the tricks people suggested to me to start labor, except for the drinking castor oil thing. Sunday night I couldn't sleep. I laid in bed and counted contractions. It was like counting sheep, I think. I did it until I fell asleep. At one point, I woke Mark up and told him that they were coming every 10 minutes. I was excited. 

Monday morning, my friend Jennifer called. "Do we have a baby yet????" No. Don't rub it in. We still have a very full uterus and no baby. She called me every hour or so to check my progress. I was walking laps around the house, Mark was cleaning. Still contracting, nothing too special. 

Monday afternoon, the contractions were regular, and were coming every 3-5 minutes. Mark and I loaded up the car and headed to the hospital. They put me in a beautiful L&D room and I was monitored for about an hour. I was ready! The nurse came in and checked my progress. There wasn't much. Still dilated 1 cm. Maybe 1.5 cm. Difficult to say. 80% effaced or so. Contractions were normal, but not very productive. She called Dr. Lanter and updated her. Dr. Lanter asked to have me walk around for a bit. So she sent me to the long hall ramp and I walked up and down it for an hour. I went back to get checked again, and she said I was 2 cm now, but the progress was slow so I was free to leave and come back. Have some dinner, catch some sleep, she said she expected to see me later on that evening, preferrably after my water had broken OR after the contractions became too much to bear. 

I had a Subway meatball sub for dinner, against the advice of our prepared childbirth instructor, who said to make sure to have something light to eat before delivery. My mom drove to town, anticipating Amaris' arrival. 

At 2AM I was awoken by some intense pain. I shook Mark by the arm and said I thought it might be time to head back to the hospital. We headed out again. We were taken to the triage room. They checked me and said I was 1 cm dilated. 1 cm??? I pitched a fit. I told them I was 2 cm ealier, so 1 cm was bullshit. The nurse was mean. She told me it was in my head. She told me I wasn't really in labor. She told me she was giving me a shot of demerol and sending me home. She told me I wouldn't have a baby for another week at least. Said the demerol would stop my "false labor". 

I got home at 4AM. I was woozy. I couldn't walk. I was very sleepy. I was in no pain. I don't remember getting up the stairs. I think Mark might have half carried me. I made him lay out a towel on my side of the bed because I was afraid of my water breaking or something. I had a big maternity pad on. 

At 6AM, I woke up. I felt a strange popping sensation.  I might have heard it, not sure.  But I know that I felt it and it was unnatural and weird and very definitely was a "pop". I was staring at the ceiling. Still woozy and high on the demerol. I thought to myself, "my water just broke." I'm pretty sure I said it out loud, because I remember Mark saying, "should we go back to the hospital??" And I said something like, "No, not yet. I don't want to get sent home again."  Even though I knew better, that once your water was broken they wouldn't send you home.  I think I was still humiliated from the mean nurse a couple of hours earlier who had administered the demerol to my butt cheek. I felt some pressure, like contractions, but the pain wasn't major. I was too doped out to feel it completely. I turned a little and went back to sleep. 

I have no good concept of time after that. When I woke up again, I was in intense pain. I was folded in half. I told Mark in between contractions, "I think I should go downstairs because if it gets any worse I can't imagine making it down the stairs successfully." So he got a makeshift bed ready for me on the love seat and helped me down the stairs and into it. I stayed there, curled up into a little ball, for a very long time. It was daylight. My mom was in and out of the room, asking me stupid questions, stressing out. Mark was on the internet, of all things. But he wasn't far away. I don't think he knew what to do with the situation. I am pretty sure hours were passing. I couldn't speak. 

Finally my mom insisted it was time to go back to the hospital. 

I don't remember how I got into the car, but I remember while I was on the love seat, I was worrying about getting myself to the car and into the passenger seat. 

My mom crocheted the final touches on Amaris' pink afghan in the back seat. 

When we got to the hospital, it was full. Tuesday rush. Apparently Tuesday tends to be a big day in labor and delivery. It took forever for me to get let into triage, so some time was spent in the waiting room where I was mostly incoherent from pain and medication. When they finally got me into triage I didn't even take my shirt off before I put my hospital gown on. I'd done this twice already, I didn't feel like doing it again. I laid on the triage bed, there were chux pads underneath me. I was either peeing myself, or leaking amniotic fluid. Maybe both. I was in so much pain that I couldn't feel control of my entire bottom half. I was begging for drugs. They hadn't even checked me yet, and I was begging for drugs. 

They checked me. 100% effaced, 6 cm. Moving fast now. Very productive contractions. I remember some discussion about finding me a labor and delivery room NOW. I remember Mark telling me to breathe and holding my hand, not at all overbearingly. 

I don't remember getting from triage to L&D. But I do remember the nurse telling me that Dr. Lanter had okayed me for an epidural, but that the anesthesiologist had just gone in to a C-section, and it would be about an hour before he could get to me. I cried. She said she'd give me some stadol. She did, and it didn't really help, it just pretty much made me incoherent. I was sleeping, but in pain. I couldn't speak, but was struggling. I hate stadol. 

Eventually the anesthesiologist came in and introduced himself. I was 9 cm dilated. I was elated to see him and said, "My best friend!" 

After that I was in a daze. Very talkative and loopy. I started slowing down on progress. They put pitocin in my IV. I couldn't feel anything. 

They said it was time to start trying to push. So I did. But it wasn't doing anything. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed... Nothing. 

Mark held my right leg, my mom held my left. Nothing was happening. I was pushing. The nurse said I was doing something wrong. How do you "push" wrong?? I was totally frustrated, and exhausted. Dr. Lanter came in and asked if I needed help. I told her I did. She explained vacuum extraction, and then left briefly to get things set up. I continued pushing while she was gone but there was really nothing happening.  It turns out Amaris was "sunny-side-up" - probably the reason for my intense back labor and unproductive pushing.

When my doctor came back, it all happened really quickly. I pushed, she pulled. At 5:42PM, my beautiful little bruise-headed baby girl was born talking to herself - not crying. I cried for about an hour and a half solid. I held her, Mark held her, my mom held her... Mark and I both cried our eyes out. It was a really emotional time. My doctor kept asking if I was crying out of emotion or if I was feeling the stitches. No, just emotion. Very overwhelming.

My estimated due date is February 10 and I've so far been measuring spot on with everything.  The poll will close at 12:00AM February 1.  (That's Okinawa time, so what I really mean is that it'll close at 7AM January 31 if you're on the West Coast.)

I've been thinking a lot about baby girl's impending arrival.  Lots of anxieties and such.  I think the moment I packed the diaper bag, it all became immensely more real to me.  I remember

 when I got my positive pregnancy test with Amaris, it was after 6 months of "trying to conceive" and one miscarriage, and the wave of random emotions was really intense.  First elation, then panic, then more excited bliss, then "Oh crap, this is really happening and there's no turning back now."

When I got baby girl's first positive pregnancy test (I took a total of two tests with both pregnancies) I don't really remember how I felt.  Startled and panicked, I think.  I was miserable in San Angelo and to be honest not at a very good place in my marriage.  I'd only been off birth control for about two months and I figured I'd have at least another month before pregnancy even became a concern.  Mark didn't really give me a whole lot of  reaction.  I didn't have much of a reaction myself.  I continued on with my boring daily life, sprinkled in a couple of doctor's appointments and prenatal vitamins, and cut out any and all alcohol rather abruptly.  We didn't share the news till we were out of the first trimester and even then it was still a quiet sort of sharing.  Personally I was too nervous to get excited, and in many ways I still felt miserable (Texas did that to me).  Several times I wondered what would happen, where we'd go, how we'd deal.  I knew we could handle another baby, but there were so many battling factors all at once in the whole situation that I just didn't know what to make of it all.  There was talk of a possible temporary move for Mark to Yuma, AZ for some further training that I wouldn't be allowed to go to, which left me with VERY few options.  All of which involved either being poverty-level-broke or me being alone with Amaris for the birth of the new baby in an unfamiliar place.

Obviously everything panned out just fine.  But for a long time the pregnancy didn't really feel like it was something that was really happening to me.  It felt more like a puzzle that I needed to figure out.  It stressed me constantly.

I have felt "huge and pregnant" since before we arrived in Okinawa, and looking back I am honestly shocked to see how small I still was when we got here.  I am not surprised, looking at the pictures, when I recall people not realizing that I was pregnant.  That used to really piss me off.  Obviously, though, I wasn't as giganto as I felt.

I've spent this pregnancy worrying about so many non-pregnancy things that I kind of feel like it's coming to an end in an unfair way - for the baby, I mean.  I had no parties or anything to celebrate, I honestly have only bought her two articles of clothing - one a set of pajamas that Amaris picked out, and the other a dress I found on sale for 99Yen at "the bunny store".  I've been fortunate that twice women have spotted me (and the belly) at the post office and have given me hand-me-downs, many of them unworn.  And I was extremely fortunate to find a crib for free.  Buying diapers and formula has felt totally surreal the couple of times I've done it.  Many times I've sat and looked around and felt completely unprepared.

The reality is setting in now, the Joovy Caboose is hanging out in the closet, ready to roll.  Her bedroom looks like a nursery, right down to clothes washed, folded and put away in her dresser.  Car seat is ready to install at a moment's notice.  Her diaper bag is packed with all the things a baby needs - diapering supplies, bottle, formula powder, extra clothing, blankets...  She's coming.  She'll be here very soon.

Part of me is still panicking.  This is the part of me that goes, "Oh no!  I don't remember if I liked having a newborn!  I don't know if I'll like her as much as I am crazy about Amaris!  And POOR Amaris!  She has to share her parents now! I don't know if I have the patience to start over again from the beginning!  Shit!  This was a crazy stupid move!  HELP!  I don't want another floppy, pooping, crying baby!  My life is over!"  The other part of me is docile.  "Well, I'll go into labor, have the baby, fall in love with her just like I did with Amaris, and things will be just fine.  I'd rather carry a car seat than this big old belly.  I can't wait to have my body back to myself.  I love babies.  Is it time yet?  Amaris will be a great big sister."

I sort of feel like having your second is a lot like discovering you're pregnant with your first.  All the feelings are the same.  It's just the way that they come about that is different.  For me, anyways.

I've never been one to worry about labor and delivery.  With Amaris, I was anxious about it but not afraid.  I was pretty much right on in those feelings.  Her labor was long and intense but at the end all of the discomfort melted away when I was looking into her little face.  Honestly, looking back I recall all of the pain just fine (no mommy-amnesia), but it was so worthwhile, and honestly I felt like it was just pretty damn exciting.  Even exhilarating.  I immediately appreciated the experience for what it was and had no complaints about it through my recovery.  Labor doesn't scare me.  Delivery doesn't scare me.  Having another teeny baby at home...  that's a little scary.  And even scarier than that is the idea that one day that teeny baby will be just like her crazy big sister.

Anyways, vote in the poll.  :)  I'll be packing my hospital bag.

Almost 35 weeks

Christmas.  Take what you will from me, Marine Corps, but you can't take away my holiday spirit.  For now, anyways.

As an aside, I will point out that today, for the first time since the end of my first trimester, I really do feel physically tired.  I mean, I've been plugging along despite this pregnancy for a while now, but I finally feel it.  I'm beat.  I have body pains I don't remember from my pregnancy with Amaris and to make matters worse, I've also got the patience of a flea.  I'm trying really hard to stay optimistic and upbeat but today I just feel really worn down.