Tuesday, April 03, 2007

hack, hack, and hack

All I have to say is that with the way this pregnancy has been going, I had better have a kid that sleeps through the night before 11 months. That's all I'm asking. The basis for my demand? I am now 16w2d, and I think I can count the number of good days on one hand. I am so ready to be done with this. C'mon, where is that second trimester rebound?

Just to be clear, I am about to gripe. A lot. I suppose that I should add in the normal disclaimer that seems to be required by all infertiles, you know, that I do appreciate this pregnancy, blah, blah. I do, but right now, I'm not enjoying the ride a whole lot.

For the past couple of weeks, sleep has been a very scare commodity for me, and I know that it is adversely affecting just about everything. I'm overly tired, stressed out that I am so damn tired, which in turn causes my morning sickness/overall disdain for food to skyrocket. This probably isn't as big of a deal was would be for a non-fat person, but Husband is now getting on my case that I'm not eating enough, with the strong undertone that he thinks that I'm hurting the baby. What he fails to understand is that I'm eating as much as I can handle, which I have to admit, isn't all that much. In my defense, I haven't lost weight (except for the same pound that I keep bouncing up and down). I don't have any of those keytone strips that are still good, so I don't know if I'm burning any fat or not. My hunch is no. I have my OB appointment on Friday, so we'll see what she says. I know that Husband is going to raise the issue. I really don't think that it is a big deal. Clinically, I'm obese, and no weight movement at 16 weeks really is no big deal. Now, if we're at 28 weeks and nothing has moved, then maybe we'll have to talk.

Another factor that isn't helping with the whole lack of sleep is that I've been nursing this nagging cough for the past couple of weeks. It gets worse at night, and I wake up with coughing fits that I can't get under control. A couple of times they have gotten so bad that I've vomited, which is no fun either. (Damn, I need those calories!) So, combine the coughing fits with the fact that I'm still getting up 2-3 times a night to go to the bathroom, and I'm lucky if I can string together more than an hour or two at a pop. Oh, and the kicker? Once I go back to bed, I can't fall back asleep. Yes folks, insomnia! Usually after 1-2 hours of this, with my mind running a million miles a minute, I get up and promptly fall asleep on the couch. Husband, well, he's pretty much oblivious to this. He keeps trying to get me to bed earlier, but I've almost developed a "thing" about our bed. That I almost dread going to bed because it just causes more agony. It might be time to rearrange the bedroom and see where that gets us.

Ok, so I've covered sick and tired. Next stop, and pardon me Mr. Osbourne, but everyone on the crazy train! OK, so in my misguided belief that the cough and congestion was allergy related, I finally caved in after a horrible night to try to take some Benadr*l. I thought that hey, it should knock me out, and I'll actually be able to function in the morning. The first night, I just took one, and while it helped with the cough, the improvement wasn't that great. Being ever the scientist, I decided that I would try two and see what happened. The first night-only up once. A miracle cure! Second night, not as good, but tolerable. Third night, I was considering whether Husband should take me to a psych ward. I would sleep for 30 minutes, wake up with a pounding heart and breathing fast, and with such undirected anxiety that I had to get up out of bed and pace. My mind was racing, and no matter what I did, I couldn't shut it off. Finally, around 3:30 I fell asleep in the chair out in the living room, only to be woke up by Husband going downstairs to let the dogs out. He commands me to bed.

I try to sleep, but I wake up scared again. I simply couldn't be alone. I went down to watch TV with him while he got ready for work. I finally calm down (some), go back upstairs, and try to go to sleep. I wake up 45 minutes later, and am absolutely, irrationally, afraid that Husband has left for work, and that I was alone, and that I was having some sort of psychotic break. I ran downstairs, and caught him before he left. I begged him to stay. In all of our years together, him being gone at weird times and me being alone in the house has been a semi-regular event. I usually don't mind, since I can take up all of a king sized bed if allowed. It's one of the curses of him being in an industry that is 24/7/365. However, on that day I just simply could not let him out of the house. I was sure that I wouldn't be able to bear it.

He wasn't too happy with me, and I really don't think that he understood/understands the sheer depth of the fear and anxiety that I had. He stayed home and was able to get one of the major things done that he needed to and emailed in. I tried to stay on the love seat while he worked from the couch, but that was too far for me. I ended up on the couch with him, and finally slept. It was only another 45 minutes, but if I hadn't had that, the day would have been shot. I finally calmed down enough to get ready for work, get Son ready, and be on time for my first meeting of the day. Quite an accomplishment considering that I was in such a state that the thought of sitting alone in my glorified cube/office was scaring me an hour before. After I got to work, the whole night felt like I had literally been in the twilight zone, or a dream.

At the height of everything, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I had finally lost it. That I wasn't just a little depressed, but rather that I had some sort of psychosis happening. The type that changes people forever. That, of course, wound me up even more. What really bothers me is that I was able to see and grasp the idea that there was really something wrong with me. Something that might change me irretrievably.

Husband was convinced that I was just having a reaction to the allergy medication, and made me promise to call my OB to see if this was normal. I think that he may have even thought that I was really losing it. Later on that morning, I was able to get hold of my OB's office, and Dr. Wonderful agreed that while a little on the extreme side, the possibility of the whole episode being caused by the medication was high. Add that to being extremely tired and my other history, he didn't feel like I needed to do anything other than not take it again. I was also instructed to go to my GP and get checked to see if the whole reason behind my taking the medication in the first place was indeed allergies, or a sinus infection run amok. (Which ultimately was the conclusion. Zithromax for the next five days. Yea.)

Unfortunately, my next OB appointment isn't with Dr. Wonderful, so the person that I'm seeing won't really have much insight into who I am and what is going on with me. I've been having mild anxiety attacks in the past couple of weeks, and I'm a little worried that they aren't going to get better. I'm really anxious about giving birth again since I failed so miserable last time, and having to go through the first six weeks with a newborn, a toddler, and a husband that isn't going to do much in way of helping on either front. I'm worried about how this second baby is going to hit our financial bottom line (heavily) and how we're going to manage it, especially if one of the cars gives up the ghost in the next year. I've pretty much given up on the idea of us moving any time soon, but I still have a lot of work to do to get ready for this one. Five months doesn't' seem long enough to save what we need to outfit a room (Son has a convertible crib and a changing table/dresser that he needs to keep), somehow organize and move our home office to somewhere else in the house, recarpet the bedroom (my adopted stray cat and her kittens destroyed it), and save enough to survive on maternity leave where the second six weeks isn't paid. Add that on top of the fact that I haven't had anything resembling "me time" or a break in at least a couple of months, and it may just be that I'm burned out, and being tired is just what is pushing me over the edge. However, I look around me, and lots of people are in the same boat and are doing fine. Why am I such a fragile creature right now?

I also worry that I'm penalizing myself yet again in that I have so much running through my head that I'm not taking the time to appreciate and enjoy what will most likely be my last pregnancy. After I had Son, I made a promise to myself that the next time I would just slow down and try to soak it in, appreciate it for the wonder of it all. Basically, take enough time to be able to remember it. At this point, almost halfway done, and I haven't done any of that. Maybe once I feel a little movement, but I don't think that I have yet. With Son, I was around 18 weeks when I felt the first popcorn pop, so hopefully soon. I'm just struggling to remember that this is real. If I could still fit in my regular clothes, I probably would forget that I'm pregnant.

So, there it is, nutjob and all. I feel a little cleansed to get all of it written down. Hopefully my brain will shut down and let me sleep tonight. I know that everyone around me is hoping that I can.

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