Boy becomes Man

It's sad that the only reason I know exactly how far along I am is because of my iphone. You see there is an application called ipregnancy. Each time I am asked how far along I am I can click the app and magically my numbers appear. The app also shows what stage my baby is in, what I can expect this week in my wonderful changing body of big bum, even bigger boobs and soon to be bountiful belly. I can also track my appointments and my ultrasounds. Essentially it replaces the old age baby books. The only problem is that my child will likely never revisit this experience since this iphone is sure to expire before the kid could understand. Actually looking at the app now, I realize I have miscalculated my date, according to recent ultrasounds, I am actually 14 weeks and 4 days today. Not that I am counting.

I promised myself I wouldn't count. One of my girlfriends, who is the same age as me and has two children already, told me to just get on with my life and don't even think about being pregnant. I tried, it lasted, well no, it never happened. Since I became impregnated I have yet to 'not think' about being pregnant ever. I am sorry, but if you are puking, have migraines and my recent physical ailement of irregular movements (just guess), well how do you tuck those feelings aside and pretend life is normal. If life were normal I would be having a few glasses of wine here and there, coffee, sushi each and every day (as is the norm), and lots and lots of deli turkey, beef jerky, smoked salmon and other bits of the good life. But I cannot. To prevent my child from either miscarrying or having birth anomalies I must ask for them to spare me the bean sprouts in my vegetarian pho, I must seek out nitrate free bacon and microwave my deli meat until it becomes a steaming pile of sweaty skin. I am not strong enough to will my mind to ignore what is going on. And I must count. I must pay attention to each and every change that should happen in my body, according to books, iphones and friends. The wonderful thing is that this is one of the first experiences I have had that seems to fall in line with every other womans. They even predict my weight gain and loss accurately, and the conspitation started the day I read it in the iphone app, how wonderful!

The reason I don't want to count relates to a Doula training course I took just a few months ago (unrelated to my own situation). The instructors, who were absolutely thought provoking and life changing, discussed the effects of due dates. By giving a woman a due date a whole lot of pressure is induced on her. Most women expect to be early. For example, I am under the belief that I will be two to three weeks early. I don't know where this thought came from, it is just what I expect and know. But I am sure every woman thinks, and hopes, that they will be early. When that three week early mark passes many women feel as if they are already late. By the time the actual due date rolls around they are already three weeks late in their mind and begging their practitioner to induce her. They are anxious, panicky and not helping the situation. Then a week or so later they are induced (due to medical protocol and the woman's pressure), and when that fails the woman is compliant, if not begging, for a c-section. I do not want a c-section. I am a firm believer in the ways of Ina May, a wonderful midwife from the Southern USA who promotes natural, non-invasive childbirth. No induction thank you. No c-section thank you very much. Obviously I will accept that these are essential procedures for many women, and it very well may happen to me. But I will not succumb to the manipulation of hospital staff that need my bed like a waitress needs that table for four. No way. Not I. I will ask questions and demand to be completely informed about what is and what isn't absoluetly medically necessary. Plus I will remind the Boy to remind me (when I am in pain and desperate), and the midwife, and my doula and everyone else who will be near me. That is why I don't want to count, I don't want to be cut. Anywhere.

A side note about the Boy. The Boy has become a Man. I will now refer to him as the man. He supersceded my migraines and sickness and basically forced me to sit and admire him sing a song wrote himself for yours truly. And then he became a Man. We are all aware that there is no way that I am talking about sex, so I will not elaborate. I will maintain a slice of privacy despite this blog, that is probably read by only those close to me. Although I do wish it would take hold of the public eye and support me forever more. The crazy dreams continue.