Waiting for Wednesday

…still anxiously awaiting the OB/GYN appointment on Wednesday. I’m having abdominal pain today that is making me run to the restroom every hour or two to verify that I am not bleeding. Never mind the fact that my bowels have been all messed up all day, or the persistent gas. It’s obvious that the pain is in my uterus, people. I naïvely believed that this pregnancy would be less angst-ridden since I did not indulge in bottle after bottle of wine at my childhood-best-friend’s wedding during week 7. (No, I did not know I was pregnant. Non-pregnant people who are not actively trying get pregnant do not know what “implantation bleeding” means. If you ask me, March of Dimes could do some good by educating us folk on that little piece of trivia.) Instead of my own ignorance, the wrath of nature has gotten me this time. I spent the weekend rolled up in bed with a fever from who-knows-what infection that of course stuck me outside business hours and before my first prenatal appointment. I’m sorry, but my neurosis that week 4 seems too early to call the OB/GYN on the on-call line at 3 a.m. on Sunday and be all “You haven’t actually confirmed my pregnancy yet, but my head is on fire!” won that argument. Somehow, I’d rather tough it out than take any chance at hearing, “That’s what the 24-hour urgent care center is for, honey.” In reality, my OB would never say that to me, but I live in fear of being a burdensome patient and I always believe that my next call will be the one where they decide I am too much trouble. Yeah, yeah, I know, I pay them to take care of me - add it to the list. Whatever.

My prayer life has deteriorated to the point of futility. One minute, I am convinced that God is telling me that I am having twins (seriously.) The next, I’m sure it’s a miscarriage. The whole “be still” thing is not happening. God – you know what’s going on in there, and I know you will take care of me and the baby, whether she (or they or he) is ever born or not. Please take this worrisome spirit away from me!

Here’s a burning question: Why don’t I want to tell my mother about this? We talk on a daily basis, and life would surely be much easier if I could just tell her what is going on with me. Still, I am convinced that she is not going to be happy. That is something I’m not prepared to take. She only had one child – me – and that was enough for her. Whenever Bernie and I would talk about having another, she would always pull the conversation to how perfect and complete Natalie is. There is something in there related to the unspoken idea that baby number 2 = mommy retirement (albeit temporary) that I know stands in opposition to all mother dearest holds dear. Maybe it’s the fear that she won’t be able to keep up with them? I don’t know. If I knew the answer, I might be able to sleep a few more hours at night. There’s also this nagging suspicion that if I don’t say anything, she won’t either. I half believe that I could show up with a baby one day and she still wouldn’t ask me if I had been pregnant. It’s not that she wouldn’t care or wouldn’t notice, it’s that she might actually be that non-confrontational.