Too Lazy For a Picture

Not long ago, I heard a program on NPR talking about pain, and the fact that as humans, we can re-live emotional pain, but not physical pain. For example, a song on the radio can trigger painful memories of a breakup, or the death of a loved one. Instantly, we can feel all the emotional pain of that loss or trauma, sometimes more vividly or exquisitely than we did when the event originally occurred. But if we drive past the spot on a street where we fell off our bike and broke an arm, we don't re-live the physical pain of that broken bone. In fact, one can TRY to remember every detail of physical pain, but it's often remembered through a haze. We can't make our muscles, bone, nerves and tissue re-live the experience.

Sometimes, I wonder if that is why I have a harder time with pregnancy than I do with childbirth. People always have reactions and opinions when they hear that I have my babies naturally at home, with a midwife. They act like I'm brave, crazy, more tolerant of pain than normal people, or maybe just masochistic. The truth is, I am none of those things. Pain is almost a non-issue, because it is almost instantly forgotten, and the reward of a baby such a natural high.

Pregnancy, on the other hand, is months of mental torture. In childbirth, I always have a brief moment of giving up, of crying or being afraid and proclaiming that I'm incapable of continuing on. That's "transition", and it always signals that the end is nigh. Next thing I know, I'm pushing and the baby makes his/her appearance.

In pregnancy, I reach that moment where I feel incapable of continuing on, and it NEVER means that the end is nigh. I stay pregnant. I stay uncomfortable. I stay depressed. I reach my limit over and over again, and it never seems to end. As a result, I spend the last three months of any pregnancy talking myself through every day, every moment. Playing mind games. Trying to stay positive. By the end, I'm so exhausted that even YEARS after giving birth, the mere sight of a pregnant woman makes me groan at the memory.

It's August 1st. My official due date. I woke up this morning pissed off-- and believe me, I've perused my vocabulary for a more lady-like descriptor, but none seem to fit more accurately than that. I simply did not want to reach this day still pregnant, and the mere fact that I did had me so grouchy that I snapped at J just because he had a hint of a smile on his face when he murmured, "Good morning".

So. Even though going 7-10 days past one's due date may not seem like such a long time to a non-pregnant person, I CAN NOT DO IT.

I am DONE.

Tomorrow, I see the midwife. I'm going to ask about castor oil, even though in the past I've been wary because it's a natural laxative. {and honestly, who wants to make labor less dignified than it already is? Certainly not I.} But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Do me a favor. Pray that I either go into labor or miraculously acquire the patience of a saint. One or the other has to happen immediately, or I'm liable to turn homicidal.

P.S. I wasn't going to post until I had the baby, but my brother informed me that I'm obligated to keep everyone apprised of what's going on. You can blame him for the frustrated rant. :)