38 weeks pregnant. Nothing new to report, I just feel like I should report something in these final weeks. Everyone asks how I'm doing and I feel kind of strange saying that I generally feel fine—very pregnant and enormous, but fine. I sort of feel like I should come up with something to complain about.
I especially feel this way at my (now weekly) doctor appointments, where the first question I get is: "how are you feeling?" and I say: "fine, nothing new to report," and then she immediately asks: "any bleeding, gush of fluid, or contractions?" And I am left to wonder on what planet feeling "fine" would include bleeding, gushing fluid, or contractions. The first time this happened I think I cracked some joke, but I have since resigned myself to the fact that my doctor has script and she sticks to it no matter what.
Actually, having nearly reached the end of pregnancy, I think my doctor is going to end up being my biggest complaint about the whole process. She routinely keeps me waiting in the exam room for 45+ minutes—not a big deal if I saw her once a year, but supremely annoying when I now see her once a week. She has also conveniently forgotten all about our breastfeeding conversation and has since reminded me about picking up my breast pump and how I won't be able to go back on hormonal birth control because it can interfere with lactation. Sigh. The good news is that she doesn't deliver babies anymore so I won't need to deal with her in the hospital. I feel like switching to another doctor at this point would be dumb, but I definitely intend to see someone else after the baby is born.
(As an aside: it's really too bad that this has been a lackluster medical experience for me, because I have always detested going to the doctor and I put off even routine visits for far, far longer than is recommended. And I should note that this drives Josh insane, because when there is something actually wrong with me he has to be the one who insists that I see a doctor. An extreme example: when I broke my wrist earlier this year he had to convince me that no, I couldn't just take a shower and go to work and wait to see if it was still bothering me in a few hours. He pointed out that if I was crying in pain I should probably go get an x-ray just to be sure.)
Medical annoyances notwithstanding: we now own all the equipment necessary to keep an infant alive, so that's good news. I'm sure the extras that keep an infant happy will be added as we go, but keeping him alive is pretty much the only bar I intend to hold myself to for a while.
Oh, another bar has been met: I have been asked to stay on permanently at my job! (I was initially hired for a limited term, which was slated to end December 31—four days after the baby is due). I don't love my job, but I do really like my paycheck, so it's nice to have that to come back to. Even better, I found out I won't actually need to miss my paycheck at all: the very cryptic maternity leave policies have been explained to me in actual English and it turns out I get double the amount of paid leave than I originally thought. Hooray! A month ago I thought I might have no paid leave at all, so this is quite welcome news. I know the Swedes still have it better, but I am pleased.
But I forgot, I was supposed to be complaining! I have a feeling I'll have plenty to gripe about soon enough—I am dreading giving birth, and considering how much I dislike doctors I anticipate lots of opportunities for that dread to be realized.
