Yesterday morning Adam went to the urologist and paid cash monies to have his balls whacked. I cannot even begin to tell you how excited I am about the prospect of never being pregnant again. At the same time, I’m disappointed as all fuck, because I LOVE babies and children (mine, not necessarily yours) and if this was the 90′s I would probably want twelve more of them immediately. However, my current body shouts a hearty, “FUCK NO!” to the prospect of another pregnancy. When I was pregnant with Egg I had this same thought, but did not anticipate the lure of giving him a sibling that was born within the same century. Chicken and Egg are just too many years apart (just over 12 years if you’re not keeping track) to experience the sibling thing that I wanted them to enjoy.
So I put on my big girl panties and got pregnant again. I know that there is a possibility that Egg and Coop hate each other with a bloody fucking passion, but I want them to have each other. I wanted to have another baby. I love being a mother. What I don’t love is the constant pain, the inadequate controlling of the crazies, and the fibromyalgia sleep of totally fucked you didn’t really want to sleep, did you? In order to prevent Adam and I from succumbing to baby lust AGAIN I decided that a vasectomy prior to Coop’s arrival was the only way to go.
I’ve had more than one person say, “But what if XYZ happens to all three children and ZOMG you’ll have no babies AND not being to create any more!!” and to that I say, “I’m willing to take that chance.” Because my body cannot take another pregnancy. Between the fibromyalgia, the suspected symphysis pubis dysfunction, the possible gestational diabetes and the plain old THIS FUCKING SUCKS BALLS I’m done.
Remember how I had to switch from the Awesome Sauce of zoloft at the beginning of this pregnancy? I went to amitriptyline and initially had excellent results. I was sleeping better, the anxiety was managed, and the scary obsessive thoughts (what if Egg falls down and a stick pokes his eye out ZOMGOHNOES!!) were gone. I was hopeful that this medication would help with the postpartum obsessive thoughts, too. However, my current situation is that as this pregnancy progresses it feels like I am stepping down my dosage. I’m getting more anxious, more crazies, and less sleep. Hopefully this will change after I deliver because living in my brains sucks recently snipped balls.
On the gestational diabetes front, I talked with my midwife. I told her my plan was to monitor my blood sugar levels and radically change my diet. She was supportive and told me that what I was doing was exactly what she would want me to do, and she trusts me to take care of my body and baby. She will continue to monitor me as before, with pee sticks galore. The last two appointments I have not spilled any glucose in my urine, which is exactly as it should be.
You might want to know if I have gestational diabetes. Well, that depends on who you ask. Failing a glucose blood test does not mean you automatically have GD. If I’m keeping track of my glucose levels through a strict diet, it doesn’t really matter. The problems with GD lie in uncontrolled blood sugar levels. Mine are controlled motherfuckers. However, between the appointment where I had just started my special diet and two weeks later, I had lost three pounds.
In a pregnancy where I had gained 10-15 pounds, losing three sucked. Before you say, “Oh my gawd I’d LOVE to lose 3 pounds!!!1!” I’d like to direct you to the first thought in my mind following that asinine statement: FUCK YOU. Because I cannot eat wheat, rye, and barley already and now sugar (my one true love) AND I have to limit the fuck out of my carb intake. One of the few things that I have craved in this pregnancy is pineapple (hello sugar!). Most of the last 35 weeks have been spent being grossed out by food. Limiting what little appeals to me during a time when I’m supposed to be able to eat everything in sight and who cares if I gain fifty pounds SUCKS SO BAD. Very bad suckage, people. Add it to the stupid pain issues and the crazies I’m just fucking DONE UP TO HERE. ALL DONE MOTHERFUCKERS!
Luckily, I have only five weeks (give or take) to go. As my dear husband sits beside me with a pack of ice on his bawls I know that I’ll never have to do this again. It’s bittersweet but oh my fuck I just cannot do it again. My home birth is back on the table, and I can see the finish line. In the end, I get a shiny new baby to sniff all day long. I fucking love babies.