The Finale: Never Doubt a Mother's Intuition
By mommygonemental on June 25, 2013
It was a dark, stormy night...well, actually, it was daytime and pretty sunny---oh, and hot as hell. Mother Nature finally got over her PMS, and it was gorgeous out. With bed rest lifted and the weather cooperating for once, Piggle and I decided to take full advantage with a much-needed trip to the park. Luckily, our playground of choice is less than a ten minute trek from our house---even with a toddler who begs to stop and smell every. single. flower along the way.
As I mentioned before, it was blisteringly hot, and it wasn't even 10am---if you've ever been pregnant, then you know exactly what I mean about cankles, humidity, and scorching temperatures being the cruelest form of torture! If the park were any further away, we would not have gone. Despite the beautiful (albeit Saharan-esque) weather, I just wasn't in the mood to hike halfway across town. In fact, I wasn't really in the mood for anything; truth be told, I felt like I'd been doing a little bit of PMSing of my own for a few days.
At first I blamed the weather: cold and rainy and then sweltering all in less than a week; it's enough to make anyone cranky! I thought it might have been the emotional rollercoaster I'd been on because of Piggle turning two. Bed rest was my next guess, and then, of course, pregnancy itself. It wasn't any of those, though. I really couldn't put my finger on the reason behind my malaise. I just felt off.
Wednesday night, I told Husband that I felt weird. Not quite ill, but not right either. I moaned and groaned for the majority of the evening, and by the next day, I was miserable. I was more tired than usual and I still felt like something was wrong. Of course, when you're a mother, you don't get sick or mental health days.No crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over your head. There's no such thing as a 'fuck this' day, so off to the park we trekked.
While there, I started feeling worse. I still can't describe the feeling, but I was moving slower than a corpse, and every inch of my body protested being awake. Piggle seemed to sense my discomfort, and stuck to my side for the majority of our time there. He wasn't clingy, but he seemed to know mama needed a buddy. Rather than run amok with his friends, he pulled me over to the sandbox and plopped himself in my lap for some cuddles and sandcastle building. I gladly nuzzled his hair while we dug to China.
We stayed for our usual amount of time, and when I told him it was time to head back home for lunch and a nap, he didn't put up his usual protest. He climbed onto his trike, and away we went. He chatted happily to me about his expected meal of mac & cheese with peas, making it very clear that there was to be a half pound of ketchup accompanying it. We talked about the dandelions and complained about the mosquitoes. It was really nice, actually, and by the time we'd finished our brief walk home, I felt a little more at ease. I still wasn't myself, but Piggle's attentiveness to my mood really seemed to help.
He parked himself on the kitchen floor with his trucks while I got lunch together, and then he quietly ate every bite with one hand and held mine with the other. I didn't have much of an appetite, so I contented myself with snuggling the boy while he hammered away at his food. When he was done, we headed upstairs for our nap.
I had a really tough time falling asleep, despite feeling like I'd been awake for a century. My mind would not shut off, and without the distraction of Piggle-lovins, I was back to feeling like garbage. It took me about an hour, but I finally dozed off. I slept fitfully for about 45 minutes and then gave up. I headed back downstairs to tidy up a bit before the boy woke up, and that's when it happened.
I used the washroom before tackling my chores, and just as I was about to stand up, there was a huge gush of fluid. If I hadn't seen the color of amniotic fluid when I had the amnio done in March, I would have wholly believed my bladder had finally kicked the bucket. I wouldn't have blamed it; being abused for 8 months by fetus-feet would do me in, too. It wasn't, however, pee...and every ounce of my being knew it, despite not wanting to believe it.
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