All this living in Latin America has turned me into a drama queen. At least that’s my excuse, and I am sticking to it. Also, the hormones. The hormones are out of control this time around as a pregnant lady. I weep at Masterchef eliminations. Letters from friends. Lola kissing my belly when I say, “Kiss for Maxi?”. Yesterday I cried because I was tired and the thought of having to spend half an hour coaxing her to eat her dinner was all too much. I think I am actually crying more than my one-year-old at the moment.
I am not coping at all well with having a rapidly ageing placenta (grade 3). I feel like it’s a time bomb inside me. Real world and twitter and blog friends have shared their stories of similar experiences with me, which helps more than I can say. But then this insidious worry creeps back. He doesn’t kick for a while, and I can’t help wondering if the placenta has become so bad at its job that he’s wasted away inside me. It just lurks there, this thought, at the back of my mind. Some of you reading this blog have dealt with far, far worse, and to you I apologise… I know I should be coping better, maybe not indulging this fear.
We have an ultrasound tomorrow, and I am really hoping the doctor will pick a day very soon to get him out. It feels like Russian roulette to me, leaving him in there when my body is not giving him what he needs. If something went wrong, how would I know? At least out in the world we could see if something was happening and help him. Feed him. Make sure he has enough air. Bloody placenta.
Dr Google has been even less help than usual… there’s actually not so much out there about what a grade three placenta really means. Just a lot of other worried women crowd-sourcing an answer to the same questions I have.
Dr E is pretty efficient and hands-on, so I take some comfort in that. He was quite ready to induce Lola the moment she hit 40 weeks, so I guess I should take comfort in his judgment that Maxi is doing well enough to stay in there that little bit longer. Unlike with IVF, we don’t know down to the minute, hour and day when Maxi was conceived. Dr E is as stunned as I am that he even was conceived. The estimate, based on my last period.. which was actually almost my first period after Lola’s birth and therefore a fairly useless indicator if you get what I mean, is that I will be at 38 weeks on Weds. I don’t want to pull him out, undercooked. But then I don’t want to leave him and run any risks at all with his tiny little life.
And one more thing, while I am indulging this drama queen thing… he has refused to show me his face once, in any of our ultrasounds. Lola gave me a big-cheeked full frontal face shot around 32 weeks, which I had propped by my bedside for the rest of the pregnancy. Maxi just gives me butt cheeks. Somehow I think I would feel better if I had seen the outline of his little face.