I’m 32 weeks today (as I write this but I’ll probably be closer to 33 weeks when it posts…YAY!) so that means I have 8 weeks left of baking this baby. I’m liking the way 8 weeks sounds. Much better than 2 months or 50 something days. I’m feeling huge but now I’m only going to get bigger. I’m not quite sure how much bigger I can get but I know I will. The kicking has stopped for the most part but the rolling all around happens frequently.
I scheduled my repeat c-section (RCS) at my OB appointment last week. The Man and I had decided several weeks ago that scheduling a c section would be best and that if Punkin decided to come before that I’ll get my VBAC (vaginal birth after caesarean.) I thought I was ok with it. I really thought I was. It wasn’t until we were pulling out of the parking garage that I realized I was crying. A RCS is not what I want but given the circumstances The Man and I feel that it is in the best interest of Punkin to make sure she’s healthy. It put me in a funk for the rest of the day but volunteering at the JBF sale helped me think about other things. Mentally I’m doing better but emotionally it’s hit or miss. It just seems weird that I’m going to walk into the hospital and have a baby. There’s some exciting about waiting for labor to start. The unknown can be scary and frustrating but I think that’s how it supposed to be. I’m thankful that I was able to walk into the hospital in labor with Munchkin. On the positive side, I have a definite end date and time. I know that this baby will be here no later the scheduled RCS. It is kind of nice to have a date to look forward too….cupcakes are calling my name!
My last appointment was my first time meeting my OB. I risked out of midwife care due to going on insulin to help control my fasting numbers. The OB is very nice and competent and I am comfortable with her performing major abdominal surgery on me. She’s just not my midwife. I really just prefer midwife care as it is more personal and I feel like I am heard about what I want/prefer in regards to my pregnancy and childbirth. My midwife was really great at my last appointment. She knew how upset/sad I was that I was no longer able to stay under her care. She did say that if she is on when my RCS happens that she would like to assist. That meant so much to me, as is the fact that if I want/need to talk with her she’s still available to me. I’m also able to go back to her for my care after Punkin is here.
As for the insulin, I’m on a small amount. It’s been upped two or three times already but it’s hanging out at 10 units before bed. I’ve been excited for the past week because my fasting number has been below 90, the magic number. The Man & I really didn’t want to have to go the insulin route but we met with the high risk OB (I see a regular OB for my normal care and a High Risk OB oversees my GD and my two vessel cord issue) and he explained to us why it was a good idea. He reviews each person’s case individually and this wasn’t just something that they were saying cause that’s how it done. He recommended this course of action because he feels that it is the best for me and my baby. That made both of us feel a whole lot better. While I don’t love giving myself nightly shots in my belly, it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. I was told that the finger pricks I do 4 times a day hurt more than the belly shot. Guess what? They’re right! The belly shots really don’t hurt.
The amount of insulin I’m taking will probably go up in the next 8 weeks. The longer I’m pregnant the more insulin resistant I’ll become. The high risk OB explained that it’s a moving target, trying to keep the fasting number under 90. The fasting number is the hardest to control as there isn’t much you can do to control it because you’re sleeping. I think it might be finally sinking into my brain that having high fasting numbers are not my fault and that having GD is not my fault. It’s only taken 2 midwives, 2 OBs, a pediatrician and two nurses telling me it’s not my fault for it to sink in. It’s still hard some days. And I really, really, really want to eat a cupcake. Or two. Or three.