A full bladder woke me up again the other night. I had just gently pushed myself up to sit on the edge of the bed when, halfway to standing up, a broad stroke of sharp pain squeezed my pelvis. It cramped so hard that I had to lean on the wall so I wouldn’t fall. And without warning, a grievous pressure began pushing my lower back.
It took me a few seconds of breathing to recover. But just as I was about to put my foot in front of the other, a more vicious spasm took over. It prickled longer than it ever did to a point where I thought it would split my private part open. And in that dark, cold room — with the soft buzz of Salman’s snore humming in the background — I realized: “So, this must be it.”
I remember telling myself “No, you can’t be going on labour just yet… You still have one more assignment to write!” Then, I woke up, lying comfortably on my side of the bed.
You have no idea the relief that followed that dream. Getting another two or three weeks, at most, to do more tasks — my freelance responsibilities, assembling the crib, rearranging pieces of furniture in our room, disinfecting the house — in preparation for our firstborn’s coming is everything.
But I think, the most important preparation I still need to do is the mental one.
See, my pregnancy has been uneventful, fortunately. I didn’t fall or anything like that. Save for the two months of agonising encounter with Hyperemesis Gravidarum in my first and early second trimesters. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes on my seventh month, but it was very easy to manage. Generally, it was fine. I was at my happiest, and I haven’t been feeling any discomfort just yet. Even on my 38th week, my feet are still not swollen. I still can’t see any stretch mark at all.
Not that I’m complaining. This just leaves me feeling like I’m right smack in the middle of calm before the storm. I’m hoping that a series of Braxton-Hicks contractions can help me gauge the sort of pain I would need to manage on my D day. But the fact that they haven’t come yet actually makes me more anxious and scared.
Scared, not about the pain of the actual delivery, but more about what would happen during the moment I would be pushing. I fear that I might not have enough power to push my baby out safely. I fear that I might not be able to know how to push at all, which could leave my baby stressed out and God knows what could happen.
But none of these beat the scariest thought that I had been struggling to get off at the back of my mind: What if my baby didn’t come out healthy and normal? What if he’s sick? I don’t know how I would be able to forgive myself, knowing that I haven’t done everything in my power to make sure he’s healthy and strong when I can.
But I have strong faith in the Lord, and I will leave everything to him. I also believe that the team of health experts, who have been taking care of me and my little one. I also find comfort in the results of all the tests that I have undergone and that everything seems to be looking good and right within schedule.
If you manage to get down to this part: I hope you can spare a little of your time to say a prayer for my family and I. I hope that everything goes well and that we’ll see a happy, bouncing Christmas baby boy in my arms soon.