Rather than celebrate, I marked 35 weeks by having not one, but TWO emotional breakdowns yesterday. The first was when I accused my husband of not caring or being involved in this pregnancy at all. Let me just say, first of all, that I know I was being somewhat unfair. Just because he doesn't want to read 5 million pregnancy books or pick out crib bedding doesn't make him a bad father-to-be--of course I know that. I know that he will be a good father and that he is a good husband. But--oh, I've just tried to explain this three different ways and keep deleting it. It's too hard to get into, too private. Suffice it to say, that was breakdown #1.
Breakdown #2 was just a culmination of all the fears and insecurities that have been building up over the last couple of months. I feel like I can't manage to do anything right with this pregnancy. I've kept Bat Girl cooking until now, and rationally, I know that's the most important thing of all. But I haven't gained enough weight (I started out this pregnancy underweight and have gained less than 25 pounds) and I know I haven't had the best nutritional habits--yeah, I take my prenatals, but because of the bed rest have had to rely on packaged foods and takeout for, I'd say, at least 75% of my diet over the last few months. I've been going insane over the stupid smelly dresser and whether its continued smelliness (after my husband sealed the edges, it no longer smells chemical-y, but still has a strong "new wood" smell) will give my baby asthma or cancer or brain damage. And there are a million other things equally as silly to the outside observer--too many to list here.
I know that all these things are pretty minor compared to what less-privileged mothers have to deal with, and I need to just accept that I'm doing my best and let it all go--but I can't seem to do so, and then I think about how the amount of stress I'm giving myself is probably worse for me and my baby than all of the things I'm worried about combined, and I feel worse.
Then there's the very real worry about breastfeeding. I've read all about how PCOS can be linked to supply problems, and I'm prepared for the worst. I have very small breasts (AA) that have not grown at all during pregnancy--they've been sore and tender, sure, and may have grown a TINY bit, but nothing significant. I'm trying to line up the best support I can--I'm hiring a post-partum doula with lots of breastfeeding support experience, and calling a lactation consultant this week for a consult--and have all kinds of equipment (pump, pillows, books, etc.) ready to go. I'm reading obsessively. I may be pleasantly surprised in the end, but for now, I'm pretty pessimistic. I didn't get the conception I wanted, I haven't had the pregnancy I wanted, I'm not getting the birth I wanted, so why should I get the breastfeeding and post-partum experience I want?
So that's where I am right now. Three weeks (max) from Bat Girl's arrival, and still feeling overwhelmed, inadequate, isolated, and terrified. Good times! (Man, this blog has become a depressing place, hasn't it?)