I don’t get this whole ‘relax’ thing. I just don’t. I’ve put the kids in care two or three times a week so I can sit at home and be a vegetable. I’ve bitched and nagged the husband half to death so he no longer dares criticize the disorder of the house. I’ve done away with every piece of extra baggage I’ve been carrying around daily for the past six months of this never-ending pregnancy and I STILL cannot relax. What’s wrong with me?

Oh, poor Doc, right? She’s got it so easy and all she does it complain. Well, I know I’ve got it easy. I have no real responsibilities other than making sure my kids survive the day without any major disaster and granted I do manage to fuck that up every once in a while. Rationally I know I should just be skimming along singing ‘Zip-a-dee-do-da’ and doling out lace to the neighborhood birds to use in their nests.

But my life is far from a Disney movie. And it’s all because I keep getting pregnant. And I LOATHE being pregnant.

Don’t get me wrong: I like my kids. I just hate the nine millennia long ordeal to get them here.

And I still insist that I feel better this go ‘round than either time before, except…well, just except.

Last week I had my second visit with the endocrinologist about my fun gestational diabetes. I seem to be managing fine, except the last two days before my visit I was somewhat systematically over the 140 mark. Not exactly good when the target is under 120 at all times. Also, those two days my toes disappeared into the swollen blob of my feet which were both too big to put shoes on. OB/GYN-Kenobi had already warned me that foot swelling would be a feature of this pregnancy because back to back to back births wears one’s veins out. But added to this was the swelling in my hands meaning we were no longer looking at a problem with my veins being weak. This was something more serious. I explained to him about the non-stop headache I’d had for going on 72 hours and how my BP had been 160/100 the week before during my monthly visit. So he too took my blood pressure and found in to be a mere 150/90, very, very high indeed for someone who is supposedly healthy. So back to the OB clinic I was sent to see the good lady doctor/exorcist who is in charge of my care.

I didn’t have to wait long and she didn’t even need to examine me. The receptionist pulled my file while OGK explained that she was admitting me for more tests. Something was obviously not right and we needed to figure out what. So the receptionist escorted me down to the midwives’ offices, explained everything to them and arranged a nice private room for me on the GYN floor, away from those screaming babies because, as the one midwife said, “We don’t want yours getting any ideas.” At just under 27 weeks, I couldn’t have agreed more.

After a tearful phone call to Marc, who I’d yelled at just that morning for not understanding how horrible I’d been feeling and wouldn't he just feel like a dung beetle if they kept me that day ha ha ha, I went up to my new room for a round of BP and fetal monitoring.

Hooking a 27 week old fetus to a monitor is an exercise in absolute futility because they’re tiny, they move a lot and lets face it, these monitors are not made for babies that young. But I did get to catch up with the sage-femme who prepped me for both cesareans while we played chase the heartbeat. Fun stuff. And my BP? A whopping 100/50.

I had some blood work done, and I had to fill a jar of pee over 24 hours so they could get this tiny sample. If nothing else I got to prove to the doctor that I do in fact drink enough water. I had a two and a half liter bottle and filled it to the very brim, thankyaverymuch.

And the results of all this? What’s wrong with me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My tests weren’t just normal, they were perfect. My blood pressure was perfect, my blood work, prefect. Hell, even my sugar was perfect, hovering between 70 and 80 after eating like any normal, non-diabetic person.

So what gives? I’m not imagining all this crap, right? I already felt like an ass for taking up everyone’s time for absolutely no reason. And the only thing they can come up with is that I’m having these attacks of stress, like some people get panic attacks.

So I left the hospital with nothing more than a prescription for R&R on a regular, daily basis. R&R. Ha!

No matter what I do I just cannot seem to relax here. Even when the kids are gone, the hubs is working and the house is clean I find it impossible to just lie down and relax. It’s not happening. And I don’t know what to do.

(I know what I’d like to do, but tying one on at this stage of the game seems like a really bad idea. Still, a few ciggies and a couple of bottles of wine feel like very nice things right about now…)