After stating on Monday without any hesitation that BabyN had dropped, I have been plagued with doubts about whether or not that is the case. My belly isn’t noticeably lower, and I’m still getting rib kicks from time to time, so maybe I was mistaken. Maybe the hourly pees are due to something else I haven’t thought of and the lower abdomen aches and pains natural in this part of pregnancy, despite their sudden onset. Getting the test results yesterday afternoon didn’t help my confidence any. After all, it is based on science, even though it isn’t flawless, and it’s not like I should know what a baby dropping should feel like. It’s much more likely that I’m mistaken than the test is wrong (not that the two can’t both be true).
But M still agrees that BabyN has indeed dropped; in fact, he’s more certain about it than I am. He can tell my profile has changed by looking at me, and he can tell by feeling my belly that the upper part is softer than it used to be and the lower part harder. And when I get Braxton-Hicks, I can usually feel the tightening in the lower half of my belly instead of the far upper extremes where it used to be. That may not be proof that BabyN has dropped, and even if he has, that isn’t proof he’s coming anytime soon. But it works well for convincing me I’m right this time, regardless of what the scientific test says. We’ll see what the doctor says about it when I see her tomorrow.
Another hot topic of uncertainty around here is the subject of future kids. I know I’ve mentioned before that I always imagined myself with a big family. M is reluctant to even let the subject come up for discussion; he’s so set on stopping now that he wants one of us to get permanently “fixed” as soon as BabyN is born. After this rough pregnancy, I am also reluctant to consider having another kid the natural way, but I don’t want to permanently close up shop quite yet. I’d rather keep our options open in case one of us changes our mind in a few years. M’s terrified that means I’m going to try to convince him to have another in a couple of years and he’s not going to want to argue and end up giving in. He’d rather not have to fight me about it later and just take care of the possibility now. The thing is, how do you explain to a man that having the surgery that forever ends your capabilities of becoming a mother again makes you feel like you’d be less of a woman, like a part of you will always be taken away, that you need to know you can get pregnant, even if you never want to again?
Even being a parent right now is fraught with uncertainty. Over the last few weeks, M and I have slowly come to the realization that PJ’s language development is definitely behind for his age, even taking into consideration his prematurity. It’s probably a mistake, but we’re going to wait until his doctor verifies it (or hopefully, doesn’t verify it) when he sees him in October to take any real action. In the meantime, we’re trying to encourage him to talk any way we can. But we’re feeling like bad parents because of it. Is it possible he’s behind because we’re not giving him the attention he needs? Not talking with him enough? Not reading to him enough? Letting him watch too much TV? Not finding ways for him to socialize with other kids his age? It could easily just be one long-term effect of his prematurity. But then that brings back questions about the pregnancy. Could I have prevented the problem, if there is one, by doing things different when I was pregnant with him?
I’m trying very hard not to let myself think about all of that. I’m trying to do what I can to be a good mommy to PJ now, to do what I can think of to give his language skills a kick-start. I’m trying not to let myself worry about whether or not he really has a problem, or whether it’s the only problem he has. With my hormones the way they are, that’s not always easy, but I know the best thing to do is relax and go with the flow with this, no matter what it is.