Unsurprisingly to anyone who has been forced to suffer through my incessant harping on it (sorry, so sorry!), the whole housing situation has taken a huge toll on me, and in fairness, my husband too. We began looking for a short term rental, but quickly realized that finding someone who will rent us a house for 6 months or less and allow us to move in with our two dogs was going to be difficult and expensive. My parents reiterated over and over that they thought we should just stay here, so it looks like that’s what we’ll be doing. The numbers were working out that six months of a (crappy) rental, plus two moves, was going to cost us in the neighborhood of $25,000, which just does not make sense. So, it looks like my parents will have another person joining the house soon. (Actually, possibly sooner than expected, but I’ll get to that.)
This is definitely one of those be-careful-not-to-pray-for-patience scenarios. Also, I’d advise against praying for humility and detachment as well. Because I am getting a big old dose of practicing what are apparently some desperately needed virtues on my part.
Since I can’t control so much of our situation right now, I am trying really, really hard to let what I have no control over go, and just take charge of the things I can. Over the weekend, we preregistered online for the hospital, filled out all the paperwork and put it in my bag, went to the storage unit from hell and dug out what we need, and washed the newborn clothes.
(I know I’m a walking cliche, but I can’t believe Will fit into these teeny tiny newborn outfits.)
For reasons I’ll spare you the details on, my midwife decided to do a fetal fibronectin test at my last appointment. The test is looking for signs that fibronectin, the “glue” that holds the amniotic sac to the uterine wall, is starting to break down. It should start breaking down at the end of the pregnancy for obvious reasons, but if it’s breaking down too soon, it’s a sign that you are at risk for pre-term labor. The annoying thing about the test is that while a negative is a near guarantee you are fine, a positive is not nearly as informative. Most women who test positive do not go into labor in the next week, but something like 20% do. As you’ve probably guessed, my test was positive and because I have a history of precipitous labor, it’s not likely they would be able to stop labor once it starts. If you test positive, they want you to get the steroid shot that aids in lung development in case baby is born early. The midwife called yesterday and asked me to come into the hospital for the first dose of the shot.
After arranging to leave Will with my mom (thank you God I was not dumb enough to try and bring him), the husband met me at the hospital. As an aside, the last time I was in labor and delivery, I was on the fast track, in a wheelchair, and did not sign anything, get a bracelet, or an IV until after Will was born. It was a little odd to sit in the waiting area, waiting to be called while signing consent forms.
After taking me back, they hooked me up to the electronic fetal monitor for about an hour to make sure I wasn’t contracting (which I knew I wasn’t), and then the nurse gave me the first round of steroid shot. The shot has two doses, with 24 hours in between, so I went back this afternoon for the second one. Mercifully, this visit was faster. They just listened to Baby’s heartbeat for a minute, gave me the shot, and sent me on my way.
At this point, it seems like Baby is snug and not planning to vacate the premises anytime in the immediate future. Nonetheless, we came home from the hospital, installed the carseat, and finished packing the hospital bag. We obviously hope Baby camps out for a bit longer since I’m only 34 weeks, but I told my husband that I’m sure all this hoopla is a guarantee I’m going to have to be induced at 42 weeks. I really can’t waddle around for another 8 weeks, so let’s hope for a Thanksgiving baby!