40 weeks

I had a meltdown last night.

It was about midnight and I had tried changing locations in the house in an effort to sleep through at least some of the night, but it wasn’t working. Finally, I stomped back to our bedroom, woke M and proceeded to give him a tearful rendition of how frustrated, tired, annoyed, impatient, etc. I was, and how I had no idea how I was going to feel better. Poor guy, he was sort of taken aback and tried his best to comfort me (he even offered to play cards with me to take my mind off my insomnia), but of course he couldn’t actually do anything.

The funny part? My due date is today. I’m not even technically “overdue” yet (yes, I know that you’re not actually overdue until after 42 weeks, but try telling that to society).

I think my problem is that I get way too bothered by other people. Basically, for the past three weeks, people keep on saying “You’re still around?” to me whenever they see me. So, that has set an expectation in my mind that I might go into labor at any second. It has become almost a get-out-of-jail-free card for me. As in, “Boy, I really don’t want to be at that meeting tomorrow. Hey, maybe I’ll go into labor and I won’t have to go!” It hasn’t helped that I’m thoroughly sick of work.

In the meantime, there’s this cloud of guilt that follows me wherever I go. It’s said that whenever you start feeling sorry for yourself, you should just think about the misfortune of others and you’ll be able to put things in perspective. I don’t have to look very far; I just think of myself 11 months ago and how utterly terrible my situation was. The Ann of November 2007 would have looked at the Ann of October 2008 with disgust, thinking that she had absolutely no appreciation for the gift she has been given.

Then, there are the women in my office: my co-worker, who doesn’t shy away from telling the story of how she struggled with infertility and lost; and my boss, who never tells her story, but whose answer to the question “Do you have kids?” is, “We were never blessed with children.” That same boss reminded me today that I should be thankful that I’m healthy and everything appears to be OK. And I am. Immensely. I feel terrible even talking about being impatient, because my goodness, if a long pregnancy is the worst of my problems, I’m doing pretty darned well.

But hormones aren’t logical.

Once I’m done working on Friday, I want to hole myself up at home and not talk to any friends and family. Last night, I even toyed with the idea of not answering my family birthday calls because I don’t want to deal with my mother or M’s mother.

When was the last time I felt this strong of a need to shield myself from the world? It was January 2008, when I was still in the throes of grief.

Ironic, isn’t it?

I know exactly what I need to do: Focus on others, take my mind off myself and my pregnancy and just smile and nod when others exclaim over the fact that I’m still around. But it’s easier said than done.