Have you heard? It’s baby making season.
I’m actually serious, because last year one of my nurses informed me that I’d chosen “peak period” to have a baby – the maternity wards are full around February/March. It turns out that everybody wants a baby earlier in the year, at least in Singapore. Advantage in school, and all that. Or, we just like to have sex around the hottest time of the year, which is…a little less likely.
This time round, I’m about five times more relaxed about the conception process, since well, been there done that. It’s like being in the queue of a roller coaster ride that you’ve been on a few times – lots of distraction (thanks to that toddler clambering over you and trying to poke his finger into your nostril), a little bit of boredom because the queue is soooo long (nine months arguably ten), but now and then you remember where you are and where you’re headed and you get a thrill of terror and excitement but mostly, you’re pretty complacent and let’s just get this part over with.
Also, this time round, I know everything there is to know about getting pregnant in the most efficient way possible. Because I am a very focused baby maker. No fooling around, no passing go, we have to get this right or it’s a 33 day wait till we get to try again, which is just really really boring. So. Luteal phases, ovulation test kits, basal body temps, fertility lubricant, and yes, egg-white cervical mucous and how many inches it can stretch. (At least two.) Can you believe that the female egg only lives for 24 hours?
(And then I learned on the news recently that pandas only ovulate once a year which gave me a bit of an anxiety attack on their behalf.)
By the way, the Two Week Wait is interestingly still the Slowest Two Weeks Ever Ever Like Ever. It’s not even that I’m really keeping tabs on it, the way I was the first time round, but now and then I’d idly wonder “oh, how long has it been since I potentially got impregnated?” and realise with a jolt that only FOUR DAYS have passed. Four days. Six days. Eight days. I am now at twelve days, and the anticipation is at roof level, if not through it. What I hate most about this? The fact that it all hinges on the arrival (or non-arrival) of one’s period. That means that on day fourteen, I’m obsessively checking for blood in my underwear every half an hour, which is just a crappy way to end this whole process. Not to mention, a period is the most depressing FAIL result. (Sigh, I’m not pregnant, let me just reach for a pad while I bleed for the next five days.)
Anyway, I’m already looking ahead to the end game here, and other than choosing names for my as-yet fictitious baby (can I get away with Charlotte? Will every fifth girl born in the next few years be called Charlotte?), I’ve got a short list of things to bear in mind now that I know what’s up:
1) Get the anti-depressant hormonal correcting pills or whatever it is that my doctor can give me before I even go into labour. Because now I know what post-partum anxiety/depression looks like, and it ain’t pretty. In fact, it is downright hair raising. It is the most bizarre feeling, like an emotion coming over you like a thick cloud, and it’s not you, but it acts like it’s you, and everybody thinks it’s you, but it’s definitely not you. Like a demon possession, I would think. Anyway, I know that if I don’t get a hold on this right from the start it’s going to be one spiraling panic attack for me right out of the gate. Husband will also be briefed beforehand so that he does not think that I am being crazy on purpose.
2) Fight against getting induced. Having said that…
3) Get induced as early as safely possible if baby’s growth pattern appears to be similar to that of older sibling’s.
4) Get the nursery right. It totally didn’t matter, and yet it kind of did. Life sucks for the first couple of months (sorry, it does), and if it’s going to suck, I feel like my surroundings need to be pretty. I shouldn’t have to deal with ugly bedding and nursing chairs which are totally not working (arm rests please!!!) and general disorganized mayhem. I want to step into baby-land and find myself in paradise, not…the opposite. Stepping into this would probably inspire me to breastfeed fifteen minutes longer than I feel like doing, and even though I know realistically that I will never have a nursery like that, I can shoot for something closer.
5) Enjoy the fact that newborns sleep so well. Well okay, they sleep horribly in that they are up every few hours at night, but oh, the naps! Such a breeze! All the time, anywhere and through everything. The television could be blasting in their faces and they would still sleep (possibly even more soundly). And the immobility is kinda nice. No rolling, no crawling, no sudden appearance in the kitchen just as I’m maneuvering a pot of boiling water to the sink. Of course, I’m praying that I actually get a good sleeper.
6) Pray that I get a good sleeper (i.e. no 30 minute naps). Enough said.