I had a midwife appointment yesterday and was told some things that, basically, freaked me the hellz out.
My blood pressure was on the high side.
My fundal height measurement (the length from the top of my pubic bone to the top of my uterus) was a little larger than expected.
Drink more water.
And I was reminded that I’ll probably want to lose all of the weight that I’ve put on during this pregnancy so, ya know, don’t go crazy. There are still 7 weeks left in this pregnancy, after all.
I’m sure that there was a day when you could tell a pregnant woman these things and she’d go on with her day, drink an extra glass of water before bed and put the bag of potato chips up until the next day.
That day no longer exists.
Because now? Now I have Google, my personal midwife assistant. And Google allowed me to get a little bit more informed. Or crazy. Whatever.
Blood pressure that’s on the high side? Sure, it’s probably because all I’d eaten up to that point in the day was cold pizza, but I could probably have pre-eclampsia. Which can result in MATERNAL DEATH according to Wiki.
Marie’s Google-assisted assessment: Maternal death is imminent. Put something funny on my tombstone. Or I’ll haunt you.
Large fundal height measurements? Maybe he’s just in a funny position. Or he’s a freakishly large child that will wreak havoc on my nether regions.
Marie’s Google-assisted assessment: I’m never having sex again. Partly because of the damage Humongo Baby will unleash on the hoo ha, but also because I’LL BE DEAD.
Needless to say, I was panicking. Like, straight up cried into Mark’s arms this morning mourning the loss of so many things. My intact nether regions, french fries, my pre-baby body, and potentially my LIFE.
As I went through the list of all the things that were wrong and that could KILL ME, Mark reassured me that everything was going to be ok, but he had a question…
Mark: I thought we had 8 weeks?
Me: Yeah, I thought so, too. I guess I was wrong. She said I was on week 33.
Mark: So does that mean he’s coming out… sooner?
Yes, I’m CRYING because I only have SEVEN WEEKS TO LIVE, and Mark’s true biggest fear is revealed:
killing me debuting sooner than expected.
* My blood pressure was 136/84 and the line is 140/90. I’m close, but (they say) I’m not dead yet. And my fundal height thing was 1 cm more than expected, healthcare professionals don’t “worry” until it’s 2 cm more.
**I told you I was dramatic.
***And don’t worry, my fears about death are totally normal according to Babble.