I don’t know what it means to be a father. I’m not sure I care. What I know is what it means to be a mother.

I don’t know what it means to have an accidental child. My children were built out of purpose and intention. My children exist because I wanted to learn from them. My children exist because I wanted to see them. My children exist because I need teachers that cannot be stolen from me.

My children are about my own selfishness. And yet they aren’t.

My children are about me having something to give.

My children are about me and yet they aren’t… not even a little.

My children are about continuation that has nothing to do with me. I am not important. The continuation is important. In medias res. This story will continue without me.

Blood of my blood. Bond of my bone. Child, I love you. What is love. Love is the feeling that I would crawl across broken glass if you needed a ride upon my back. Love is the feeling that I would swim directly towards a shark if that would give you a few moments of freedom to swim towards safety. Love is that feeling that I would destroy myself to guarantee you one second of delight.

Love is knowing that any resource, any anything I have is better spent in your hands. Because you are more important.

You are the gift that I give myself. All of my children are gifts from my past self. See, if you survive you get to meet these people. These glorious, bright, wonderful people. My first two children were the gifts of beauty that I get to look at. This third child is the gift of my spirit. The gift of charm of suavity I get to experience.

Child, I want to meet you.

“What is an angel”

An angel is the spirit of that which was, and that which is, and that which can be again. An angel is you.

Transformation. Becoming. Change.

When I think of the stream of children coming, I think of you. When I think of the future, I think of you.

THERE IS BLOOD COMING OUT OF MY TWAT. This is an excellent sign. It’s called the bloody show. It’s the mucus plug starting to come out. It’s often a precursor of labor.

One day before my 40 week visit. Because my kids apparently really like to bake for 40 fucking weeks exactly.

My massage therapist is a lovely California woo. By which I mean she calls herself a Christian but she does a lot of energy work and can reference multiple schools of thought on how the body stores energy. Yesterday her thing was how the various fingers are tied to current and past emotions.

The finger I knocked out of joint is supposed to be connected with current worry. The finger I jammed so badly it was hard to get any movement back in the joints is tied to past anger.

When she said these two things I burst into tears. I don’t cry with her much. It freaks her out.

But I started instantaneously sobbing and talking about how angry I am that those motherfuckers are still god damn making my life hard because they just had to fuck up a child’s pussy.

I don’t think I had been terribly aware of just how much anger I am holding on to about the fact that my labors are so hard partially because of what was done to me. My ability to have a normal body process was taken away when I was a child. And I am fucking bitter. I am so tired of suffering because of assholes.

This is where the whole victim/survivor thing becomes a problem. I’m still carrying around the impact of the incest and the rapes. Does that mean that even my labors are part of my victim experience? Is being a survivor what makes everything so awful? Cohort. Cohort members frequently experience difficulty because of being part of the cohort.

That doesn’t feel as violating to me.

It’s almost 3am. That means I have approximately 74 hours until eviction gets started. There is a 0% chance I will still be pregnant in 100 hours. I will have a baby in my arms. One way or another.

It’s funny how her movements keep changing. She used to move all the damn time. Little sharp movements that rarely stopped. Now she has stretches where she seems to be storing up energy for the next big flip flopping session. She is still until my entire abdomen moves like there is a sea creature doing otter rolls inside of me. It hurts. Her movements are becoming quite painful. She’s too dang big to be hanging out in there any more.

I keep telling her she doesn’t actually want a Valentine’s birthday but so far she doesn’t believe me. So far she thinks it’ll be fiiiiiiiiine.

My sister got married on Valentine’s Day when she was 17. She has spent the rest of her life talking about how the day is ruined. Somehow… this just might be redemption for me. Cause I’m going to ride the gravy train forever that this child will be my sweetness and love. Even if they are a total shithead. That would be so apropos.

I feel like a wounded water buffalo when I try to move around because of all the flip flopping and awkwardness.

I would like more sleep but my shoulders hurt so badly.

This relaxin bullshit can go ahead and stop. My body is crumbling.

I’m trying as hard as I can to keep my mood as level as I can manage. I feel so bad that I am being bitchy. I have a lot of feelings going on in my body and being regulated with my emotions is basically impossible at this point. I’m trying. I’m trying to shut my fucking mouth instead of expressing pissiness when it won’t god damn help a thing. The situation will be fixed. It’s not a big deal.

Breathe. Everyone around me is trying so hard to be helpful. I’m sorry I am so impatient and bitchy right now. I see y’alls wonderful efforts and I’m trying to give you the response you deserve for your lovely behavior. It’s really hard to keep my mood level as my pain levels are spiking like this.

But it doesn’t actually matter how I feel. It matters how I act. If I want to preserve these relationships I need to get my shit together. No pissiness over minor mistakes. Shit happens. Shake it off. It can be fixed. That is absolutely my favorite part of becoming a rich old person. Do you know how many mistakes I can’t fix? The number is small. Most mistakes really don’t fucking matter now. It’s ok.

It really is.

But hopefully when I heard news of the small mistake I didn’t cause a mistake that can’t be fixed. That’s the important dynamic.

The stupid little shit that needs to be handled? That’s not a big deal. How people feel about the mistake? That can have longer lasting consequences.

fuuuuuuuuuuuck

Breathe.

My hands need me to stop typing. But I still have feelings. Bury them, motherfucker.

Yesterday felt brutal and painful and like why am I not getting this baby out of my twat today. Today… I’ve barely had any contractions. Things are pretty chill. I feel physically pretty ok. I’m not in a lot of pain. I’m not feeling like forward progress is being made.

Fucking body.

I am still only 1.5 dilated, but I am up to 70% effaced. The effacement bit is cool because Noah has never felt me this effaced before and I had him do a lot of twat checks through the last two labors. So I am sitting at the physical spot now that I was at most of the way through my last labor. I got this effaced in the last three hours or so of labor previously.

This is good news.

My OB stripped my membranes today. And she’s talking about an induction next week. I’m on board.

It was kind of funny that she was worried about hurting me with the stripping of the membranes. I did not mention that I’ve had much more painful things happen to my twat.

Today we will finish getting the garage cleaned up. It’s going to be used to host our wonderful friend until I’m done having the baby so I would like it to be as tidy and hospitable as possible. On the plus side: this means we will be doing the last bits of clean up for the post-remodel mess and our house is 100% reset and done from the chaos.

Huzzah!

It also means that I can stop panicking about the fact that Noah would like to do the next set of pictures in the house. It’s not a complete disgusting mess anymore.

Today while I boss my children through cleaning tasks I am going to prepare the last bits of hard-paper documents for the friend who is going to be with the kids during labor.

I don’t know if I’m right but I feel very much like this baby is going to come a week early. I don’t think this is a 40 week baking job. But I could be wrong! Who knows! But Noah says I feel almost completely effaced. The contractions and pain I’m having in my groin are inconsistent but feel really productive.

Even my damn belly button is popping and that’s not a pregnancy symptom I’ve ever had before. The baby dropped dropped. The baby is well engaged. I feel really ready.

Ma is going to be good labor support. Noah and I have been talking a lot about what I want to have go different this time. Last night, at blacksheeps suggestion, we did hypnosis around letting go of fear.

This is going to be different. Do you know how cool it is that pretty much everyone I talk to is hard core #TeamMedication. Everyone keeps telling me that I should not try to set time goals for suffering. If I’m uncomfortable, fuck it. Medicate. Don’t suffer this time. Get through the process and take advantage of every conceivable help available in a hospital.

That feels so lovely.

What I want from this birth is feeling less like I’m doing everything wrong and taking too long. I’m so fucking over having people be irritated with me going through the process I need. A friend offered time limited labor support and I wisely, with great respect for my self-care, said no.

I don’t need to feel time pressure during labor ever again. I don’t need to feel like I need to hurry or I don’t deserve support.

Ma says she’ll come for as long as it takes, no big deal. That’s what I need right now.

I’m feeling very grateful for how things are coming together.

I feel like the baby is going to come this week. I feel like everything is coming together and it is going to be ok. Labor babysitting support will be in my house in about 33 hours and anytime after that I’m golden. If labor started before then I have a 48 hour backup person and a ton of neighbors who are ready to step up if needed.

This will be different.

I feel completely paralyzed. There is no end of shit I need to do. And I’m sitting in one place staring at the screen because I cannot emotionally, mentally, nor physically handle getting up to do any of it.

I feel so completely incompetent and like a failure.

This is where I want a god damn mommy to come over and help me. This is my sad face.

I have spent so many years showing up at peoples houses and cleaning for/with them when they break down.

Yeah.

I want to move away from this valley. I want to move somewhere where there is no one I know within a three hour drive so that I never have the feeling that I wish someone would come help me. Being alone would be so refreshing. There would be no possibility of hope for help. I’m just alone.

I want that.

I’m up to 20 lbs gained! Huzzah!

Overall I don’t get to bitch about how my body is feeling right now. I have some heart burn. I am achey. I’m exhausted. I can point at spots of pain. But it’s really not bad. I’m uncomfortable but this isn’t a nightmare.

Sit ups are finally getting hard. I can still get myself up pretty easily, I’m not a turtle stuck on my back. But it’s getting harder.

I feel like if I were getting massage 3 days a week I would be feeling no pain…. ha.

I’m not doing a great job on lowering my dosage of marijuana. I’m not increasing at all… but coming down is hard.

Baby looks great. Measuring at least a week ahead soon. This might be my only chance at having a baby come before 40 weeks.

I did something nutty. I asked for feedback on the forums about labor support and what it has meant to them. I was shocked that people weren’t assholes. Everyone was really nice. I got some concrete suggestions of things to say to Noah. We are going to go talk to my friend’s mom about labor support this week.

I’m trying to change how this time goes compared to the past.

1cm still. No real movement on effacement. Everything is looking normal and good. I’m likely to go 40 weeks.

I’m measuring a week ahead, which is pretty incredible given that I’ve gained 11 lbs. I also look visually small… which is kind of funny.

Doctor said I have one fingertip of dilation and no effacement. I’m pretty likely to make it to 40 weeks.

We talked about my anxiety and depression and came to the conclusion that I’m doing what I can do for it. She’s super awesome about my pot usage. She’s very blunt about the fact that she doesn’t know what impacts it could have on my kid. There are no statistics. That makes me want to kiss her hand. Thank you for admitting that we are flying blind here. I adore you for that.

We talked about measures in the hospital and why this birth is just not going to be able to go how the last one did.

I feel comfortable with her. I just wish I knew I would be able to actually see her in the hospital…

Baby is head down and fairly engaged in my pelvis. Now to wait five weeks. Sigh. I know it is best for the baby to cook full term. I’m really getting over being pregnant.

Head is down. The kid is positioned so that their feet are in exactly the same damn spot they were when side ways. Well, this is good… I guess.

Right kidney is barely enlarged. Like, sitting right at the “max” reading and there is slight swelling of the ureter but baaaaaarely. So we need to notify the pediatrician and do a check at about seven days old. It’s not a super emergency.

That’s probably all good news.

So I’ve been taking the proton pump inhibitors to help with acid reflux. As I predicted, within a week their efficacy had dropped dramatically. At almost two weeks of use the ’12 hour formula’ lasts about 4 hours before I’m right back to burning acid. When I run out of this box of pills I’m just going to quit. Ice cream is just as fucking effective and will have fewer long-term consequences.

I’m exhausted and weary and I have nothing to give. My cousin is texting me about her dog dying and she thinks she had a miscarriage last week and she wants love and support. I told her I am too tired to have feelings. I am literally not capable of emoting for you.

I walked almost 4 miles yesterday and today I feel like death.

I’m getting to the point where I’m gasping for breath a lot of the day.

Sleeping is getting hard again. I had like a week or three that were great and now it’s sucking again.

I’m not responding to emails. I’m not caught up on mint and I don’t know when I will get caught up. I’m failing at a lot of chores. I feel so bad. I didn’t manage to get the stupid Christmas tree out for recycling on the day we could put it out whole. Now I’ll have to cut the bitch apart. That doesn’t sound like fun.

I am feeling pathetic and insecure about the curve of my life and the mistakes that I make.

I’m still scared of giving birth. A c-section that would be over in an hour is sounding…. so much less traumatic.

I told my cousin that for a while I’m going to need to be selfish and not focus on her at all because I’m 5-6 weeks away from repeating an experience that almost killed me last time. If I focus on her and use up the store of energy I have… that might mean I’m not here next year and I just can’t make that choice right now.

I’m feeling really scared.

For a while I felt like the baby shifted and was in a better position. Now the baby is digging into that same spot on my ribs again and I’m not sure. I go in for an ultrasound tomorrow and I’ll find out.

“Reach out and ask for help” uhhh… no. I’d rather slice myself to ribbons in the bathroom.

I want to hide in the closet until Valentine’s.

I feel like I’m scared and lonely and I want to talk to people and I absolutely do not want to talk to anyone because I’m self involved and terrible and I have nothing to give and if I have nothing to give then I’m a disgusting user and I should die.

I don’t know how this got so bad so quickly already again.