…the time of year I start reminiscing about the end of my pregnancy.
Let’s see. December 2, 2007. I was done. I had PUPPPPPP (can never remember how many Ps to put in there) and I hadn’t slept well in days. My back hurt, I was swollen, my hands were numb, I was a miserable blob. My BP was creeping up, as was the protein in my urine. I had been in the hospital for a week and I’d read every magazine and watched everything on TV. I was done.
I hit 33 weeks that day, and within the past few days, I’d seen a baby in the nursery who weighed four pounds. She looked pretty big to me, and the boys were estimated to weigh at least that much, so I felt okay doing what I did the next morning…begging my doctor for a c-section.
He agreed, and the operating room was booked for December 4, 2007 at 6:30 am.
A few pictures from my hospital stay…
Man, I was not one of those attractive pregnant women. Ha ha! Good times. I looked so bad that every time I’d go for a follow-up appointment at my MFM’s office, the doctors and nurses would say, “holy cow, you look SO GOOD!”, not because I looked good, but because I’d looked so bad before. Heh.