Now I'm going to scream... or cry... or take a nap...

I'm sick of preterm labor. Really, REALLY sick of it... and in the last few days I have come to the conclusion that the only real difference between preterm labor and 'real' labor is that preterm labor is pointless. It doesn't get you any closer to having a baby in your arms but it still hurts like hell, makes you miserable, and makes you want to kill yourself several times a day. I'm having a very hard time grasping the fact that there are WEEKS of this ahead of us... and I'm having an even harder time comprehending that somehow I have to make it through without losing my sanity.

Monday. Everything bad happens on Mondays right? Monday morning at about 4:30 my contractions woke me up. Up until that point, getting to sleep was always my way of getting rid of the nasty little buggers... if I could fall asleep (HA!) then they wouldn't bother me. Not anymore. Monday morning they woke me up and I tossed and turned and writhed until my 8am med dose. My back cramped up, my tummy was as hard as a rock, and it HURT. They came off and on again like that throughout the day... I didn't get up to shower... I barely got up to make food - I just laid there... allllll day. Then, yesterday, they woke me up again... at 3am. I took an early dose of my meds at 4am and suffered through most of the morning. By about 8pm last night I was regretting not going to the hospital but was also too stubborn to ask to go in - a night trip to the hospital is a MAJOR hassle. Derek gets zero sleep and has to go to work in the morning, we have to call his parents to come stay at our house to avoid dragging a groggy two-year old to the ER in the middle of the night and THEY have to get up and work in the morning, not to mention... it's always the same story. "Yup, you're having a ton of contractions. Nope, you're not dilating. Go home and suffer until something else changes." Not exactly how I want to spend my night so  I figured if I could tough it out until my appointment this afternoon then maybe we could get some answers. I got a few hours sleep last night before they woke me up at 3:30 again. I grumbled and tossed and turned and at 8:30 I called Dr. H's office to see if they could get me in earlier in the day - just on the off chance that they might be able to offer some magical cure that they had been holding out on. They couldn't get me in but told me to go to L&D for observations [Oh. Joy.]. So, I packed myself into the car and drove my big to the hospital for another engaging round of 'count the contractions' and 'poke Stefani in the cervix'.

The end result... yup, you guessed it. "You're having a lot of contractions but we can't increase your medications any more. Thankfully, you aren't dilating yet. Try a warm bath or a hot pack and see if that helps [insert me resisting to throat punch the nurse] and come back if anything changes." FML.

Things about this situation that make me angry...

1. Um, I'm miserable. Not 'can't walk, can't talk' contractions miserable... but 'leave me the f*** alone' miserable. Which, after two weeks, seems like about the same thing.

2. I don't buy into the whole, "Not dilating so we're safe" idea since my water broke with Addison when I was barely dilated to 1 cm. But whatever, no one listens to me.

3. I can't sleep. I lay down at 9pm... toss and turn [andtossandturnandtossandturn] until about 1 or 2am and fall asleep until 3:30 or 4am when the contractions get bad. I take my meds, go pee, and toss and turn for the next four hours until I can take my meds again and Derek leaves for work. Then, I take over the bed and, if I'm lucky, get another hour or two of decent rest.

4. I *HATE* going in to the hospital all the time. No matter how many doctors and nurses explain that they'd rather have me there every day than have a preterm baby [and I agree] - I can't stand the look from the snooty ER check-in staff when I show up and check in. Not to mention, leaving L&D while still pregnant is like taking the walk of shame. Don't ask me why, it just is.

So... I know that if I go back and look at blog posts from early September of 2009, I probably vented these same things and I know that [to the rest of the world] a few more weeks isn't going to kill me [we'll see]. But I can tell you that right now - I'm exhausted, I'm uncomfortable [understatement of the decade], I'm frustrated, and I want to scream and cry and bang my head against the wall until this baby decides to be born. The only thing keeping me from doing that is the fact that I know this little guy isn't ready yet and no matter how awful this is, it doesn't compare to how awful it would be for him to be born too early. So my mommy instinct is keeping me from doing fifty-thousand jumping jacks and trying to send myself into labor.

So, since I was there alone, I did what I do best. I took random pictures so all my friends and family can experience this magical time with me. Don't worry, I didn't include any pics of my butt hanging out of my hospital gown on the way to the potty... that sad sight is reserved for my poor husband.