C-spot

The anticipation is killing me.

Art is supposed to be out last January 28 but nobody knows why she won’t budge till now. I am 41 weeks pregnant as of now and it’s still normal, depending on how you see normal, that is. I feel contractions once in a while but it would only last for a few minutes and then, gone. My doctor says Art is still doing fine inside my tummy and in fact is curling comfortably without any plans of hitting mommy’s pelvic. And according to her, if I really want to induce the delivery I better have sexual contact at least two times. The easiest way, said my smirking doctor. Yeah right. Like, where would I get a sex life right now? HAR HAR. And for the record, Art is a 9 pounder. You can blame that on me and my non stop ice cream-chocolate-cakes cravings.

I have gone through several tests, shameful XRAYS (xray pelvimitry is worse than being raped) and scans already, and it’s quite clear that my placenta is starting to deteriorate. So for my own safety and Art’s, I was scheduled for a Caesarian on February 7 (which is a lucky day for the Chinese daw sabi ni mama), 9 in the morning. I was quite hesitant for a C-section knowing how expensiiiiive it is and not to mention, the recovery is pretty exhausting. Plus, the process is quite scary (I peeked on some clips online, eeoow) with all the tusok-tusok on my spinal area and the incisions and stitches, waaaaaaaaah. The only thing I’m looking forward to is, I won’t be sprawled like a frog to be dissected in front of attending nurses and my giggly doctor. Hay.

This feels like a death sentence. it’s almost the same as lining up for the lethal injection. The anticipation is killing me. Though, the thought of finally seeing that pilya inside my tummy is very exciting. It’s like when you were a kid and it’s summer and you’re waiting anxiously for next day when you would all be headed to the beach. Saya.

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I’m afraid of Art ‘much as I’m scared of Dylan. They may ask me questions tomorrow I may not be able to answer. And Art, considering what she’s been through inside my tummy, the problems I have been dealing with while she’s inside me, would not make me wonder if she turns out to be as complex as Rubik’s cube. She could be my karma. I expect tantrums, mood swings, loathe, free-floating anxiety and emptiness that could be traced back to my own doings once she takes up General psychology in college. She would know it’s her mother’s fault and would hate me unconsciously.

So as early as now, I am trying to apologize, Art. Mommy is not in the right mind when you are inside her. Never feel unwanted or unloved, I’m just going through stuff that incidentally pulled you along. I’m sorry.

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