Last Friday we found that Finch’s cord was in a nuchal wrap, which freaked me out so bad, so we ended up visiting the Maternity Trauma Center on Saturday afternoon, and all was well, so we were discharged. By yesterday, Finch had worked his way out of his nuchal wrap.

Someone from our genetic testing company just phoned me to sell me on the benefits umbilical cord blood banking, and he listed all the diseases it can help treat (if needed), so my anxiety is super high right now, as I do not need to hear a list of all of the diseases about which I’m already an expert, so I told him to call me back tonight. (Because I’ll feel better tonight, right?!)

After Friday’s appointment, apparently the maternal fetal medicine doctor staffing the office called my obstetrician and was like, “Do you know your patient has a really big baby? Ummmmm, has she been tested for gestational diabetes?!” Yes, yes I have. Two or three times now. OMG while I’m glad they’re being cautious all of this big baby talk is creating anxiety in me, and I’m just wondering if it’s going to be the same as with Joel… Like I’m expecting them to pull Finch out and be like, “12 pounds, 17 ounces!!” But then he’ll be closer to 8 pounds, and everyone will be like, “Da fuq???”

This morning at a corporate holiday Santa Claus pancake breakfast for families (for one of our employers) we met this couple who we had to meet, and it was in our best interest to be extremely nice to each other. It was awkward though, because, apparently the woman’s pregnant, due late spring or early summer… Obviously, she could tell I was pregnant, so the subject came up. She saw Joel and was like, “Do you have older kids?” So I told her, “Our first child, Matthew, would be two and a half.” She was very sympathetic, and then she asked when I was due, and I was like, “Mid-January, but we’re taking him out very soon, kind of white-knuckling it through these final days, hoping for the best…” So it was sorta strange because here they were, far, far, far from her due date, talking as though their baby’s survival is guaranteed, and here we were, close, close, close to Extraction Day, acting like our baby’s is still very much in question… They were very nice, and overall, the interaction was fine, but I just wonder if, when I imply my baby’s survival isn’t guaranteed, people fill in the rest of my thoughts, which are, “And your baby’s isn’t either.” Or do they just assume something was wrong with my baby or with me and that they are immune to any and all tragedies? (Yes.)

Extraction Day – This is what I’m calling my scheduled C-section date… It’s a term from the show, Naked & Afraid, and I feel like my life is similar in that I’m kind of just trying to survive these final days without anyone dying until I (along with Finch) stagger into the hospital so we can be extracted or medically evacuated or whatever. (Well I guess he’ll be the one who is medically evacuated from my body, technically speaking, and I’ll be medically evacuated from this particular anxiety, only to face a new type of anxiety.)

On a related note, I have been so freaking irritated lately that I can’t just happily be 35+2. Instead, my nearly every thought involves life/death. Yesterday, Mark’s mom wanted to go to Carter’s, and I thought about tagging along to get Finch a Christmassy outfit for the hospital, but then I decided that, no, I should just wait until he is here and then send someone else to Carter’s to pick an outfit and bring it to the hospital instead. I mean, yes, I’m relatively optimistic that Finch can make it here safely, but the trauma never goes away.

My back is also a wreck, so now, in addition to being mentally and emotionally incapacitated, I’m physically pretty worthless as well. It’s making me feel horrible, because, every time I pick up Joel it exacerbates my pain, so I’m not picking him up much at all, and thus I feel as though I’m failing him as a mother. Mark keeps reminding me that parents go on military leave for like months and months and return home and their kids still love them, but I’m really hard on myself and still feel awful about this.

I feel like I’m going crazy. I’d been comparatively less neurotic this time around, but now, each day, it’s like I spend a decent portion of it sitting in a chair, staring out the window, tapping my phone each time Finch kicks. It’s like a scene you’d find in a movie… One taking place in a mental hospital.

On Sunday at church the pastor gave a very good sermon on letting go of holiday expectations, including, but not limited to, mailing Christmas cards on time, attending all the events, hosting the perfect events, feeling happy all of the time, people around you feeling happy all of the time, the house looking clean and pretty, buying the most amazing gifts, feeling overwhelming nostalgia as your perfect family puts up the perfect Christmas tree that will look perfect on Facebook and Instagram, proving that your family is better than everyone else’s family…

It was a good message, but, after losing a child, I give less than zero fucks about any of this shit. Like I’ve had to let go of my son and like, rebuild my life, and also let go of any and all expectations regarding what I thought life would look like for me, so I think I can handle a burnt piece of turkey, okay? Maybe one day, I’ll be able to give two craps about trivial things again, but this time has yet to come. (NOTE: I’m not claiming that I can’t show interest in trivial things… It’s just still much less compared to pre-loss, especially around the holidays, when I’m missing Matthew, surviving the last days of this harrowing pregnancy.)

I’ve decided I might be sending Christmas cards after the New Year. Hopefully this will be before March.

So today’s our Secret Santa gift exchange for work! We’re going to lunch soon, but I’m considering dropping off my gift and bailing. (It’ll be a last minute decision.) I bought someone a gift card to their specified place of choice (Yes, we’re just trading $$$.), and I put it in a little bag, for which I had no tissue paper, so I took some candy out of someone’s candy bowl to use as the tissue paper, and it’s working fabulously.

This update is full of complaints and stress, but can anyone really expect anything different considering the state of my affairs right now?

Also, I have mixed feelings about the new Bachelor being Arie Luyendyk Jr… Though ABC is calling January, “Januarie,” which is cute… Hahaha.