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Baby’s not stressed, but I sure am

June 18, 2006

Well, the non-stress test went well. Baby is happy and apparently, I’m having regular contractions, just pretty far apart. I can’t feel any, so they must not be very strong yet. That was the best of it, seeing as beforehand, my mom decided to pick a huge fight with me and start screaming at me about how I would regret it if they induce me. All I said was, “maybe we should put my bags in the car in the event that I need to stay.” (No such luck, Pam, that my water broke while I was having the test done.) She, of course, jumps to the conclusion that I’m going in to have them induce me because she already thinks it weird that the doc would order a test on a Sunday morning. This turned into a huge screaming match, which only escalated with her horrible life-threatening driving skills and complete lack of following directions, leaving her to drive the wrong way on more than one occasion, despite our many test-runs throughout the week. Anyway. 10 hours later and I’m still not speaking to her.

I’m not sure how to tell her that the doc wants me in the hospital Tuesday morning to break my water so we can get some productive contractions going and have this baby. We discussed it at length at my appointment on Friday and I decided to go for it. Maybe I’m making a hasty decision because I’m miserable and being impatiet, but I also know that I’ve already burned a week of my 3 week paid leave and that I can’t afford to keep going to the doctor every week at $200 a pop. The 20th seems like a fair compromise between the original and new due dates, and the doc has given me no indication that the baby will be in any danger either way.

Perhaps I am overreacting to my mom, since I awoke this morning with a bad taste in my mouth at her already. Last night, I went to bed, irritated with her at so many little things — she uses SOOOOO much toilet paper (as in, even I, being pregnant, was only changing the roll every four days before her arrival and now it’s daily), she refuses to rinse the dishes before they go in the dishwasher (and then wonders why they don’t come out clean), she does laundry almost every time she changes clothes (which is sometimes three times a day), and she just sits and watches TMC alllll daaaaay looooong. Then when I ask if I can watch something, she bitches about my choice. I’m about to go batty. Seriously.

This is why I couldn’t handle a roommate. I’m too anal. When my ex and I first started living together, it was a little rough, but then we eventually learned how to coexist. I eventually learned to close the toilet lid and he eventually learned which way to put the roll of TP on its holder. But with her, it’s “I’m not a child, Eunice,” or “that’s not how I like to do it,” whenever I voice my discontent with her actions. Translation: “I’m not changing, so deal with it.” The gashes in my tongue are fair showing of how many times I’ve had to refrain from screaming, “my house, my rules!!!”

I even cried to my dad about her this morning while she was in the shower, and all he could offer me is that she means well, and I have to remember that. I know that, but it doesn’t make me want to strangle her any less when we are at the grocery store and she criticizes my choice of pasta — “whole grain is better for you, you know.”

After stewing all afternoon, I decided that I need to sit her down and tell her that if she’s here to be supportive, then she needs to do that. If she’s here to criticize me, then she may as well just go because I don’t need that kind of stress right now. I know she’s just being a mom, but she’s done nothing but keep me on edge since she arrived.


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