So I had an ultrasound this morning.
The monster baby is still very happily breech with her giant head tucked snugly up against my gallbladder and stomach.
Pressure from her big ol’ head is causing me to vomit a lot of what I’m eating at the moment and I also continue to have gallbladder attacks.
Never mind the fact I can’t lie flat without her head pushing up onto my right lung and making it hard to breathe…
Fundal height and baby size are both still tracking perfectly 2 weeks ahead and as this has now been the case for several months the obstetrician is starting to become convinced I’m closer to 37 weeks than 35 weeks.
If Fatso hasn’t turned in the next fortnight we are apparently going to have a serious chat about c-section delivery.
Honestly I’m not yet okay with this idea. I’ve waited six years to have a baby and we know this will be my only baby.
I wanted to at least give natural childbirth a crack. I wanted to experience it. I wanted the excitement and the discomfort and the feeling that I’d achieved something.
Instead I’m facing the potential of never going into labour and just arriving at the hospital at a pre-determined time to let a doctor cut me open and remove my monster baby.
An emergency c-section I’m totally fine with. If the baby is in distress or unhealthy get her the heck outta me as fast as you can to save her. No problemo. I won’t even be sad about it.
But an elective c-section (even if the reason for electing this option is the fact the baby is breech) just seems so depressing.
Plus we all know how I feel about c-sections increasing the risk of postnatal depression and anxiety…
But c’est la vie I suppose.
Nothing and nobody can change what’s going to happen now apart from Fatty Booboo.
If she would consider turning around and engaging her head in my pelvis fairly soon I’d be pretty darn stoked. But she is her father’s daughter so I’m sure I’ll cop nothing but trouble from her hahaha.