At least they didn’t call it a “false labor.” I hate that term.
The fact is, I am in labor, sort of. My uterus is contracting regularly. The baby’s heart rate is reacting accordingly. I did have some sort of clear liquid leave my vagina in a big gush. And I am experiencing lower back pain and pelvic pressure.
BUT, the pH level (2 hours later) is too low to have been amniotic fluid. My cervix is still thick, closed and shows no sign of changing any time soon. And the fetal fibronectin test says that there’s a 99% chance I won’t go into “real” labor for at least another 2 weeks.
Which is good, considering that I’m only at 30 weeks today, and the house is nowhere near ready for a newborn yet.
The hardest part (besides looking like a complete dummy) is that they told me to “take it easy.” Right! With 5 kids, 2 of whom have psychiatric illnesses and 1 of whom is a very active 2 year old? They said I shouldn’t lift things – like, you know, my toddlers or a full laundry basket. I guess that means I shouldn’t move the 1950s steel desk from the boys’ room to the kitchen like I had planned, either, or move the couch to vacuum under it as I normally do at least weekly.
Still, it’s not official bed rest yet. And my little guy probably isn’t going to be born during the extra-dangerous seventh month. So I should be happy.
I am happy. Every couple of minutes, between these dreadful minute-long contractions that have been coming every 3 to 5 minutes for what seems like an eternity. Just forgive me if outward expressions don’t reflect that happiness perfectly for the next few weeks, as the discomfort has a way of changing my tone a bit.