No labor today. No baby out yet. Nothing interesting at 37 weeks. And yet I got to spend 2.5 hours in triage at the hospital just for giggles, I guess.
The NST at my 37-week appointment was fine except for some little blips every so often -- the test was reactive (which is good, it means his heart rate accelerated appropriately with movement) but every now and again, about 5-6 times within 20 min, there was a little downward spike of deceleration. One or two of those and no big deal, but 5-6 and my OB wanted me to be monitored for a while near L&D ("just in case") and have a biophysical profile. So, off to triage. Baby is good after all. His heart rate was fine without any additional "variations," and he passed the BPP with flying colors. The blips at the OB's office may have been from his position -- maybe leaning on the cord or something. So that was that. I got to lay on the super-uncomfortable gurney for over 2 hours and listen to the loud nursing staff jibber jabber at the desk and hear the first-time mom next to me who was SURE she was in labor get sent home 0 cm dilated and then listen to a worried first-time mom who was just discharged last week for possible preeclampsia and was right back in for hypertension. My first half hour was spent worrying about whether I'd be having a C-section tonight, or at least getting induced suddenly, and then after the midwife came in and reassured me that the monitoring and BPP looked fine, I just wanted off that stiff cot and to get home. Around 4pm, I finally got to go. In all this mess, there was never an internal check to see if I was dilated or effaced, but I know we'll do all that next week anyway. And since the baby's room STILL isn't done, I'll take the time. I have acupuncture tomorrow and a prenatal massage on Thursday. Let's encourage this the relaxing way, shall we?
And then I arrived home to find my dog had shat in her crate. She has to be crated when we're gone for more than a few minutes. With me working from home, now not working at home, she rarely needs to be in the crate. But. In the past month she has shat in there 3 times. She was weird around the time I was ready to birth Jackson, so I'm convinced it's behavioral in the same way. Although she's getting old (8 years now), so who knows. So I let her outside and dragged her crate out there to start cleaning it out. I called KB to complain about the shit-stained crate and remarked offhandedly that I hoped the high winds hadn't blown the fence gate open. Dunh dunh dunh. I suddenly decided to go check and discovered the creaky old gate swinging in the goddamned breeze. And no dog. So 15 minutes of pacing up and down the street with a fistful of treats and a leash later, I hopped in my car and started driving around -- and called KB to unintentionally pile onto his stress a little more. (My asshole neighbor across the street -- who doesn't work and is always home and spies on all the neighbors and knows what time I come and go every day -- as usual didn't even open her front door to ask if I needed help. This is the third dog escape, and she's been home during all 3, and she never offers help. And I saw her walking by her front window so I know she knows. Asshole.) AND THEN. Thankfully. I got a call from a neighbor around the block who captured my refugee dog and called the number on the tag. Relief. That the day didn't get any worse. Although it's not over. Sheesh.
Back to my regularly scheduled kvetching about the pains of full-term pregnancy and hoping we get spontaneous labor in the next 13 days. Rain and barometer changes and a full moon this week. Hell yeah.