Spinning

Four A.M.

What the heck am I doing up at four in the freaking morning?

Counting baby movements – what else?

The gerbil wheel in my head has been spinning again. Somehow I’ve got a morose feeling of dread. Like something isn’t right but I just can’t put my finger on it.

I get to the required six movements. They’re weak, so I head to the washroom and when I get back I start counting again.

I still can’t shake the idea that something is wrong.

Maybe I should call Labour and Delivery and speak to a nurse. And say what? – I woke up for no apparent reason and I can’t relax?

Besides – I don’t want to be a bother. Don’t ask where that comes from, it’s either a Newfie thing or a woman thing.

“No, no – you see to the others first I’ll just crawl over into this corner and die – when you get around to me let me know.” It’s almost laughable how we women are.

I’ve got an appointment with the OB in the afternoon. As long as there’s no pain or bleeding and as long as I can feel her moving I’ll stick to the schedule.

There’s no real “emergency”. I’m basically okay. I’m just channelling something. Picking up on the energy of the universe, as it were.

The alarm goes off and I hear the terrible news out of Brazil – an airliner carrying 220 passengers has disappeared. It makes my worries seem insignificant in contrast. Well, almost insignificant.

Kate is not going on the bus today. She was sent home every day last week after an episode each morning, which resulted in her being too weak to walk or stand on her own.

The neurologist is out of town – surprise, surprise. So in desperation the school, Rick and I decided that she would sleep until she woke up on her own and we’d drive her in to see if we could circumvent the issue by giving her more rest and less excitement (she adores the bus) first thing in the morning.

She’s happy enough to leave the house every day – but by the time she gets to school she’s, well for lack of a better word, she’s screwed up.

As she heads out the door with Rick I hear her chattering away at him – the one word she’s retained over the years is “daddy” and she uses it with him like a magpie. It means anything and everything you could imagine. And she’s excited so all I hear is a retreating echo of “daddy, daddy, daddy” until they reach the car.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the emotional exhaustion of the last week, maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones or maybe some combination of the three but I can feel the tears start to prick the backs of my eyes.

I’m trying my best. I really am. I just don’t know if it’s good enough.