Prepping for Post-Partum Paranoia

OK, OK, so I'm a professional worrier. Quite good at it, too. Amusingly enough, one of my greatest fears is that having a kid will push me entirely over the edge into outright paranoia - I'm clearly going to be one of those parents who has the pediatrician on speed dial on every phone I have, and uses it until told that the doctor wants to refer me to a new peditrician so she can get some rest. Thank goodness for the tempering influence of Mr. Banana, or I'm pretty sure I'd get carted off to the loony bin pretty quick.

In any case, yesterday I got a little practice in this paranoia business. On Monday night, I noticed that Baby Banana wasn't moving around like he usually does. Generally, dinner makes him very active, and Monday night, nothing. So I had some dessert, which usually makes him move around enough to keep me awake, and was rewarded with only a few small movements. Those reassured me that it was likely temporary, and I figured I'd reassess in the morning. When breakfast yielded no movements, I called my doc. I was fully expecting to hear that this happens occasionally, and that I should monitor the movements all day and call the next day if no improvement. Instead, I got told to come straight to Labor and Delivery. Let's just say I did not enjoy the drive to the hospital.

Long story short, all is well. Baby Banana's heart beat is strong, he is moving up a storm, and I'm even having contractions. I just couldn't feel any of it. There seems to be no particular explanation, except that he likely is running out of room in there and the movements will now feel less like kicks and more like rolls. Sure enough, last night after dinner he rolled around a bunch, and this morning (as I type) he's doing it again. Whole lot of hoo-ha over nothing.

I do have to say that as panic situations go, this was one of the better ones I've had. Everything turned out fine and I got to listen to Baby Banana's heartbeat for over an hour while the monitored us. There are worse ways to pass the time. And I would much rather that I'm miserable from being panicky while he's fine than that I'm fine and he's not.

I suppose I've now learned that I can stay relatively calm in a perceived crisis regarding my baby, and was pleased to find that no one at triage pooh-poohed me for my nervousness. So maybe I'll get through the first few months of this kid's life without calling the pediatrician every twenty minutes.