Chapter 14 - Pregzilla: The Countdown

The baby chatter is ramping up at the office. After months of surprisingly little commentary on Zilla’s pregnancy, except by Zilla herself, our place of business is suddenly abuzz with hype.

Seems that Pregzilla is currently 80% effaced and 2 centimeters dilated. Having experienced only c-sections, and personally possessing a cervix tighter than a preacher in a 10 dollar suit, I don’t have a lot of familiarity with early effacement and dilation. I DO know, however, that it is possible to have quite a bit of both and still overshoot the due date. Not saying that’s going to happen, but in the real world, it’s quite possible.

Not in the curious universe of Boss and Pregzilla, however. Zilla has chosen July 14 (yes, that’s TOMORROW!!! ) as her superlarge, superhuman baby’s birthdate. This was even before they found out about the dilation and effacement, based solely on the fact that she was having Braxton-Hicks contractions. Just last week, I inquired about Zilla’s condition, and was filled in by Boss regarding some of her thought processes, none of which he is himself familiar enough with pregnancy to refute. And that’s okay, I mean it IS their first baby, after all. But, you know, there ARE books about pregnancy…. Most of them readily available at your local library. But, alas, you have to be a reader to want to pay a visit the library. I’m just saying.

Boss finally assigned an actual number to his progeny’s hugeness, the immense size that Zilla has emphasized during each of her most recent visits with me, and no doubt with the rest of humanity. Their colossally-sized infant is in the 55th percentile for size. I paused and eyed Boss to make sure I’d heard correctly. Come again? Yes, 55th percentile.

Did Zilla pass middle school math? Apparently she was off honing her marvelous keyboarding speed while the rest of her fellow scholars labored away to crack the percentile code. If she had mastered this bit of mathematical competence, Zilla would have been able to deduce that the 55th percentile puts junior smack-dab in the center of the prenatal size range, and not anywhere close to the mammoth we’ve been advised to expect. Just average. But of course, it would be blasphemous to say that out loud to anyone involved, so I’ll stay mum.

When I was chatting with Boss on the phone last week (he actually called ME, so I’m guessing he’s planning on the upcoming birth distracting Zilla from confiscating next month’s phone bill and discovering that he placed a call to a female not related by marriage or blood), he mentioned Zilla’s frequent Braxton-Hicks, and in the same breath said BOTH that he and Zilla knew they were just “practice” contractions AND that they believed the spasms to be an indication that labor and delivery are imminent, and that their doctor had said that Zilla was very VERY early with her Braxton-Hicks. Boss spent several minutes on this, obviously seeking affirmation of this additional piece of ammunition for the argument that the baby is coming, and SOON.

Boss is eager to collect eyewitness accounts of pregnancy, as long as they reinforce what he believes to be true. So I knew he wouldn’t want to hear about my Braxton-Hicks. It wouldn’t “mesh” with his current philosophy, ya know? So lemme tell YOU what I’ve learned. After birthing seven younguns, I am certain I don’t know everything about pregnancy and childbirth. In fact, I am absolutely sure that I know even LESS about human reproduction than I THOUGHT I knew as a brand-spankin’ first-time mom. But I know what I know, which is enough to realize that my unique encounters have no bearing on what Pregzilla or any other pregnant female can expect from their own pregnancies. But he kept talking about her contractions, and fishing for my assessment… UGGGGH.

And so I told him that I too, had met with the discomfort and initial fear and trepidation of Braxton-Hicks contractions. And then (gulp), I remarked that having Braxton-Hicks five or six weeks prior to estimated due date is not in any way unusual, nor does it suggest that labor is about to begin in earnest.

You see, Zilla and I have something in common. The SAME OB. A guy whom, after seven children and a miscarriage, I know pretty well. Well enough to know what he considers to be early Braxton-Hicks contractions, and well enough to know that there is no WAY he would have told Zilla that she was experiencing BH contractions ahead of schedule when they started only six week prior to her due date. Knew that for a fact. You see, once when I came in for my first prenatal visit at 12 weeks, long about my third pregnancy or so, and he felt my uterus tighten as he was doing an exam – THOSE were early Braxton-Hicks contractions. Doc was kind of amazed about that, and he told me so, and he also said there wasn’t anything WRONG with having them that early. But I didn’t share that info with Boss.

Zilla’s contractions are strong sometimes, Boss said. Almost uncomfortable even. Hmmmm, I can relate. And toward the end of my pregnancies, the last trimester or so, those stupid contractions would have me stopping what I was doing and breathing through them – and I’ve got a pretty high pain tolerance. But that was just me.

Boss went on to say that all these Braxton-Hicks that Zilla is having are just achieving so much on her behalf and will make her labor so much shorter and easier and cause it to occur so much earlier than her due date that it will just be wonderful to behold. Oh, Boss. Oh, Zilla. I wish it were true, but sorry, not always. Maybe not EVER. Where I was concerned, those stupid things did NOTHING to prepare my body for delivery. They were just futile torment, because I never could dilate past 5 centimeters, even after 40 hours of labor. Have faith, the Braxton-Hicks did zippo for me. But I didn’t tell Boss that either.

In fact, I tried to bite my tongue altogether, but I had to comment. I just mumbled something about having lots and LOTS of Braxton-Hicks, for many months before the births of my children, and that they hadn’t been effective at ALL in speeding up or facilitating delivery. Even when they came five minutes apart for weeks on end. But that’s just me, I said.

Boss was offended. I could tell, because he was quiet there on the other end of the phone line. Silence is so rare where Boss is concerned that you tend to take note when it occurs. In a moment, he responded that just because I had my experience with Braxton-Hicks didn’t mean it would be that way with Zilla, and besides, this was her first baby. Which had been my point exactly. Since he’d pressed the issue, I was simply offering my view on the subject, to an obviously misled, inexperienced dad-to-be. One who had been probing for my outlook on the efficacy of incidental tightening of the uterus during pregnancy. I couldn’t help that my experience was totally different than the theory that he and Zilla had cooked up.

Honest. Oh, well. Boss and Zilla ended up spending that evening in the Family Life Center at the hospital. Her exam that morning had caused a little bleeding, Zilla was sure it was “time” (honestly understandable for a new mom), so they had to hang around the maternity unit until they could be talked into a later delivery date. They’d tried to pin down the doctor for a more definite idea of when junior would be making his entrance, but he wouldn’t fork over specifics. Spoil sport.

The whole baby-at-hand anxiety prompted a new fixture at the office though. We now have an entire 4’ x 5’ white board devoted to a Delivery Date Poll for Little Man. Right next to the changing table and baby swing, which are unaccountably present in our meeting room. The months of July and August are drawn in, and everyone who passes by is supposed to write his/her name on the date they guess the blessed event will take place. Zilla has already claimed July 14, Boss chose the 10th or the 22nd, and random other visitors have selected various dates up through mid-August. It somehow reminds me of a Super Bowl pool.

For my part, I’m loathe to enter a guess. Boss’ and Zilla’s militancy about the certainty of an early birth has taken all the usual fun out of the typical prenatal speculation. And also I’m not sure what the prize (or penalty, perhaps!) is for the winning guess. The honor of providing a year’s free babysitting to the new parents, perchance? Or maybe those six extra nipple shields from the shower registry!?