RLS in Late Pregnancy

My restless legs made their triumphant appearance early in my first pregnancy. I thought I was going crazy and had no idea restless legs were real. I thought I was just fidgety and that my restlessness was a psychological state of being, not a physical one.

Am I the only one feeling this way?

None of my close friends had kids yet. I was desperate to meet other people going through what I was going through. I found a MeetUp group of pregnant women in my area and we met at a mall food court, which turned out to be a brilliant idea because every pregnant woman could get a different cuisine.

As we sat around the tables, leaned back to accommodate our varying bellies, we had a round-robin of all of our symptoms. I had heartburn and uncontrollable swings in emotions. Another woman was cold all the time. Another woman, a very petite person whose baby was riding pretty high could hardly catch her breath.

Making a new connection

Then, a woman said, “My worst symptom is actually my restless legs.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I get really bad restless legs syndrome at night. I can’t sleep. I have to get up and do laps around my bed. My husband hates me.”

It was a lightbulb moment for me.

“I HAVE THAT TOO!” I exclaimed, too loudly. “I didn’t realize it was a real thing! I thought I was crazy!”

The woman nodded sagely, “No it’s definitely a real thing and it will MAKE you crazy.”

“So, what do you do?!” I asked, so thrilled for this new connection that I didn’t care that I was monopolizing the conversation.

“My doctor says it’ll go away once I deliver and I’m due soon.”

Counting down to my due date

I felt like my due date could not come soon enough. As I packed on the pounds of what would eventually be a 9 lb 4 oz bundle of baby, my hips felt like they were breaking. I started getting shooting pain with every step I took. If I exercised, my restless legs were better, but, when I exercised, it hurt.

My daughter was perfectly content hanging out in my womb past her appointed due date. I could no longer walk without excruciating pain, but all the books and blogs say that you should walk that baby out. One day, when I was 3 days late, I walked around the perimeter of the park by my house, quietly weeping in pain as I shuffled along.

Overdue and physically drained

I didn’t sleep. My legs, my brain, and my pain kept me up at all hours. I was inconsolably miserable. Nothing would make me happy. Nothing, of course, except my baby. I was restless, almost itchy in my restlessness.

Five days late now, I walked to the park, crying in pain, at a snail’s shuffle. I came home. I lay despondently on various surfaces. I bounced on my ball. I peed. I kicked my legs out over and over. I went to bed.

My water broke.

My baby girl arrives

Never was I so happy in my life. Well, maybe not until the epidural in the hospital 12 hours and no baby later. I slept for 3 straight hours with no awareness of my own legs. When my doctor came in to see how I was tolerating the epidural I yelped in joy, “It’s the most sleep I’ve had in 3 months! It’s like sleeping on a cloud!” He was unprepared for my jubilation but nodded, wide-eyed.

Soon (well, several hours later), I had an alert, giant baby girl, and my restlessness was, at least for now, banished.