My sister says that he looks like a centerfold pic with his hand behind his head like that. In all of the others, he's making an "oooo" face because he was screaming and I had to give him his pacifier and yoink it out right before the photographer took the picture. He's silly.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
My sister says that he looks like a centerfold pic with his hand behind his head like that. In all of the others, he's making an "oooo" face because he was screaming and I had to give him his pacifier and yoink it out right before the photographer took the picture. He's silly.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Ooops, he's up again and ready to eat. I didn't time this very well. Better post later...I promise!!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
We had to be at the hospital at 6am, so before we left at 5:30, we took one more belly shot for the road. I didn't realize that I was so huge! No wonder I could hardly walk those last couple of weeks and people kept asking me how many were in there!
Getting ready for surgery! Tom's got on an oompa-loompa suit. I'm just looking majorly puffy all over. Yuck.
Making his entrance! And this is where he peed on the doctor. Awesome. Turns out, he's a very prolific pee-er and I have been peed on I don't know how many times now. He doesn't pee on his dad, though. Hmmm.
This was the moment that I had been waiting for and dreaming about for almost two years.
This is what I had in mind.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Everything is fine, though. We've made a couple of trips to L&D--one was last week for regular contractions. Tom and I had to leave in the middle of a movie...we were trying to squeeze in one more date. Oh well. Something to get used to, right? Frankly, I'll be glad to.
This weekend the crib was set up and all of Nate's things were sorted. It was easier than I thought...I didn't cry. But I really think that I couldn't have done it any earlier than the day we ended up doing it. It just felt right and okay to do it on Sunday.
The date for the c/s was moved back one day to Thursday. We're going in at 6am and the surgery is for 7:45. I had my pre-admission appointment today and I was taken by surprise at how emotional I was for the whole thing. I just wanted to put my head down and bawl. I haven't done that in a long time. Now I'm afraid at how I will handle being in the operating room. I just don't know.
I think that we've got everything ready for Piglet. I've been so neutral this whole time, just not thinking about things much. And then a few weeks ago I looked down and wondered, "When did I get this pregnant? Oh my God--this is the scary part." And it has been scary...really, really scary. We still have, I think, 40 hours to go. I'm so zoned in on his movements and I'm just trying not to do anything but sit in the recliner. Oh please let this happen.
So...7:45 on Thursday morning. Send us all your good vibes!! I think that the hospital has wi-fi in the rooms, so I'll post something that day or have my sister do it for me. I can't believe that it's so close. This just seemed impossible. Just unfathomable.
Monday, September 24, 2007
We decided that we'd give this new doctor a chance. If he wasn't willing to follow our plan, we were out of there. As it turns out, we liked him and here's an interesting bit of trivia. This was the doctor that delivered me. Now, this caused some confusion with my sister and husband who thought I meant that he did Nate's delivery. No, he delivered me. In 1974. My mom was one of his first patients that insisted on a completely drug free, natural birth. That's my hippie momma. She had all three of us without so much as a tylenol.
So, although I was suspicious of this doctor that must be 100 years old, everything is so-far-so-good. He was willing to follow Dr. W's original plan-amnio and delivery at 37 weeks-but he did talk to us about the amnio, and this is where our change of plans comes in. I've mentioned here before that I was worried about having an amnio in the first place. I really didn't have a good feeling about it. Dr. W never discussed specifics with us regarding the amnio. I know that the risks of anything going wrong with an amnio are really small. Well, 1 in 300 actually. But what I didn't realize was that because I'm Rh negative, I have a little greater risk of things going wrong with not only this pregnancy, but with future pregnancies as well.
Let me see if I can explain what has been going through my head in the past few weeks. Yes, the percentage that something could go wrong with my amnio is very small....but small percentages have not been in my favor historically. What are the chances that a miscarriage could happen after the heatbeat has been seen on ultrasound? Really small. I mangaged that last September. What are the chances of a complete abruption? Microscopic. I mean, we're talking tenths of percentages here, people. I mangaged that too. Tom and I have thought long and hard about this, but we've decided that an amnio might just be borrowing trouble. We're going to wait until 38 weeks with no amnio. Actually, we'd only be waiting 5 more days, so maybe it won't be so bad. I know that people have amnios all the time and they go just fine, but for me, we felt like this was the best choice. My doctor feels like, because of my Rh negativity, that the risk of the amnio is greater than the risk of another abruption. Tom's grandma lost two full term baby girls because of her Rh negativity. I just don't want to risk any blood transfer.
Friday, I had an ultrasound and a bio physical profile done. Everything looks great! Piglet is measuring 5lbs, 9oz and scored 8 out of 8 on his profile. My placenta is grade one, which is perfect. He's got hair and we got to have a nice long look at his face. It really looks like he has Nate's nose. We watched him open and close his eyes and mouth. He's really cute, if I do say so.
We'll schedule the surgery next week, but I think that it will be on the 17th.
So, that's all the news from here! I'm really going to try to write more before he's born. I think that I need to be getting my thoughts down, because they're all over the place right now.
Oh, and congrats Michelle on the birth of her gorgeous Natalie Rose on Friday!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
And this my problem that I can't talk to anybody about--the girl is pregnant and due in December, I think. And it's her first pregnancy. And I can't stand her. Never mind that she's one of those loud-talkers that think talking louder and louder in a discussion makes her sound like she knows what she's talking about in the first place. I can deal with that. Just something for me and my husband to make fun of on our way home. But now she's pregnant. I can't make fun of that.
This is one of the hurdles that I'm still having a lot of trouble with even 18 months later. When Nate died, I thought that I would never get rid of the rage and jealousy that I felt everywhere I looked. I thought that it would just rot me from the inside out. I would even get upset looking at cows with their calves while driving in the country. It's not that I've been really making an effort to purge these feelings, they're just fading away. I've gone from glaring at moms with new babies, to just not looking at them, to now being able to actually look inside the stroller and smile a little.
I'm still having trouble with people in their first pregnancy. A lot of trouble. That anger hasn't faded in the slightest and I hate it. I guess that I feel so cheated--my first pregnancy ended in a horror story. I don't ever get to have any do-overs and my first baby is not coming back. I'm jealous of the fact that they can coast through with no worries and I'm up at 4 am because my brain won't shut up. I'm jealous that they can register for gifts and put together the nursery months ahead of time. I can deal with painting the nursery, but I'm not ready to put the furniture back up. I still haven't gone through Nate's things to see if I need to register for anything. It's almost like I'm afraid that all the grief we felt packing up his things will come gushing out of those plastic tubs.
And yet, with most people I have to act like this is my first pregnancy. I've found myself more often saying, "Yes, it's my first" to strangers and unable to swap pregnancy stories with people who know what happened. We might be talking about something completely benign and maybe even funny, but they always look at me sadly, because they know what happened in the end. And then there's the fact that I have no clue what to do with a baby. I should be a pro by now and that kills me. So yeah, it's like my first pregnancy except it's not. I don't have the confidence and comfort that everything is going to be fine and bad things happen to other people that come with a first pregnancy. I'm in a pregnancy that small triumphs are saying "when" and not "if" and realizing how hard it is to say. "When he comes home." It seems like an easy off-hand thing to say, but it will be redemption for me after nearly two years that I thought I wouldn't live through. Hang in there, Piglet. Just six weeks to go.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Just now I was looking for some clips on YouTube for my students to listen to. I had my computer on my lap and was listening to one of the Bach Cello Suites. (Some of them are working on Bach and I always use the cello suites when I'm teaching this stuff. It's a great way to learn to play it well.) Piglet was quiet. I changed to a clip of a flute sonata and he went bonkers! Back to Bach--quiet. Back to flute--bonkers! Ah, my child is a genius.
That's a short, silly post but I thought it was cool.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Something that I really didn't go into in my last post was how much that trip to L&D threw the entire family for a huge loop. I'm almost embarassed now--quit being so dramatic, it was just your stupid gall bladder. Okay, yeah, it turned out that way. But I think what was so amazing to me was how quickly we all went into panic mode. Just when the memories of what happened the night that Nate was born started to become less sharp around the edges, it came rushing back so quickly. I said good bye for the third time to one of my babies and that's just not easy to shake off, even after you know that everything is going to be okay. My mom and sister rushed to the hospital, my sister had a panic attack. For the next week, Tom and I were both so jumpy and every time I got up to pee in the night he'd ask, "What's wrong?" I'm not sure if he actually really slept that week. We bought a doppler that week, too. Now he follows me around the house with it. My God. You know, I'm so thankful that right now, this second, everything is okay. But I hate so much that I'm not clueless anymore. I know way, way, way too much.
But what I have to keep reminding myself is this: people have babies all the time. And most babies live. That's my mantra right now...most babies live. If they didn't, there wouldn't be whole sections at the store devoted to baby gear. There wouldn't be commercials for lotions and diapers and bottles. You couldn't buy strollers or cribs anywhere. They probably wouldn't exist if most babies died. What blows my mind lately is how people is how people go on and on about my belly and my due date and oh how exciting and excited you must be! They have no doubt that this baby is going to make it home. I just wish that I was as confident as they were. I know way, way, way too much.
I'm operating on about 50% of my brain right now. Half of me is so excited, the other half is being so cautious. Today, half of me bought a jogger stroller and a baby bjorn. The other half of me cannot even fathom putting a baby in either one of these contraptions. I was driving today and became overwhelmed with the memory of being wheeled out of the hospital a year and a half ago with a memory box on my lap. Sometimes those memories absolutely come out of nowhere. I thought about the possiblity of a live baby in my lap this time. Oh please, let this happen.
Before Nate was born, we kept his name a secret. After this scare, we decided to tell people this time. If something goes wrong, I want people to know his name. I want them to know him as much as they can before he's born. I love his name and being able to say it out loud makes him seem so much more real. It's also helping me not to keep calling him Nate. I'm sure that moms do that all the time with their kids, but when one of them is no longer living, it's a little upsetting. I'm going to keep his name as a surprise for my bloggy friends, though :) I've been calling him Piglet here, so I'll keep doing that. He got that name because this is the Chinese Year of the Pig. But it's extra special because this year is the Year of the Golden Pig. They say that Golden Pig babies are extra lucky. That sounds good to me.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Three Sundays ago I was canning jalapenos from our garden and I decided to take a break and put my feet up for a few minutes while the jars where processing. I hadn't been sitting more than a minute when suddenly--and I mean out of nowhere--I felt horrible. I had terrible pressure in my belly and I was sweaty and nauseous. Every second it got worse, so Tom took me to L & D. It was a terrifying ride there--not just because we where panicking and running red lights in mid-day traffic--but because we were automatically taken back to the night Nate was born. I was in so much pain, but the worst part was just the horrible, blinding fear. The pressure and the nausea... it was like I was abrupting again. Why didn't I have tests done? Why did I just trust my doctor? I had just finished his quilt that morning and I was so proud of it. I laid it out so that I could look at it every time I walked by. What was wrong with me? Why does my body do this to my babies?! The only thing that was different about this time was that I wasn't bleeding.
The nurses at L & D hooked me up to the monitor and found his heartbeat right away. I just knew that it would be in the 40's, like Nate's, but it was good and strong in the 150's. Okay, he was fine, but I was getting worse and worse--sweaty and writhing around--the nurses didn't really know what to do with me. And then I threw up. Magically, all the pain and pressure had vanished. I felt great. I was ready to go home. But we had a day of tests and ultrasounds ahead of us.
And do you know what? I have gallstones. Tons of them. They're going to try to wait to take my gall bladder out until the boy is born, unless things are just too bad to tolerate. I didn't have another attack until two weeks after the first awful one, but this time I had three in two days. And one of them was even worse than the very first one. Now that we knew what was going on, we weren't nearly as terrified. You know, they tell you all about constipation when you're pregnant, but I had never heard that pregnancy causes your bile to turn to sludge and fills you with stones. Great. I thought old people got gallstones. Now that it's happened, hardly anyone I've talked to even has their gall bladder anymore. And they're around my age. What a crappy, useless organ. I've already had my tonsils out--I'll just get rid of all my useless organs.
I DO NOT want surgery when I'm pregnant. Laproscopy or otherwise. That scares the shit out of me. The only surgery I want is the one where they are actually going in to get him. So in the meantime, what do I do? I'm afraid to eat. I've cut out all dairy now, because I wonder if that's what set off the three attacks last weekend. They told me not to eat fatty and spicy. So, what? No KFC? I'm afraid to eat anything with any fat in it. I'm hungry. We're hungry! I am eating, though, don't worry. Just lots of fruit and veggies and plain pasta. No red meat, only baked chicken and turkey breasts. Boca burgers. Cereal with soy milk. I guess what I'm wondering is-- has anyone had their gallbladder out during pregnancy? I know that it is a very common surgery during pregnancy, but I don't know anyone whose had it done. I would totally put up with the pain of the attacks if I knew for sure and for certain that it was just me it was effecting. I worry about the stress and pain of it to cause premature labor, I'm worried about my gallbladder rupturing, I worry about pancreatitis. I've only got 10 weeks left! I want to stick it out so badly, but I'm just so terrified that he's going to get hurt.
Next week is my glucose tolerance test. Wouldn't that just be a kick in the ass if I ended up with GD, too? Hilarious. This pregnancy was scary enough in the first place. I shouldn't have to deal with bullshit of any kind this time around. But I have to keep reminding myself--when we left L & D that day, I did not expect to be leaving with my baby. But I did. He's just fine.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Sister-Maybe the doctor could just install a zipper this time.
Me-(laughter) Ooo, or maybe velcro so I'll be more washable.
Sister-Or just a series of snaps! Oh, but what if you have a big meal and sit down? Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Me-(hysterical laughter) Oh God, my uterus just fell out!!
Okay, maybe you had to be there. I thought it was freakin' hilarious.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
On this day, the girls went shopping and the boys went to play golf. However, Tom hates golf (we sold his clubs in our garage sale) and I have a feeling that he just drove the cart. He also texted me a lot that day, which meant he was bored as hell. I was excited to go into St. Augustine and explore a little bit. It's the oldest city in the United States, you know. I was hoping to find some cool shops with local artists or something, but I guess that we started in the wrong part of town and it was too damn hot to wander around trying to find what we were looking for. Damn hot, yikes. So we ended up at the outlet mall.
This is actually a boring part of my story, but I'm only telling you this so I can tell you that I did something that I'm kind of proud of. (Other than being proud of not bitching and moaning about the heat, and my back, and my big sweaty boobs--I bitched on the inside.) I bought some baby stuff. I really did. Through this pregnancy, I've bought tons of maternity clothes because that's all that I could deal with. I'm pregnant right now, and I need clothes. I couldn't think much past that. But on this day, I couldn't resist the Little Me store. So I bought 3 sleeper outfits in newborn size. And then do you know what I did? I marched straight into an overpriced purse store of a certain brand and bought a ridiculously priced, outrageous, big ol' diaper bag that my husband would sooner die than carry. I figure that if the boy and I get through this in one piece, than I deserve to carry this bag. Actually, it was also peer pressure that made me buy it--if I was by myself, I probably wouldn't have done it. I'm pretty thrifty. I guess it comes from being married to an accountant.
That night we walked along the beach and it was gorgeous. The sun was setting and Tom and I walked along in our bare feet, picking up shells and looking for shark teeth. Ah, the romance, blah, blah, blah. I stood there looking out at the ocean and the thought came to me about how much Nate would enjoy this. Squishing the wet sand between his toes. I could almost hear his happy little squeals as the water washed over his feet. Helping mama find pretty shells, daddy holding his hand so the tide wouldn't knock him over. I felt so empty, so aware of who was missing and what we were missing out on. Sometimes his absence is so overwhelming that it takes the breath out of me. He'd be 17 months old now. Jesus.
Fortunately by the time we got back to the car, it was dark and the others couldn't see that I had been crying. On the way back, my chest was burning from holding in sobs and I was trying so hard not to let on how upset I was. When we arrived back at the house, I made the excuse that I was tired and Tom and I went back to our room while the others watched a movie downstairs. I was very, very tired and my belly was uncomfortable and hard after all that walking. I just wanted to lay down and do what I usually do when I get like that--read or watch something mindless on tv until I calmed down. So Tom and I watched that show with the hot British guy that does that insane survival show. Although that night, he was stranded in Norway and ate the eyeball of a frozen sheep that he had found. That was a little much, I have to say. It did get my occupy my mind enough so that I could have some much needed sleep that night. Although the eyeball thing was some good, old-fashioned nightmare fuel.
That's about it. After getting to break in my new and ridiculous looking maternity swim suit in the pool, bobbing around like a no-wake buoy, we had a uneventful flight back. I was thrilled to get home and do laundry. I'm serious. I had such a great time, but I still get a little anxious and weird about leaving my comfort zone. I didn't used to be like that, but you know, honestly, I think I was just so worried about the baby the entire time and I wanted to be close to my doctor.
I actually wrote most of this post a while ago, but I'm just now finishing it, so if the date is from days ago, that's why. In other news, I don't have to teach today, so I think that I might go see a movie today. I think I'll go see Rat.at.ouille --Tom's not interested in that one.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
We flew and I was a nervous wreck the entire time. I had flown pregnant before (on my honeymoon), but I was only 10 weeks pregnant and that was back in the day when I thought dead babies happened to other people. My doctor told me that now was a fine time to travel, but I couldn't help but remember that he also said that if something went wrong, I could always have more babies! My big worry on the flight was that the cabin pressure would make me abrupt again. Writing that, it seems completely silly. But I spend most of my time worrying that I'll abrupt if I sneeze too hard or pick up something heavier than the cat. So that's fun.
This was kind of a business trip for Tom and we went with two other couples from his office, one of them being his boss and his girlfriend. Most of the weekend was spent with the boys going off and doing something manly and girls going off and doing something pink and fluffy. The first night, though, we all went out to a fancy Hawaiian fusion restaurant. This is where I discovered the beauty of virgin big fruity drinks. I also discovered that I didn't know what in the hell I was going to eat in Florida, wracking my brain trying to remember what seafood I could or couldn't eat. They eat a lot of fish down there, you know. I managed to find stuff-- I have no idea how much weight I gained this weekend. Oh, who cares. I'll worry about that later.
The next day, we all embarked on the aforementioned manly/pink and fluffy outings. The boys went deep sea fishing and the girls went to a day at the spa. The spa was huge and very fancy. We spent the day in white bathrobes and white flip-flops, quietly flip-flopping around the place with other spa-goers in white bathrobes. It reminded me of a cult. Or maybe monks at a beauty monastery. We had massages, manicures and pedicures, and a frou-frou lunch of shrimp salad and tabbouleh. Stuff that I would I have liked if I wasn't pregnant, but it looked yucky to me so I had two pieces of pie for lunch: pecan and key lime. That's a spa lunch to me. I want to tell you about my massage, though.
I had only had a couple of massages before. Never a maternity massage, though and I was worried about it. I was afraid to lay on my belly, even though I'd be laying over a belly hole. Although I was distracted by the spa surroundings for the most part, I was still zeroed in on what was going on inside. I was worried about what the flight did, and I was desperately waiting for this baby that usually moves constantly, to give me some kind of reassuring thump. The masseuse came out to the lounge to get me. She had the longest arms that I'd ever seen on a woman and they were covered in the big, raised veins of a bodybuilder. Oh jesus. Does anyone want to trade? But I went with her. In the (what is it called?) massage room, she asked, "Is this your first?" I hesitated for a minute like I always do. Do I want to lay here for a half hour while she talks about how great first babies are? I said, "My first baby passed away." And went back to filling out my information sheet. "Mine did too," she said.
And so for the next half hour, instead of talking in a hypothetical way about how great first babies are, we talked about how great our first babies were. She had a little boy, too, and she lost him almost 32 years ago. His name was Christian and he lived for two hours. I wondered how she was able to work with so many pregnant woman, but maybe 32 years later you lose that anger and animosity towards them. I hope so, but I hope that it doesn't take 32 years. During our chat she said, "Oh, the funeral." I said, "I know. It was terrible, wasn't it? You don't spend that time being pregnant even dreaming that you'd have to plan a funeral." It was nice to talk to someone about these things. I'm not sure how relaxing it was, though. I thought that I wanted to feel normal by having one of these massages, but I think that it helped my heart to talk about it. Maybe it helped her heart, too. She never had any more children-she was too scared. She even tried to adopt and when a baby was made available for her, fear made her turn that down, too. Now she has dogs. They're easier, she said. I wish she had tried again. But I know how scary it is. And I haven't even gotten to the really scary part yet--the last few weeks. I was glad that I met her and I felt bad that I was a little scared of her.
This is getting long and my butt is starting to hurt. I've got more to tell you, but I'll do it later, I promise.
p.s. Tom caught lots of fish, didn't puke from sea sickness once and got a comedy sunburn on his legs that looks like he's wearing red tights. He had a good day. So did I.
End Part One
Monday, June 04, 2007
I was there with Tom and our moms. There is no way that we could have gotten through Nate's death without them and we wanted them to be in on this one from the beginning. When the tech put the wand on my belly, she exclaimed, "Whoa, we've got a wiggler!" Ha, ha! I knew it wasn't gas. And then, "Look at those long, skinny, big feet!" And at that point, I started to wonder if this baby really was a girl, as I was suspecting. Nate had big ol' feet. She moved the wand around, checking measurements--leg bones, head circumference, then, "We've got some hangy down parts. It's a boy! And his hand is already down there, so you guys better watch out!" (Tom and I thought after the appointment that she must have some boys at home.) After hearing "It's a boy!" I started crying. And laughing. Tom squeezed my hand, and I knew that he was happy too. Moms were crying and laughing. Later he said, "You know why we got a boy?" I was expecting him to say, "Listening to AC/DC" like he had when we found out Nate was a boy. He said, "Because I was wearing my lucky boxer shorts." He's so cute.
More measurements and we listened to the heartbeat. The whole thing was finished in about five minutes. We got some pictures that for the most part, we can't figure out what they are. Especially the "boy part" picture. Although we do have a good face shot, which is a little scary. ("This is my son, Skeletor.")
Later, we went in to see the OB, who managed not to stick his foot in his mouth this time, thankfully. I was still very nervous, because I knew that the ultrasound tech couldn't tell me anything, even if she saw that something was wrong. But Dr. W said, "Everything looks great!" And I said, "Okay, I want to see why everything looks great. Show me what you're looking at." And he did. He went over everything in great detail with Tom and I, what could be wrong and why this one was alright. I felt better, but of course I'm still not great and I won't be until he's out of me, which I don't consider to be a very safe place for my child. I feel like he's standing on the edge of traffic, and all I can do is hope that a car doesn't swerve to hit him.
So, here we are. Things seem to be fine and I'm left with my thoughts on having a boy--a second son. I was so convinced that I was having a girl, and I was cool with that. I just want a healthy, take-home baby. I was excited about the prospect of having a girl, buying those big bows and making her head look like a little gift-wrapped bowling ball. I was just convinced! I had told my sister that I would be so incredibly shocked to see a boy on that ultrasound, because it was going to be a girl. Actually, I think my exact words were, "I'm gonna be shocked to shit if I see a little wiener on that ultrasound!" Because I'm that kind of classy. I was excited about having a girl, but deep down I wondered if I would ever get a chance to be a mom to a living boy. And the thought of all of Nate's things packed up in the attic, waiting to be used by a brother made me sad. All these things that a little brother would use even if Nate had lived. I think that deep down, I really wanted another boy. And I think that Tom did, too. And not to replace Nate, but...you know.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Yesterday was Memorial Day and we went to see Nate and Tom's dad, buried in the same cemetery, a few spaces apart. I've said before that they're in the Missouri Veterans Cemetery, so yesterday was a madhouse. But it was neat. They had the flags out on each grave, flags on flag poles everywhere. Family had already been to both graves, and we were the last ones there, probably. I hadn't been there since his birthday and God, I hate that so much. I hate that I can only go there every few months. Makes me feel like a shitty mom. I cried the whole way there, I cried there, I cried on the way home. It's like I spend my days with my head in the sand, but thinking of him at least every other minute, working on his garden, talking to him. And I'm okay with this. I'm just not used to seeing his headstone yet. It is the ultimate reminder. He's not missing. He's not coming back. Someday I might bring other children here and this is how they will know him. On a Memorial Day a zillion years from now, I'll be an old lady taking flowers to my baby that I can't even remember anymore. He's not coming back. I can't go there and just be sad and miss him. I'm overwhelmed by this new life, which at this moment seems entirely too long, one that I didn't ask for. It's panicking. And that's why I hate going to the cemetery. But maybe if I went more often, it wouldn't be so hard.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
I went to the doctor on Friday. This was my first four-week-wait between appointments and it was way too stinkin' long a wait. And my doctor won't let me get a Doppler. Unless I really, really want one. He says that it's like trying to monitor your own blood pressure, but it seems to me like everyone I read about that has one doesn't have a problem finding the heartbeat. I guess that he doesn't want me to freak out needlessly, but I've been freaking out for 17 weeks so what's a little more freakiness? I don't know, I may still work on this one.
So, back to the appointment....
We had an extra long wait this time and Tom had to leave before the doctor came in to talk to me. Fortunately, the nurse came to do the Doppler before he left, so he got to hear the heartbeat which was 165 bpm. (Nate always had a faster heart rate, so I guess there's no telling if it's a girl or a boy at this point. I've been thinking "boy" pretty strongly, but I had very vivid "girl" dreams last night--so we'll see.) It took the nurse longer than normal to find the heartbeat, which of course made me cry and Tom said, "That's why you don't need a Doppler." Whatever. Anyway, blood pressure is still good (which is something I'm going to worry about through this pregnancy) and I've only gained four pounds so far, go me !
Any time I have to go to an appointment alone or Tom has to leave early, I always cry and feel like I'm going to climb the walls. That place completely freaks me out. I was in the middle of pulling myself together and blowing my nose when the doctor walked in and made a huge deal about me having allergies and what I could take. I just went along with it. "Oh yeah, my allergies are terrible." (I don't really want to jump, screaming out of the window. I'm totally calm.)
He measured my fundus height for the first time with the tape measure and I'm measuring two weeks ahead of schedule. He said that's normal for a subsequent pregnancy and that it's a good thing. My only question for him was, "Can I fly at 22 weeks?" because we're going to Florida in June. He told me that it's a fine time to travel and said that it's later in the pregnancy when it's not advised. "Anyway," he said, "if something goes wrong, there's not much that can be done at that stage. And there will always be other pregnancies." His last sentence just hung there--I was so shocked that he, being a high-risk OB, would say something like that. My first thought was, Oh shit I thought you were cool. Yes, there could be other pregnancies, I'm evidence of that, sitting there pregnant after losing two babies. But it's also another funeral. It's another who-knows-how-many months of me hating my body, hating God, hating everyone and forever missing another child. It's not just, "Oh well, I guess I'll just pull up my big girl panties and try again." I should have said something to him. I always say that and I never say anything to anybody.
I feel like I've been so hyper-sensitive lately, like I'm regressing. Everything that is remotely baby related makes me uncomfortable or makes me cry. Things people say that I would normally shrug off, are really upsetting me. For example, at a neighbor's party this weekend the hostess came up to me and said, "Hey Laura! Still pregnant?" To which I replied, "Yeah, I seem to be." I know that I'm being sensitive, maybe it's hormones, but I don't think that you should say something like that when you know that the person has had a loss or losses. I so much don't want to be one of those women that people are afraid to say anything to for fear of setting me off or making me cry. I don't know.
I need to write more. I'm out of practice and my writing is sucky and disjointed, and I'm trying to fit way too much stuff into one post. Oh yeah--my "big" ultrasound is one week from tomorrow! Stay tuned!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
When I got home, I checked the mail and along with the Compassionate Friends newsletter there was a mailing from Huggies proclaiming, "Play it Up! Your baby is 15 months old!" Fuck you, Huggies. Irony is such a heaving bitch.
This blog sucks. I haven't been writing not because I'm pregnant and I've moved on or whatever. I'm just really having a terrible time. I made it past that 12 week mark and into the second trimester (either yesterday or two weeks ago, depending on who you talk to), and I'm so excited about that. But now I'm already dreading the third trimester. I feel like there is a bomb strapped to my belly. I'm going to be tiptoeing through this entire pregnancy, however long it lasts. And that's the scary part.
Being pregnant makes me feel closer to Nate, but miss him more at the same time. If this baby gets here, I wonder if that will continue? And that makes me wonder if I'll ever be happy again? Is everything always, always going to be bittersweet? Will there ever be a time when I can say, "You know, I'm just completely happy right now" even if it's just for a moment? What a way to live.
Lately, I've been inundated with the "Is this your first?" question. Probably ten times already. I always say "no, it's my second." I don't volunteer any more information than that, if it stops there, fine. I usually doesn't though. "How old is your first?" they ask. "He would have been one in January. He died a few days after he was born." Then I watch the blood drain from their faces. I don't care. Honestly, it would make me feel a whole hellava lot worse for a long time to not acknowledge Nate just to spare their feelings for a few minutes. My very favorite response to this is, "Oh. It was meant to be." (Pat, pat on my arm.) We've all heard that a million times and I just don't understand this ham-fisted attempt at comfort. Why wasn't it meant to be? Was God sparing the world from something horrible? Was Nate going to be a serial killer? An evil scientist that developed some Ebola-like virus and would have killed scores of people? Was he saving Nate from a violent and painful death at some point in the future? Why wasn't it meant to be? That's crap. Utter crap. Keep your crap to yourself.
Other than being a complete nut, things are going well. My doctor has taken me off of the two week appointments and now I'm going to go every four. I go back on the 18th and then he's going to slip me back in two weeks later for the "big ultrasound" at 18 weeks. The plan is to do an amnio and c-section at 37 weeks. He seems extremely optimistic that the abruption was just the worst luck imaginable and it won't happen again. Lately, though, I've become convinced that something was overlooked in my pregnancy with Nate and no one is telling me. But that they are going to keep an eye out for this mystery thing and catch it before it happens again. I think that I had preeclampsia. I really do.
I've got a couple of posts swirling around in my head, so let's see if they actually make it on this blog anytime soon. I'm not trusting my track record lately.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
On my way out of the mall I walked by the Motherhood store, and just stood there for a minute and debated whether to go in or not. Nate was a winter baby, so all of my maternity clothes are jeans and wooly things. It's already 80 degrees here and the lure of cute, short-sleeved tops took me into the store. I picked out a top and some khaki capris and went to checkout. Which went like this:
Girl at the Counter: "Have you been here before?"
Me: "Yeah." And I give her my name after she asks.
Girl: "When is your due date?" Her fingers were poised over the keyboard, ready to imput this information.
Me: I don't tell her. "Umm, am I going to be getting any mailings or anything like that?"
Girl: "Well, yes. Don't you want any?"
Me: "No, I don't." And I could have stopped there, but I didn't.
Me: "I don't want any because they are extremely upsetting when something goes wrong."
Girl: "Oh, absolutely, I'm sorry."
And here again, could have stopped, didn't.
Me: "You know, getting Pampers coupons that say 'Valuble Coupons for your 12 month old!!' is just pretty crushing, really." (As far as Pampers is concerned, my son is happily toddling around soiling diapers with wild abandon. I'm using cloth diapers next time. Any company that makes me cry isn't getting my business. And they've all made me cry over the past year.)
The girl makes some hasty strikes at her keyboard. "Okay,"she says, "you shouldn't be receiving any more mailings." She hands me my bag with a sympathetic smile. I'm red in the face and embarassed over what I had just said, and I knew that other customers heard my rant. "Sorry I was so neurotic about that," I said as I took my purchases from her. I walked out of the store with my head down, realizing at that point that I really should just do my shopping off the internet. Either things aren't easy like they used to be, or I'm just making things hard for myself. I'm inclined to think it's the latter.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Mourning Reproductive Loss
I'll write a real post soon. I've got a lot to talk about and nothing to talk about at the same time, so that's been my conundrum.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
I was straightening up the family room this morning after Tom left for work--there just seemed to be stacks of crap everywhere. I grabbed the copy of What to Expect to put back on the bookshelf and two pieces of paper fluttered to the floor. One was the warranty registration for Nate's stroller and the other was the list of names I had made when we found out we were having a boy. Back when things were completely, totally normal. The list was written in blue pin and beside about ten of the names was my husband's check mark in pencil to mark his favorites. I had written the name and then in parentheses I wrote what we'd actually call him (unless he was in trouble, that's when we'd use the whole name.)
The three at the top were:
All three had my husband's check mark.
I just sat there this morning and stared at that list. I hadn't seen it since I stuck it between those pages, which was probably quite awhile before Nate was even born. I'm sure that I just stuck it there and forgot about it. But here it was again. A list of names that every pregnant woman in the universe writes out with so much love for that baby inside and so much hope for his future. This is a very important task--he will have that name for his whole life long and someday, years and years from now, it will be carved on his headstone. When we named Nathaniel, I felt confident that he would have a name that would carry him through his life--it was a name that he could run for president with. My little boy with the big boy name.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
I'm so conflicted on how I should feel about this. I'm certainly sad. I certainly haven't forgotten about him (or her)--but it's almost like I knew from the very beginning that the little beaner wasn't going to make it. But there was hope, for sure. But hope and hope lost, again. I never pictured myself making it all the way to 38 weeks, preparing the nursery, folding little onsies again. But maybe I just wouldn't let myself picture those things. It's hard for me to picture them with this one, too, even though this is a completely different kind of pregnancy. It's a more pregnant kind of pregnancy, which I'm thankful for. But am I able to imagine October? Not really.
To think about how different things would be right now, this week, is difficult. I think about that nearly empty bedroom we call "the nursery" when no one else is around. The one that only holds a few plants, a garage sale glider rocker and Nate's chest of drawers. How different it should look today.
I'm sorry, little one. I'm sorry that you never got a chance. You're not forgotten.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
So he sounds like a real catch, eh? I still started bugging him about getting married around four years into the thing. I was watching all, and I do mean ALL of my friends get married and started to panic. Finally, we ended up in therapy. Just one session, though. That's all it took for me to realize that I was being a complete needy idiot. He had no intention of ever marrying me and I wasn't going to waste one more day on this guy. The end.
So, three years later (last Saturday, specifically), standing in the bagel shop, I hear:
I turn around and see a even thinner John, standing there looking like a scarecrow and I almost throw up on the floor. (Which I was going to anyway, if I didn't get my bagel soon.)
"Oh, hey!", I say fakely and give him a fake hug.
(small talk, small talk)
He looks at mid-section that I'm trying to disguise with a baggy Riverdance t-shirt.
"Are you having a baby?"
I guess by my third go at this, I'm looking more pregnant than I really am. I look down at my belly and say, "Oh yeah. I am. But I'm pregnant a lot, so we'll see. Heh, heh." Ack! Who says stuff like that? Way to be morbid, Laura. And then 'heh, heh?' I should have just told him, "No I am not pregnant. I am fat. You asshole."
"Oh, I heard about what happened last year. I'm sure sorry," he said.
"Thanks. It's been really hard."
And then more small talk where I discover that he's still doing the same boring, self-centered stuff that he's done forever and will probably be a very lonely old man, doing the same thing. I've known from the very beginning how lucky I am to have found Tom. I know that I griped about him a bit yesterday, but honestly I could fill volumes with testimonies on how wonderful he is. And when it comes to gift-giving, you could say that a coupon for free hugs is romantic and sweet and it's the thought that counts. But a Tiffany bracelet for Christmas is a whole hell of a lot better. Call me petty.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
I feel bad for my husband, he's hungry. But I think that in the past couple of days he's figured out that if he wants to eat something other than the previously listed items, he's gonna have to cook it himself. Also, my house is dirty. We had a huge fight about this on Sunday--but I think that it had something to do with the fact that we'd been watching How Clean is Your House on BBC and he likened our fridge to one on the show. This makes him sound like a total caveman, but I mean, shit, I'm home all day. My house should at least be clean. I'm tired though. I think after the Big Argument, he's understanding where I'm coming from a lot more. (Now, he reads this blog, so don't say anything mean.)
So, I've been kicked in the arse by Beth to write more, so I'm going to. I doubt very seriously that I'm going to talk about being pregnant much, at least for awhile. I'm tired, sick and I've got wicked gas--not much good reading there. I do have a couple of meme type posts to get caught up on, and I've got some other posts that have been kicking around in my head in the early morning hours. So, I'm going to try very hard to get back in the habit of writing. My problem is that I'm such a lurker. I never thought that I had anything very interesting to say.
I've got a worry that has been really bothering me, other than just the obvious worry of getting through the first trimester. Some of my family members and very good friends found out about this pregnancy through this blog. I feel bad about it. This time was just so weird though. I just couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone this time. I was happy to find out that I was pregnant again, but I'd say that excited wouldn't be the word for it. I just knew that as soon as I told people, I'd be calling them right back to tell them that I lost another one. I don't know. I'm so afraid that I've done irreversible damage to my friendships this past year. I've just been dealing with this the best way I know how, and obviously that's to pull away from everyone. I love my friends and I miss them. I just wanted to say that.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
I just wanted to say hello to the nice people who are still checking in! And I promise that I'll write something good (or maybe not good, but something) tomorrow. I just don't know about what, though. It might be about pie or flowers or my weenie dog. Wow, I'm so uninspired lately. I've got major writer's block. Major, major, major.
Ummm.....I do have something to talk about, actually, but I'm going to sit on it for awhile longer. How's that for a tasty teaser?
Talk to you tomorrow....
Monday, February 26, 2007
I seem to have been at a loss for words the past couple of weeks. I did this after my miscarriage, too, so I guess that it's something weird that I do. I just haven't known what to say about....anything. I told a bloggy friend this morning, I'm just feeling extremely "blah". No joie de vivre, as they say.
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing now. It's like I've given myself that year to do whatever I needed to do...hole myself up, scream and cry, lose 50 pounds, gain a ton back, learn to sew, plant things, scream and cry, pull my hair, scan the obits for dead babies, have a pathological fear of Target and their fucking Lullaby Club, don't return phone calls, don't return emails, bitch at my husband, cry myself to sleep, cry myself awake and then wonder why I'm so goddamned lonely all the time. It boggles my mind that it's been a year. I've been crying for a year. I must be chronically dehydrated.
I've been thinking a lot since his birthday about this time last year. When we finally did go back to our place (we'd stayed with my mom for a few days) I sat at the kitchen table for like, a week. Hours and hours upon end. I am serious. I just sat there listening to the radio and knitting lace pillowcase inserts. Or I would just lay my head down on the table and bawl and scream uncontrollably. But I stayed in the kitchen. The mental pain was so mind numbingly horrible that it even overshadowed the physical pain of my c-section. I remember thinking, "What was everyone's problem with this? It doesn't hurt that bad."
So that's my thing right now. I don't know what to do with myself. All the "firsts" are gone and now every year is just going to blur into each other. His 2nd birthday and his 32nd birthday. Now what? I've turned into a very boring person. Hey, did I tell you that I saw the guy who does the weather on tv at the grocery store this morning? Yeah, that's all I got. I know that it is stupid to say, "Okay, it's been a year. Pull up your big girl panties and get on with things." That's what clueless people say. I guess that I'm afraid that it's been a year and I'm still having trouble functioning on a halfway decent level. When do I get excited about things again?
Monday, February 05, 2007
And here's a close-up so that you can see the detail.
I should have taken it out from behind the glass before I took the picture, so there's a reflection in the way a little bit. What do you think? Isn't it great? I have it up on the mantel and just can't stop looking at it. I love it so much, and particularly thankful for it after that Dear Abby letter today.
I'm not sure how to feel about this. It makes me feel a little sick, mainly because the author keeps using the word "it. 'We have to look at it.' Is this child a boy or a girl, or did the author and her bitchy co-workers even ask? I probably wouldn't display a picture like this of Nate, just because I'm very selective of pictures that I show to people. It's my way of protecting him and if anyone ever recoiled in horror upon seeing a picture of my son, I would just die.
I just feel so badly for this woman with the baby. Because I know how she feels...you feel that motherly love for your child no matter what. You're proud of that child no matter what, but in this society you're not allowed to be proud with pictures. Yet again, something else that we've been gypped of. I mean, I know that I need to be sensitive. Having a baby that has died is such a part of my reality, that seeing a picture of one doesn't even faze me. I don't see "dead", I see the beauty of the child. However, if "old" Laura, especially "old pregnant" Laura had seen a picture like that, I think that it would have really upset me. I've been thinking lately what the old me would have thought coming across a blog like the one I have now. I know that I would have never thought that it was "yucky", but it would be so out of the scope of imagination for me--something that would be impossible to happen. Never in a million years. It blows my mind that now I feel like a baby to bring home would be nearly an impossibility to happen. I hate being that negative, but I think that it's fear more than negativity, honestly. But when it's all you know, it's all you know.
I know this discussion comes up a lot, but what do you think about this article?
Saturday, February 03, 2007
We made it through his first birthday and it was just like the "veterans" said, the leading up to the actual day was so, so much worse. I just wanted to lay down and die on January 30th--I just didn't think that I was going to make it, and I didn't want to. I was terrified to go to sleep that night and by the next morning, I knew why. Part of me actually believed that I was going to have to do it again: all of the trauma, all of the blood loss, surgery and very worst of all, the realization that my baby was unconscious in the NICU.
But I woke up.
And it was just morning. I was healthy, so much stronger than I was one year ago. No morphine, no blood, no horrible realization that my baby was sick. Just the peaceful feeling that I wanted to make this day nice for my son, for his memory. To spend the day with my husband and have a wonderful time together seemed like a perfect tribute to Nate, and I think it was.
Tom took the day off of work and I cancelled my music lessons for the day. We went to Home Depot to buy hardware for our new doors and then we bought a new orchid, something that I've decided to do every year on Nate's birthday. We cuddled together in the same recliner and watched tv. And we went to the cemetery. I had put together a little arrangement of daisies and little wooden cutouts of a train, a lion and an airplane that I had glued on dowels and stuck in among the flowers. We released some big, beautiful balloons that came with a huge flower arrangement from Tom's office. And we cried. It was so cold and snowing and the strong wind carried those balloons off fast--it was so hard to watch them disappear. But I think that we both felt good when we left.
That night I made a huge, cheesy lasagna and a chocolate and carmel cake. I opened the bottle of chianti that my mom had brought back from Florence and that I was saving for a special occasion. And it was good. Really good. The lasagna and the cake were pretty damn good, too.
And then today. Today is the day that we disconnected his life support. It was the day that I finally got it. He wasn't going to come out of this and he was already gone, really. I probably need to write about this, but I can't do it right now. Those days were so dark that I only remember them in black and white. Looking back, I have no idea how we made it through. Today, I'm going to stay busy, I think. I've got my baking class and then I'm going to pick up Nate's portrait. Maybe start painting Kaitlyn's bedroom. We've been in this house for like nine months and all of the walls are still white. I'm ready for some color in this place. I'm ready for some color in a lot of places.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
The first day of my maternity leave.
The day that it was really sinking in that I was bringing you home and soon, too.
I finally finished your little apple hat on this day, a year ago.
How many more sleeps would it be until you were in my arms? Just one, as it would turn out.
I had that sleep and you were gone, your little body there, your sweet soul was not.
I'm so sorry, my love. I'm so sorry that my body failed you, my beautiful boy.
Every minute of every day, I think of you. I never thought that I could love anyone as much as I do you.
My sweet boy.
My sister called a few minutes ago to ask if anything weird has been happening around my house. I said, yes, a couple of things have happened that could be weird or they could be the cat. She told me that Connor's electronic toys have been going off by themselves this week. Two in particular: a toy laptop and a driving simulator. The laptop is operated by touching the "mouse" and a picture comes up on the screen. The child then has to touch the matching picture on the keyboard and if it's correct, it makes a sound. She said that a picture of a train came up on the screen and a few seconds later, she heard the sound of a train coming from the toy. The little driving toy has been honking. Both of these toys don't make any noise when they are turned on or off. If that was the case, then the batteries just might be dying. Certain buttons have to be pushed for them to make noise--especially the laptop. Not only were buttons pushed, the correct button was pushed in order for the train to sound. I don't know. But it is interesting that this is happening during his birthday week.