We were in St. Augustine, I forgot to mention. It's a pretty cool town and it actually reminded me a lot of a town in Spain that we had visited last summer-Cadiz. Parts of it anyway. Other parts were really touristy. We didn't stay in town, actually. We stayed in Tom's boss' brother's condo (Did you follow that one?) about 30 minutes outside of the city.
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.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Do You Want to Hear About My Vacation?
I just got back from Florida. You might say, "Oh, so that's why you haven't updated your blog in almost a month. What a long trip you took." Nah....it was just a long weekend trip. I've just been tongue-tied like I am quite often.
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.
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
About the Appointment
When Nate died, I thought that I would never again be in the ultrasound room, looking at a healthy baby on that monitor. It seemed impossible. And then the miscarriage--it seemed even more impossible. But on Thursday, I was there. And it was as beautiful and amazing as I remembered.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
