Random Stuff

I've got so much to talk about that it's all built up and now I don't know what to talk about! So I'll just talk about a little bit of this and that and maybe I can come up with a decent post later.

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Ben is sleeping at six hour stretches through the night now and it's incredible. For awhile, he was waking every hour and a half and not really taking naps during the day. He got this from me. I suck at naps--I'm afraid I'll miss something exciting, I guess, and so is he. I handled it for a couple of weeks, but then I spent all day crying, sometimes hysterically. I was such a mess in my 6 week post partum check up that my doctor prescribed me anti-depressants. I haven't taken them. Part of it was lack of sleep, part of it was raging hormones and part of it was missing Nate so badly. The first two making the latter so much worse. I was also plagued by morbid thoughts of Ben being hurt or not waking up in the morning and thinking that I would know exactly what he would look like if he died in the night. Fucked up thoughts, indeed. Thank God they seem to be dissipating.

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I'm a cloth diaper dropout. I spent hours researching diapers, dropped a few hundred dollars on some and um, it's a no-go. I preached the wonders of cloth dipes to anyone who would listen--"Do you know how many dirty diapers end up in our landfills?" and "Do you have any idea how many chemicals are in disposable diapers?" and "They make them so easy to use these days! No Pins!!" and "I like doing laundry!" (I really do, used to anyway.) Ugh, whatever. That was before I had a kid that pees every five minutes. I'm going to give myself a break, though. We recycle everything and my husband has an obsession with composing. We have an elaborate system of rotting organic goodness in our backyard. So at least we're doing something for the planet. Anyway....I'm probably going to sell an assload of size 0 Kissaluvs soon :( I might try cloth again when he's older, but in the meantime I have to listen to a chorus of "told you so's!!"

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I've been pregnant, recovering from a birth, waiting to get pregnant, pregnant, recovering from a D&C and pregnant since May of 2005. I've either been pregnant or obsessed with being pregnant. Now I'm carrying around the left over weight of two and a half pregnancies and since I sat on my ass for the entirety of this last one, I'm weak and tired and completely out of shape. So.....I'm starting with a personal trainer on the 28th. If I lost 20 pounds, I'd feel a hell of a lot better, but if I lost 40 I'd actually be kinda hot again. I also want to start running. I've always wanted to be a runner and now Tom is running every morning and doing 5k's. It would be nice if we could do that together. I have to start looking forward now and I'm going to start that by getting healthy again. My whole world has been standing still since 22 and a half months ago. But I need to get healthy physically, spiritually and emotionally for little brother. It's just not fair to Ben otherwise.

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Speaking of feeling better--I'm getting my gall bladder removed tomorrow!!!! Woot, woot!! I can't believe that I'm excited to have an organ removed, but I can't wait. My gall bladder is horrible and vile and I want it OUT!! The stupid little bastard has been torturing me since July. I don't know what else to say about that. I'm happy, that's all.

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Today's my birthday. I'm 33. Or 32 or 34. It all runs together after 30. Okay, yeah, I'm 33. I haven't done anything except go to my pre-admit for the above. I want to go out for sushi and I want big glasses of wine. I haven't had either since I had Ben and I have to make up for it. I wonder what Tom got me...he usually does pretty well with gifts. He picks up on hints better than most.

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Ben laughs in his sleep. I wonder what he's dreaming about. Maybe he's playing with his big brother. I love him so much and it's so hard to see what we'd been missing out on. But I kind of expected that going into this.

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Here is one of Ben's Christmas pictures. He was six weeks old here.

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.

An embarassingly short update....

Hmmm, I wonder if anyone is stopping by anymore? I certainly don't blame you if you haven't. My blog has become one of those that used to drive me crazy. I'd write more if I didn't spend all my time on the La Leche League message boards. Anyway...

Ben is the bomb!! Especially now that he's sleeping in 5 and 6 hour chunks at night. I was getting to the point that I was crying all day because I was just so exhausted. But he really is a good baby. He eats a lot (which he got from both his parents)...he's up to 11 and a half pounds at 7 weeks. Hooray for boobies!! I wanted to update with a couple of pictures from yesterday's Christmas Parade. Tom wears Ben wherever we go...it's extremely cute. Wow, I love my boys.

Ooops, he's up again and ready to eat. I didn't time this very well. Better post later...I promise!!

Three Weeks Old Today!

When I woke up on the morning of the 18th and felt Ben move, it was the first time in 38.5 weeks that I felt good. I felt my shoulders come down from around my ears. The huge knot in my chest was gone. We made it through that last night and everything was okay. We were going to get our baby today!!!!!!!!!!





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.

I was a little disapointed in my reaction, though. Maybe it was because I was so gorked out from the spinal (which hurt like hell!), but I wasn't overcome with motherly emotions like I thought I would be. Mostly I was thinking, "God, get all that crap out of his mouth!" and "Yikes, he's gurgling in my face!" So, yeah. But looking at this picture now is a different story. I think that even his poop is cute.

So mad!!! That's the biggest mouth that I've ever seen on a baby. And that's what I've got attached to my boob every hour.

This is what I had in mind.

I have so much to say about all of this. The hospital stay, this momma thing. I can't believe what a long road this has been. I can't believe how much he looks like his brother. I'll have to save all that for another post. Ben's starting to wake up....

Make your own slide shows and scrapbooks

Introducing.....

Benjamin Thomas!!

Here is our sweet boy :) I'm so in love I don't even know what to do with myself. I'll tell you all about it soon, but everything is just going along smashingly. He's even a champ little nurser! Thank you for all of your good vibes and prayers and then all of your yipees and hoorays! More later!!

He's Here!

This is Lala's sister, Lizzie. Just wanted to update everyone and let you all know that Baby BK made it safely into the world at 7:58 this morning. He weighs 8lbs and 1oz, is 21 1/2 inches long with a full head of dark hair and HUGE feet! Baby and mommy are doing wonderful and we are all so happy he is finally here! Pics will be posted soon. Sorry about not giving away the name, I wasn't sure if Lala wanted me to do that or not so I am leaving it up to her to tell you all. Lala and Tom want to thank you all for the prayers and good wishes. Stay tuned for pics and updates!!

We're A-Okay!

I have just been so weird and I'm really sorry. Thank you for checking in on me! If I were to leave myself a comment, it would be "Listen, asshole. What is up with you? You haven't posted in like a month."

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.

A Change in Plans

A couple of weeks ago, on what started out as a perfectly lovely day, I came home from the library to a message on my machine from my doctor's office. It was the receptionist telling me that Dr. W has had a family emergency and will be out of the office. Until December. She went on to say that I was being rescheduled with another doctor and I could see him a week later. Well, I was practically hysterical. First of all, I felt totally abandoned. Yeah, Dr. W pissed me off a few times with some things that he had said--but we had a plan. He knew my history (even though I felt like sometimes he forgot it), but for the most part I was comfortable with him and it was like I'd had the rug jerked out from under me. I actually felt like I wouldn't get my baby now. I had to sit down and remind myself that the baby was fine, I was still pregnant and he had to get here somehow. And secondly, I was upset because I was supposed to have an appointment the following morning that I had waited a month for. Now I had to wait another week. I'm notoriously a big weenie when it comes to sticking up for myself, but I sucked it up and called the receptionist back. I told her that I was high risk and I've already waited a month to see a doctor and under no circumstances will I wait another week to have an appointment. So she got me in the following afternoon :)

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!

Ugly

We have some new people moving in on our street. I actually know them already...they are friends of a neighbor who is a friend of mine. They always come to my neighbor's get togethers and and that is the only capacity in which we know them. Now they are sub-letting the house next to my neighbor-friend because the owner is going to China for awhile evidently.

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.

Is This Thing On?

Hey ya'll. This was so weird. I don't know if Blogger was doing this to other people, but it wasn't showing that anyone had updated their blogs since Monday. I would go visit, but there'd be no new posts. I was getting worried, especially about those that usually post daily (Hi Catherine). Anyway, it worked this morning and I've been catching up. I was starting to panic.

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I passed my diabetes test (yay!) but my iron is wicked low. I knew that was coming--and those of you who've taken iron supplements know what that means. Dammit. You just don't appreciate it until no matter how hard you try, you can't do it. Fiber is my friend.

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I'm and exhibitor in a big, scary bridal show this weekend. I'm really dreading it, because (a) I don't like brides. (b) I like their mother's even less. (c) I have to play for 6 hours and my belly is getting too big for me to hold my flute properly. So then my shoulder starts cramping. But you know, I signed us up for this show when I was newly pregnant and I wasn't going to make any plans based on the fact that I would still be pregnant in August. How effed up is that? A good thing is, my adorable husband is going to be our "spokesmodel" and talk to brides so we can keep playing. There is another group that we complete with, a string quartet, and the guy they bring to shows is the cellist's husband who just happens to be the morning news and weather guy for one of our tv stations. My husband is cuter, though. Neener, neener. Today, I'm going to focus on being more positive about this show or my crappy, negative energy is going to scare everyone away. We will get gigs. We will get gigs.

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I'm so hungry. I've been up since 4am, mostly because of the items in the above paragraph and all the little crappy items that go along with it that I wouldn't delegate to anyone else because I wanted to make sure that they were done correctly. Anyway, I'm starving because I desperately need to go grocery shopping. I just tried to make some cream of wheat and when I added it to the pot, a scary, prehistoric looking bug floated to the top. Crap! I looked at the expiration date, and it was August 25, 2006. Well, that's disgusting. Now I'm trying to eat a bowl of stale, generic fruit loops with soy milk. They have the consistency of calamari. I used to make a detailed, lovely menu every two weeks that I posted lovingly on the fridge for everyone to see. I'd even type it up on the computer using clever fonts and we'd always take comfort in knowing what was for dinner. I had brilliant shopping lists, stuck to the grocery budget and we always had great food in the house. Now we have cereal with bugs. There hasn't been a menu on the fridge in months and months. When I first got pregnant, everything made me so sick, there was no way in hell that I was actually going to cook anything. If Tom was hungry, he pretty much had to go kill it and barbeque it himself. And now I've got this gall bladder thing and I still can't eat anything. Bleh. The squid cereal just isn't doing it for me. Would a veggie burger be too weird for breakfast? No bread though. If I even have any bread, it's probably moldy.

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We're talking October 12th for the Piglet to make his grand entrance. I was going to write a whole post about this, the gist of which is I don't really feel like my doctor is getting me. Like, he's not understanding how scared I am right now. I don't even start my two-week appointments until 32 weeks. I get an ultrasound at the 34th week, but he does that for everybody. I guess I'm just feeling like I need more attention...but I don't even know what he can do. There isn't any test to tell if I'm going to abrupt again. They can't predict it--it's like being struck by lightening and really the best he can do is to take the baby 3 weeks early. So, I need some feedback on this: he wants to do the amnio on the 11th and if Piglet's ready, do the section on the 12th. So I have to have a big needle stuck into my uterus and then be sent home? And I'm supposed to sleep that night!? He says that he doesn't want me to fast if I don't have to. What the hell? It's not like I'm getting a bunch of joy from food these days anyway, I don't give a shit if I'm hungry. I am not cool with this. Isn't it possible to have the amnio and the section the same day? What do you think? Am I being unreasonable about this?

Hey Neeto

Piglet usually sleeps when I play my flute. Especially when I play with harp, and Nate did that, too. Both of them, though, would wake up when I got particularly agitated with one of my students. I always wonder if my babies would recognize the sound of the flute.

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.

surreal

We're painting the nursery today. There won't be any furniture in there for awhile, so for now it's just going to be a blue room.

It still makes me nervous.

Nine Weeks and Counting

Oh man, thank you so much for your input re: my crappy gall bladder. Two weeks attack-free! (Knock on wood.) If it's just going to happen every two or three weeks, I think I'll be able to make it without surgery. That last one was so bad, I thought it was going to happen after every meal. Anyway...

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.

I'm A Mess

We had a bad scare a few weeks ago. I had initially started to write a huge, detailed post about it, but about halfway through, I was like, "Crap, I don't even want to think about this hard enough to write about it." I'll give you a synopsis now, though.

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.

Morbid Humor and a Little Magical T-Shirt

My sister and I were talking the other day about the c-section (it will be another vertical one):

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.

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The night that the new Ha.rr.y P0.tt.er was released, a few businesses downtown turned one of our streets into Dia.gon All.ey. The independant movie house was showing the third movie and serving butt.erbee.r (ginger ale and butterscotch flavoring--yum!), the glass blowing guy was making custom wands, the bookstore was doing something Potter related and there were carriage rides, too. That was cool because they were the same big shires and white carriage that Tom and I used for our wedding. Hearing them clip-clop on the street brought back some happy memories. Stuff like this always brings out the weirdos and like my sister said, it was like someone turned over a nerd rock and they all came scurrying out like crabs in their capes and Hagrid beards. I'm pretty damn nerdy about this stuff, too, but I like to keep a low profile, I guess. Except for the fact that we hunted out the screen printing shop that was making custom t-shirts. I went in, prepared to make a dorky t-shirt in pink that I would wear with much pride, until I spied a little blue onsie. I had it printed with: "I solomnly swear that I am up to no good." If you haven't read the books, that probably doesn't come across nearly as cute as it's supposed to. I think it's cute, anyway. When it was ready to be picked up, everyone oohed over how what a perfect shirt for a little boy it was. They just had no clue how hard it was for me to buy that little shirt and how I was praying that he'd get a chance to wear it. I've now bought him a grand total of four things. Whoopie-doo.

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I have some major updating to do--a lot has been going on in the past couple of weeks. The Piglet is totally fine (he never, ever sleeps and is after me with both feet most of the time, hard enough to make my teeth rattle. Nate never behaved like this!) So many pregnancies in two years have evidently taken their toll on me and I'm having a rough time. But I'll tell you about it tomorrow. I need some advice and some sympathy. **sigh**

Vacation Continued

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.

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.

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

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.

So...

Well, I guess that I won't have to do much shopping because it's a....

Very wiggly BOY with great BIG FEET!!

And everything else looks good :) More later...

Yikes.

Oh man, oh man, oh man. I'm really nervous about this ultrasound tomorrow. I'm also excited, though. Like a little-kid-birthday-Christmas excited. Oh, but I'm nervous. I didn't have any tests early on--I'm completely dumb to what is going on in there, except that this kid moves a lot. I don't think that I'm going to be able to sleep tonight. Oh God, I hope that everything is okay.

Visiting Nate

I'm writing from my new/old laptop! This is the laptop that I couldn't touch when my husband first got it. Okay, not really, but I had to touch it very carefully. (Did that sound dirty?) That's a cool thing about having a husband who's works in internet stuff--I get his neeto hand-me-downs.

______________________________

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.

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Here's a weird thought that I've been having. I've been pregnant for the last 17 out of 24 months. I like being pregnant (good thing), but I'm having an impossible time imagining what it will be like to actually bring home a baby. I'm only able to think in the moment, but I can't think of the end. It doesn't make me freak out or anything, in fact I'm kind of neutral about it. I mean, I'm not thinking about losing another baby--my head won't let me go there and I'm not pushing it. But it won't let me think about bringing a baby home, either. It's like, "You're pregnant right now, and that's all you need to know." Well, in my head it seems weird. Writing it out, it seems like a self-preservation mechanism. What do you think? For those with sub. babies, was there a point where you could think past being pregnant?

p.s.--thank you so, so much for your advice about the doppler. I am taking it to heart, for sure.

What's Up.

I have been around, honestly. I read everyday--I've just been having trouble signing in lately, so I haven't been posting or leaving many comments. I also feel like a wrung out sponge, physically and emotionally. It's been hard to think of things to say, even though I think a lot about all of you. Anyway...

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!

Happy Mother's Day

I hope that today is gentle and peaceful.

Poke-Poke

The little dude or dudette is moving around in there! And don't tell me that it's gas, people. I know gas. I've been feeling it pretty often, especially for this stage, which makes me wonder if this kid just moves around like crazy or it just my big, saggin', baggin' uterus that makes it easier for me to feel. I felt Nate at about 16 weeks and he was very sweet and considerate the whole time. No kicks to the kidneys or anything. Hmmm, I wonder what this one will be like. It makes me sad and excited at the same time. ((sigh)))

Like I Was Saying....

Today I was running some errands and thinking that I should go out to the cemetery and see Nate. I haven't been since his birthday and I really should go and make sure that there aren't any old, gnarly arrangements left there. And then, like always, I become sad and angry that I even have to go to the cemetery. I didn't go.

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.

Shopping

On Sunday, I ventured to the mall. I hate the mall and I never go, but right on schedule my face has turned into hamburger with angry red zits all over my chin and those horrible, big, giant ones that hurt to touch. I am one ugly pregnant woman--I don't know where all this glowing business comes from. Not from me, that's for sure. So, anyway, I needed to hit the Proactiv kiosk and drop 50 bucks on face soap. Yikes, but it works, so what are you gonna do?

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.

Yikes, it's been awhile since I've written anything and I hate posting links to stuff when I haven't been writing. It makes me feel lazy. But I read this article in my town's paper this morning and I thought that I'd share it with you.

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.

Wow, and all before 9 am.

Do you think that there might be days where the universe just screws with you? Like it's thinking, "Hey, let's have some fun with Laura today." Leave the house, stay in the house--you're still going to be blindsided no matter what you do.

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:
Samuel (Sam)
Gabriel (Gabe)
Nathaniel (Nate)
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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so, after crying in the fetal position in the recliner for twenty minutes, I got dressed and went downtown to pick up a copy of Nate's birth certificate for this year's taxes, because you know, I was in great shape to do something like today. But I had to go do it--taxes are due-what?-next week or something and I've been putting this off for a long time. I'm thankful that I'm able to have one for Nate, but I knew that it was going to be very difficult to go and get it. That's why I hadn't done it yet. When I received the certificate, it looked totally normal, just like any one I've ever seen and I was glad for that. His certificate looked just like any baby's--but then I looked in the upper right hand corner where the word DECEASED was written in block capitals. Oh.

I'm sobbing again as I walk through the lobby to the parking lot and to my car. Oh shit. I had just calmed down from the last incident and here I go again. When I reach the door to my car, I look into the passenger seat of the car parked next to me and on the seat lay a newborn diaper and a picture of a very pregnant, very young woman smiling broadly, her arms wrapped around her belly. Really. Why both of those things? I guess I could see having a diaper there, but why a picture of your pregnant self? I guess that will teach me not to look in other people's cars.

Now I'm going to go to the grocery store and pray that I don't run into anyone from my childbirth class.

Chip should have been born this week.

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.

Ewwww.....

Guess who I ran into this weekend? My ex-boyfriend. I had neither seen nor talked to him since we broke up, let's see, three years ago? We were together for six years. Six! I totally wasted my twenties on this guy. Actually, for a long time we had a lot of fun. He was in a cool band. He knew lots of cool people. He was a DJ on a cool radio station here in town. So, you know, he was pretty fun to begin with. Then he started running. A lot. And not just 5Ks. He did marathons, 32 mile ultramax races, adventure races, Ironman stuff. He spent all of his money on bike gear and nipple guards and I'd end up with crap presents for my birthday like a computer generated coupon for a backrub or some such shit. Also, with all of this activity, I was eating more than he was and I was on Weight Watchers most of the time. He got so thin and began acting like an asshole constantly. I think that his brain was being eaten by his body.

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:

"Laura?"

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.

Thank you for all of the happy, happy comments! Things are fine here. Still pregnant, no spotting (which by this point I was spotting daily with Chip), taking two naps a day and the only things that I want to eat are pop tarts, waffles and Life cereal. It's the breakfast, lunch and dinner of champions. Pretty much everything is grossing me out--in fact, there's some cat puke in my laundry room that's been there for an hour and a half. I need to put in a load of undies soon, and there's only so many times that I can step over that stuff. So, I'll get right on that.

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.

Okay, Okay, Okay. Geez.

I really was working on a good post, but then I got sidetracked when I decided that I just HAD to decorate my house for Easter. Good Christ, I had daffodills coming up but no bunnies in my house. What, what? Yeah, that's a lousy excuse. Anyway, after a really good OB appointment here is my news...

Third Time's the Charm??

It measured today at 8w2d with a heartbeat of 175. I'm sleeping or just gorked out in the recliner all the time, which may account for my lack of posts. Also, last week I puked!! Hooray, I feel like shit! I'm serious, this is good news. Remember last time, I was so freaked because I wasn't sick? Yeah.

I haven't said anything, because I didn't want to jinx myself. This time is really different--it's much scarier now. I had late pregnancy to worry about, and now I'm terrifed of this early part, too. I hold my breath everytime I go to the bathroom. BUT...I had a great appointment this morning and I get to have another ultrasound in two weeks. Hanging on to the positive!!

So there's my news. Ta da!

Holy Crap, I Suck

Oh man, I haven't written a word since last month. That is just inexcusable.

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....

Hi

Okay, well. Hmmm.

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?

Nate's Portrait

Here is the portrait of Nate that my sister, Jessica, drew for us.

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. 

Morning Paper

Did anyone read Dear Abby this morning? Here is the article.

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?

Thank you so much. Thank you so much for thinking about me, for saying that my baby was beautiful. It helps my heart so much.

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.

One

Happy Birthday, Sweetpea. We love you so, so, so much.

Last

One year ago today...

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.

Maybe?

Someone's been playing with my one-year-old nephew's toys.

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.

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Speaking of birthdays...what did you do or what do you plan on doing for your child's first birthday? I'm going to make an floral arrangement for the cemetery and I'd like to release some balloons, but I would love to know some ways that others have celebrated their children.

Random Stuff

In my Quest to Stay Busy, I'm taking a class at the local technical college called Professional Baking. It's every Saturday for four weeks, four hours a day. This past Saturday was yeast breads and the one before that was quick breads--biscuits, muffins, scones, etc. I have never been able to make a decent biscuit--they always turn out like hockey pucks. I'm pleased to announce that it only took me 2 tries to make the Most Awesome Biscuits Ever. Tall and flakey and everything. I'm excited to beat out my frustrations on some yeast dough this week. This coming class will feature cookies and pies--I am very excited about this. If I don't smoke all those old ladies at the pie contest this summer after all of these classes, well, then I'm just going to have to hang up my apron. The point of this paragraph is--I think that I'm going to go to culinary school for real. Not just adult continuing ed. classes. This may involve me giving up teaching music. You heard it here first.

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Who wants to hear more about my period? Nobody?......okay skip to the next paragraph then. I've been on my period for over 30 days now. This is very depressing to me and is also putting a bit of strain on the relationship with my husband if you know what I mean. Right now I think that I'm on my period for real, because it changed from just spotting at about 28 days after it started, so I'm hoping that it's actually going to stop this time. And this point of this paragraph is....even though my doctor told me that it was stress that was causing this menstrual bullshit, something that a very good friend told me actually put my mind at ease. She was in the Army and until very recently, did counterintelligence in Iraq. She told me that many women would have their periods the entire time that they were in Iraq or not have one at all. This implies that the impending first birthday of my dead child and the realization that my due date with Chip is quickly approaching might just be as stressful as facing roadside bombs and mortar attacks. I believe it.

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My little sister is doing a portrait of Nate and I'm so excited. She is an extremely talented artist and I could brag about her all day. She's also wicked smart--she's a pre-med student with plans on becoming an OB/GYN, mostly because of what happened with me and Nate. I haven't been able to put up any pictures in my house, other than one of his feet, and I think that I might be able to actually look at a drawn portrait of my son and not feel sadness. I never thought, though, that I'd ever give anyone a picture of my child to draw with the instructions, "Can you just make him look 'not dead'?" ~sigh~ I know that it will be beautiful, though.

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I think that the cold in my house killed most of my plants. However, my orchid was safe at my MIL's the whole time. I think that I'd just be like, "Oh well. Go buy new plants." But these were plants that were given to us after Tom's dad and Nate died. Peace lillies and stuff. I always feel extra guilty when funeral plants die. I'm never going to give anyone a plant for a funeral again. They're kind of a sad reminder and then you feel an extra obligation to keep them alive. You know?