Eric keeps waking up and reassuring me that I’ll be ok, it will all be fine, etc. as he keeps finding me laying here staring at the ceiling.
My last day being pregnant. The last time I’ll experience another person living inside me, moving around.. tomorrow I’ll have a newborn to look after…my last night of unbroken sleep…if I could sleep… what in the world are we doing?
Eric seems ready, he’s not freaked out by our family growing by one, or it hasn’t fully sunk in yet.
I keep reliving the spinal being put into my back, and being stretched out while they cut me open. I’m so not ready for this.
It’s funny because so many people wished me well with, “she’ll probably come before her due date!” and such, but they don’t seem to understand that my body apparently doesn’t know what to do with babies. It’s blissfully unaware that it’s time to evict our little bundle and has no concept of what needs to be done.
It would be kind of neat to be sitting at home and suddenly have contractions or water break..but instead I have to schedule a baby and count down the hours until surgery.
One would think that would mean I’d be better prepared and not have her birthday on top of her sister’s, but I held out too long hoping my body would show signs of progress, and once it became clear that it was going nowhere all of the spots I’d be allowed to take (before due date) were gone. So she’s keeping her original due date. The first one, the one she was dated by in her first ultrasound, and the one she is scheduled to be delivered for. Who keeps the same exact due date for the entire pregnancy? Something tells me she’s going to be a punctual person. She’s going to say, “I’ll be there at 3” and she will always be there at 3.
I can’t wait to meet her. But I’m also terrified. Of delivering her, and of having a brand new person to learn again. But we’ll get through this scary part and it will all be magical soon.
Thank you Lord for letting me participate in this miracle, and may I be a good mother to her.
I’m having serious baby cravings.. I told my mom about this, but it’s getting worse. The first time it hit me was on the plane to the Sales Meeting last month, when a flight attendant walked by holding a probably 3 month old little girl, bragging about how she stole the baby. My first reaction was, “I can’t believe the mom let her take her baby” as she was still going about her duties, checking the overhead cabins and whatnot, while holding this little girl. My next thought was, “I want to hold the baby…”
Then for the rest of the flight I held my belly and felt my little one kick and squirm, and dreamed about finally getting to hold her.
Ever since, I’m just seriously impatient. I daydream often about holding her, cuddling her, snuggling her, looking at her.
I really want this baby.
And it doesn’t help that she constantly makes her presence known. It’s not enough, this giant belly that doesn’t allow me to bend forward and is so noticeably in the way for anything and everything I used to be able to do; no she has to also remind me that she’s ready to join the world by stretching herself out and pushing all my organs around. It’s funny that she’s found different places to push against than her sister did. She likes to push against my bladder and stick her feet out my right side, just below my ribs, as hard as she can. It kind of tickles when her feet are over there, because it’s softer, I guess with less muscle stuff going on over there. But the best is when she pushes down, against my side, and still manages to have something pushing out around my belly button, and also tickles my lower belly with her little hands, I guess, all at once. It feels like she’s going to push her way out through my belly.. I really do think she’s ready.
I know I am.
And after the discussion with one of the other doctors in the practice I see, I’m really not sure what’s going to happen. She gave me a little bit more and different information than the doctor I usually see, such as that I can’t really repeat what I did with Aria.. can’t wait and go a week late, can’t do induction via the pill like before.. and everything will have to be more careful because of the previous c-section. I didn’t realize that’s why they typically schedule c-sections a week before the due date, because of the increased stress on the uterine scar. I’m a little more nervous now, and starting to rethink the trying-to-go-natural approach. The only way I’ll be able to is if in the next couple of weeks I start to dilate.
My mom told me an OBG friend said the chances of something going wrong are very small, but “catastrophic” if they do. I repeated this to the doctor this morning and she sighed and said, “yeah, I’ve only seen it once..” My gut reaction was, I couldn’t believe she’d seen it even once! That makes it more real than just a statistic!
So I guess it’s still a wait and see game. If my body and baby decide to work together to get this moving, then maybe we can try and see. But if not, it looks like the healthiest thing for both of us is to just go with a c-section. I’ll just keep praying for patience and wait on whatever God’s plan for us may be.
That song is now stuck in my head.. “It’s the final countdown!”.. guitar break..
Anyway, according to the expected due date of my new little handful, 7 weeks to go! It both feels like forever and so close all at once, so I don’t know how to feel!
Actually, I know exactly how I feel. Exhausted. Aria has reached the naked stage where it’s harder to keep clothes on her than it is to get her to pick up after herself. Speaking of which, she is just so precious. I love what a sweet and helpful child she is most of the time (when she’s not tired/cranky or incredibly distracted). She cleans herself up after meals, wipes the counters and floors when she makes messes, throws away garbage, brings us things we ask her to, tries to help with sweeping or vacuuming or dusting.. she’s just a doll.
But back to new baby, it’s hard for me to remember exactly what Aria was like, but I feel like she’s incredibly active. One nice thing, though, is that she doesn’t jam her feet up under my ribs like her sister did to me (constantly). I used to push and push trying to get Aria out from under there. Maybe she just hasn’t discovered the extra foot room yet. But she has definitely discovered the punching bag that is my bladder. She likes to stomp on it periodically and send me into a tizzy to find the nearest restroom. And then for good measure give it another blow so that I have to go back again before I’ve had a chance to go about whatever I had been doing.
And there are constant lumps trying to push their way out of my belly. I feel inclined to push back because of Alien. You just never know.. if she pushed too hard.. It just creeps me out when lumps are protruding from my belly, that I can’t not push back to keep them inside me.
The whole thing is still weird. There is a being living in my belly! How is that not weird?? And to boot she’s supposed to be the size of a pineapple by now. An entire pineapple bouncing around in my belly!
But after all of the terribly sad stories I’ve heard, I 100% prefer an overactive baby to one who doesn’t move much or enough. At least I know she’s alive and kicking (literally) and in good shape and spirits (at least I assume..).
The whole waiting game to see what she’s like, what she looks like, what type of baby she’ll be is just so hard. But I’ve made up my mind and heart to try again to go natural (as long as my doctor lets me). It was a really tough decision, remembering it took 20 hours of a lot of poking, prodding and painful stuff, and a tiresome left-side-only-not-allowed-to-move ordeal with failure at the end, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s not even a whole day for the chance to try again to do it the “right” way. Another thing that makes this decision harder is, if we do succeed I’ll actually lose two whole weeks of maternity leave time with her 😦 But giving up this notion of being able to schedule my baby to come when and where I choose, and instead leave it in the hands of God who will decide when we’re both ready, and how she’ll end up coming into the world, is actually more comforting to me.
I just hope she decides of her own accord not to make an appearance on her sister’s birthday 🙂
I have too many things I want to write about and never enough time to sit and write them.
For example, I want to write about how active the new baby is.. how she rarely sits still and stops kicking me. How she makes it impossible to sleep anymore, and how I really just can’t wait to meet her. How she pushes back when Aria sits or climbs on my belly, or how she prefers to stomp on my bladder rather than cram her feet up under my ribs like her sister used to do.
I also want to write about how silly Aria is, like how she ran into the fridge, completely randomly while walking, the other night and we discovered afterwards that she was walking around the whole kitchen/kitchenette area with her eyes closed. And the next night she was tasting the food on her plate with her eyes closed. I guess she’s trying out her other senses…
And Aria doesn’t really need me anymore. She practically changes her own diaper. Yes we’re working on potty training, but so far she is outstanding at the entire procedure, with pulling down her pants, sitting on the potty, wiping, washing her hands, etc., all except the actually going potty in the potty. She even tells me she wants to go to the potty… because she already went..
But when it comes time to change her diaper, she will go grab a diaper and the wipes by herself, pull her clothes and diaper off, will wipe herself, and then attempt to put a diaper on, all by herself. Eventually she gets frustrated and will either run around naked for awhile until I can catch her, or will bring the diaper to me and let me help her. It’s so cute when I lay the diaper on the floor and tell her to lie down, and she kindof throws herself on the floor, often completely cattywompus across the diaper and I have to straighten her out to get it on her.
As for dressing herself, I’m really not allowed to help much anymore. It’s so frustrating when we’re in a hurry and she has to do it all herself and will have a conniption fit if I even offer to help. This morning it took ten minutes for her to first decide she even wanted to put her socks on before she started working on getting them on her feet.
But on the flip side, when I tell her we’re going somewhere and I tell her where her shoes and socks are, I can often go about getting ready while she scurries away and reappears wearing her socks and shoes, although they’re frequently on the wrong foot and the socks are a little twisted.. but still.. it’s kindof amazing.
I’ve learned I seriously need to think about what I say to her before I say it, because she understand a whole lot more than she lets on, and I’ve gotten myself in trouble on a few occasions because I’m so used to just babbling at her. (I mean really.. they TELL you to talk constantly to your child, about whatever, to help develop their language). I’ve also found that she, both being a little girl and being mine, tends to babble quite a bit herself. The girl can talk. Like.. incessantly. We usually don’t have a clue what she’s actually saying, but she’s so animated and emphatic that you just can’t help but be entranced by her stories. Especially when they include flailing arms and sound effects.
She knows more words than I am able to keep track of anymore, although several of them don’t sound an inkling like they’re supposed to, so I have to go through my mental catalog of what in the world she could possible be talking about. The worst is when she’s looking at me, begging for something, and I haven’t a clue what that thing is. It’s happened with weenan (raisins), dopa (yogurt), and taubles (crackers), to name a few. And I have to explain to people, when they give her something and she tells them hatchee, that she is politely thanking them.
Her aunt Crystal has gotten pretty comfortable with her language, however, and knows that she’s not allowed to eat anything without a little bird screeching “peeeese!!” in her face. So she shares her dopa and granola with her.
I honestly can’t survive some of the looks she gives me. Those big doe eyes, that beautiful smile.. I just can’t.. I just.. can’t. She’s soooo freaking cute and adorable. I honest to goodness haven’t yet taken her somewhere without getting gobs of compliments; people will stop me and tell me how adorable, or pretty, or cute, or what a doll baby she is. I have no idea what a doll baby is. But I’ve heard that term so many times now that I’m convinced whatever it is that defines a doll baby, Aria must be that. I personally think she’s the cutest baby in the whole world, but I also realize that I am heavily biased. And I often question whether every baby gets this amount of attention. Not that it really matters, but I guess I’m not the only one who thinks she’s adorable.
One of Aria’s new favorite expressions is “doe?” with her hands held out, meaning, “where’d it go?”
She asks that whenever she’s too lazy to actually look for something, or she drops anything, or she thinks that something/someone is missing. A lot of times I have to really work to figure out what it is she’s looking for, because when I ask her I get an answer.. I just don’t usually understand what it is she’s saying.
This weekend she was helping me put away her toys, and one of her favorites, Mr. Potato Head, was unaccounted for. We had some of his facial features, but were missing the actual potato body. She picked up some of the pieces, looked at me, held out her hands and asked, “doe?”
I replied, “I don’t know, let’s look for him.”
She pointed to my growing belly and lifted up my shirt. Clearly I was hiding him under my shirt, or why else would I have a bump under there?
Baby number two is in the works and on the way. I had the anatomy scan last week, to check that all the different parts, bones, organs, etc. were in place and working well. I got to see the little face, teeny little hands and adorable little feet, and the technician counted 10 little fingers and toes.
Overall the baby looks very healthy, and incredibly active as the technician kept saying she was having a hard time getting measurements as the baby wouldn’t stay still.
She was kind enough to put what gender the baby is in an envelope so Eric and I could discover it together, since he couldn’t come to the appointment with me.
There was one thing.. it appears that the baby’s left foot is turned in slightly. The doctor is recommending some tests be done to rule out anything serious, but the chances are that the baby’s going to have one clubfoot is pretty good, it seems.
My sister-in-law, Bobbi, sent me a text that morning to see how the ultrasound went, and had a little icon of two little feet. It was sweet, but made me cry.
After talking with Eric, my mom, and then his mom, I felt better about it, but want to make sure we do everything possible to give this baby a chance to have a normal and healthy life. All I could think was, my poor baby would be born with a known problem and I just wanted her to be able to keep up with her big sister Aria. Poor teeny tiny little baby.
But it sounds like it is a manageable, fixable problem, and hopefully not very serious, and after a rigorous effort to correct her tiny little foot, she should lead a normal life.
I go back for another ultrasound in a couple weeks and they’ll take a closer look, so we’ll see what shows up. In the mean time, my little kicker is following in her big sister’s footsteps and is a little mover and shaker. While, for myself, I dread having two little mischief makers who can’t be kept out of anything, for this baby and for Aria’s sake, I look forward to the challenge 🙂
…then ends abruptly.
I had wanted to write a poetic post depicting the changes of life, as Aria transitions fully into toddlerdom with her first birthday, and my little baby is a distant memory, but at the same time a new life was beginning. On Aria’s first birthday I knew I was pregnant. I didn’t have confirmation yet, but I just knew.
I had wanted to be pregnant so bad, and had that nagging thought in my mind for a long while… in fact, more than I had wanted to be pregnant the first time, as I now knew what I was asking for.
I think the first time I had the craving was my first day back to work after maternity leave. I was walking in and I thought to myself, ‘I wish I was pregnant.’ That could be explained away by the fact that the last time I had been to work I had been pregnant, so it was rather a comfortable feeling, unlike the newly empty belly and breast pump bag thrown over my shoulder, which became my travel companion for the next year.
The next time I felt it was when I finally fit back into my regular clothes and was putting away all of the maternity clothes. Funny, they had grown loathsome to me because I had a limited wardrobe and everything had started to rub or pinch or be too tight or was tiresome to look at anymore, and I couldn’t wait to be rid of it.. but when I was folding it all neatly away I thought to myself, ‘I can’t wait to wear these again.’
As soon as I got the green light from my doctor, when Aria was nine months old, I started trying again. Because of the c-section I was not allowed to try before then, so as soon as that day came I went off birth control. I had my first period in such a long time, and when it went and another came I didn’t let myself get discouraged, that was just the first try. Then another came and went and this time I was a little sad, but didn’t worry about it. Finally, the next period did not come. It was my hope that I could tell Eric, on our anniversary, that I was going to give him another child. However, the test came up negative, and I was super depressed and violently moody, and knew that I was pregnant anyway, screw the stupid test and its wrongness.
I had scheduled an appointment to see my doctor because I’d had some weird cramps and pains in my lower abdomen, and when I showed up my period still had not. They asked some questions and when it was discovered that I was a couple weeks late they gave me a test there, and sure enough, it was positive. All of the procedures to determine what was wrong with me went out the window, as now pregnancy was more important. I think my doctor was a little miffed at me, as she basically said, “well now we have a lot of work to do..”
I went and had the necessary blood work done, and was told to wait a little bit longer for the ultrasound so that there would be something to see. So I did, waiting until I was roughly nine weeks along to go in. It was Eric’s first day back to work, so I went alone, but I had done so many of these before that I was completely ok with that, and I was thinking to myself that I would make him come when we hit the 20 week mark and could see what gender it was.
The only thing that was different was that this time I had to have an internal ultrasound, because of the earliness of the pregnancy. It was a little uncomfortable, but I still got to see the delicate and beautiful little heart beat, and learned that based on the size the baby was actually a few days shy of eight weeks, which bumped the due date to early April.
Aria has my sister’s birth month, and this new baby would have mine, 21 months apart. I was going to have my sister and myself. I was a little giddy.
She gave me my sonogram picture with the word “Baby” written on it and I went home to work from there. It was Friday.
Denise had been watching Aria, so as I walked in I announced to her, “happy Friday!” and showed her the picture. She was happy but didn’t seem too surprised. I told her it would be ok to tell family, but that was all, as it was still so early.
So she did; she went home and told Mal, who then told everyone that I think he determines falls into the category of “family.”
That night I had a little spotting and some mild cramps, but was not too concerned as there had been an internal ultrasound and that seemed like a normal consequence. Plus I had been having mild cramps on and off throughout the entire pregnancy so far.
Saturday that pattern continued, until the evening came. All of a sudden the spotting became brighter.. and heavier.. and the cramps a little more pronounced. By 10:00 pm it was bad. Bad bad. I was scared. And in a lot of pain. Eric convinced me to call the on-call doctor, who told me to come in if the bleeding was excessive (not going to go into details) and told me to go into the office first thing Monday morning.
That night I didn’t really sleep, and Sunday I just writhed around in pain from what felt like really intense period cramps, and was pretty useless all day long.
Monday morning I had an appointment already scheduled, so I just went to that and they started with the usual pregnancy paperwork. I stopped them with, “what if there isn’t a pregnancy any more?” To which the shocked attendant responded, “oh.. ok let’s wait on this until you see the doctor.”
When I was taken to my room and my nurse came in, it started along the same lines, “let’s go over the usual questions, just like last time,” to which I tearfully responded, “I think I had a miscarriage.” She looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m so sorry,” to which I responded, “I’m sorry too” because she had just gone through one as well.. hers at eight months and my compassion for her was so much the greater because I had a glimpse of what she endured. I had learned about hers on the last visit – she had told me she was pregnant right before I had Aria, and I had remembered and had enthusiastically asked her how her baby was to which she had solemnly replied about her loss.
The doctor came in and started asking questions about what I had experienced. She was completely unconvinced I’d had one, which made me feel so weird inside. I was torn between sadness and a resolve to come to terms with the loss, and a hope that maybe it had just been a rough weekend and everything was ok. It was like my brain and emotions were warring and it was causing me to tremble because I was confused and unable to know how to feel or what to believe.
“Your blood work was perfect, the ultrasound was perfect, everything is right on track so the chances that you actually had a miscarriage are about 3%.”
She sent me immediately to get an ultrasound, at the same place I had just been three days before. She called over so when I walked in (right down the street) they were expecting me. The technician remembered me and asked what was wrong. I told her and then said, “I don’t want to see, if the baby isn’t …” She turned the screen away then we began. I lie there waiting to be told something.. all I could hear were the clicks of her taking her measurements on the computer, and the sound of the air conditioning.
Then she said, “ok, get cleaned up, and I’ll call the doctor.”
When she walked out of the room I started crying. I had to go wait in the waiting room for what seemed an eternity before the doctor called back. She advised me that it was all gone. My body had done all of the work of removing the pregnancy, and I didn’t have to go and have anything else done, except to go get blood work done to make sure my hormone levels were coming down.
I walked out to my car, and bawled. It was over. I drove to the other place, had my blood work done, and cried some more.
I went home and by then it was around 10:30 am, and Denise stayed until Aria was ready for her nap, then she left and I attempted to get some work done but ended up sleeping a good portion of the day.
I am ok though. I might catch myself tearing up when I have a thought, such as, “now I can drink, eat, or use whatever medicine I want without having to worry about anyone but myself…but I’d rather have the baby.” But otherwise I’ve been able to be myself during the day. At night is a little harder, because my mind has time to wander and I think about things like how much I wish there was a tiny baby lying next to me on the bed, snuggled up against me like my little snuggle monster had when she was itty bitty. Things like that set me off, but Eric has been so sweet, patient and kind during all of this and will just hold me.
I know it’s all part of God’s plan. I’m hopeful that He will let me have another baby, but for now this is where He wants me, and what He wants me to see and experience. And I’m ok with that. I do really want a baby, and I was really excited about that one, but something else is in store for me in the mean time, and He has given me strength to endure this, as well as the most adorable little girl I could ever ask for.
He’s also providing in the most unusual ways. Aria was sick last week with a really high fever. She’d never had one that high before and had no other symptoms. The pediatrician couldn’t find anything wrong with her and just said to keep an eye on her and make sure she had fluids. So Aria is outwardly just fine, besides the fever that first day, but ever since last Wednesday she has been so incredibly cuddly and clingy. I think if this had not all happened, I wouldn’t enjoy or appreciate her new found attachment to being held and carried. But now, I adore it. My little snuggle monster has reappeared, just slightly heavier and a little more vocal about her opinions, but has the most beautiful smile and can give me kisses now to tell me how much she loves me.
Thank you God for giving me your peace and comfort in trials, for surrounding me with more loving family and friends than I could have asked for, for one beautiful child already, and for using opportunities like this to teach me, grow my compassion, and for giving me an opportunity to be your light in the world.