Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Carpet Purchase
My danged check finally came so I went out to find carpet. I strongly dislike the fake almost orange colored flooring in the nursery and I don't want Jack crawling around on something that cold. And it's chipped in places, so it has to be covered. I found a really cheap remnant at the local flooring company and it is big enough to also carpet the area outside the nursery that leads to the garage. The area that has here-to-fore been chip particle board and not friendly to the feet or conducive to being cleaned. So I feel a little better. Just a little. The carpet will be installed on Thursday!
Monday, July 20, 2009
I Am Overwhelmed
I've had a crappy day. I have finished all the painting in the nursery. I'm still not at all happy with the coverage, but after two gallons of paint, where one should have been more than adequate, I can see no value in kicking my butt to apply a third gallon. The walls are horrible and that's all there is to it.
So I wait until 2 pm for the mail to come so I can go buy carpet for the nursery. And the mail came. My check didn't. Damn. That put me in a really bad mood.
So I came home and hit the Internet again. It's been less than two weeks since we've known that Baby Dear will have Ds, but I think in that two weeks I have exhausted all available online reading material. And the picture is so very grim. So I have switched to reading blogs about real families and their babies with Ds. Much, much better reading.
I think the whole reality of the Dear Baby having Ds is crashing in on me. I cry a lot. I pray a lot. And that brings more tears. A lot more tears. And I can't go buy carpeting because my danged check didn't come.
So I wait until 2 pm for the mail to come so I can go buy carpet for the nursery. And the mail came. My check didn't. Damn. That put me in a really bad mood.
So I came home and hit the Internet again. It's been less than two weeks since we've known that Baby Dear will have Ds, but I think in that two weeks I have exhausted all available online reading material. And the picture is so very grim. So I have switched to reading blogs about real families and their babies with Ds. Much, much better reading.
I think the whole reality of the Dear Baby having Ds is crashing in on me. I cry a lot. I pray a lot. And that brings more tears. A lot more tears. And I can't go buy carpeting because my danged check didn't come.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Feelings, Oh-whoa-whoa Feelings
I am 20 weeks pregnant today. We have made it to the halfway point! And this morning when I turned over in bed I was sure that I'd felt Jack-Jack move! On the outside of my body! With my hand! This evening I was laying on the couch and I felt it again. My Girlie was still awake so I called her over to see if she could feel it...and she did! She got to feel him kick five times before he moved away! What a magical look on My Girlie's face!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
My Beloved is BACK!
Tonight was indeed a very good night. The Dear Daddy was back in his groove, funny, loving, affectionate, teasing and his usual wonderful self. Even more so for the absence. The Littles were noticeably at ease and both of them took advantage of the situation and hit The Dear Daddy up for five bucks each! Brats, I tell ya! Opportunistic brats!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A Day for Revelations
Today I called Mom in Idaho first thing. She's probably had at least a day to digest the news. She was understandably unhappy that I hadn't told them about the pregnancy when they were here in May. She felt slighted. I told her how sorry I was for having to keep it from her. I explained that I'd wanted to tell her and almost had so many times, that I'd almost invited her into the bathroom with me that day to do just that. There were so many times that I'd wanted to just pick up the phone and call her but at that point the pregnancy was still so very tentative, that I'd still been bleeding heavily at that point, and the more time went by with more complications, the more unsure it seemed. By the time we'd had the amnio, it just made sense to wait until I knew the baby's sex. Then we got the news about the trisomy 21, so that took more time to digest and figure out what to say. She said the thing that had really upset her was that I'd addressed the card to Mr & Mrs R. Were they chopped liver now? No, they were not chopped liver. Hadn't she ever noticed that Christmas cards were always formally addressed to Mr & Mrs R? I also explained that I'd addressed about 90 envelopes in one sitting, and that there was no slur intended. We made small talk and talked about family and ended the conversation on a very good note.
And then a surprise. I'd given up my daily midday calls to The Beloved and I was trying to give him space to work things out. And today, wouldn't you know, he called me at about 10 am this morning. He said he was calling to see if the gardener had arrived yet. I told him that I'd run into him on the way home from the pharmacy, and he said he had one lawn to do and then he'd come to our house. I'd barely told him all of that when he asked, "Was there something you wanted to say to me this morning?" I said no. He asked if I was okay, and I said I was fine. He asked what was going on and I said "Nothing." So he said, "What's the matter? Talk to me." So I told him he could have at least said good bye to me this morning. That opened the hole to the gaping abyss and we both fell in. Throughout our long history together whenever we've had difficulties with each other we have habitually jumped head first into the dark, slimy, deep end of the pool where the monsters hide. We've always started off in the worst possible place and have had to struggle to find each other again and then work our way together to the clear, clean, safer water. This was no different.
He was ready to talk. He'd decided to take the wall down. I knew it when he said "Talk to me." And ironically, the hardest and most soul cleansing discussions we've had together have been over the phone. I don't know why that is, just that it is. He said he wasn't okay with my decision, and he still insists that I said I'd abort if there was something wrong with the baby. He said he still loved me very much, that I'd never know how much. He said that he couldn't condone the decision I'd made to keep the baby. He was worried that if something happened to him he couldn't be sure that we'd all be alright, even more so now with a baby with Down syndrome. He said that if something happened to me, he didn't know how he'd be able to cope with a child 24/7 that he didn't know how to deal with. He was very afraid that The Littles would get picked on because of the new child's mental retardation. He said that he was trying to respect the decision I'd made but that he was really struggling. He said he'd felt the pressing need to start making some decisions for himself and that he wasn't sure of our future together. He said that it would kill him for us to end, but he just wasn't sure. He'd finally opened up to let me see what he was feeling, how he was hurting, what was in the 'worst possible place.' He spoke at length and by the ending of this discussion he said that maybe he was seeing things from the worst case scenario, that maybe the baby's prognosis would be less severe than he was seeing. He said "we" will know more when we see the doctor next on July 22nd. He also said that he'd hesitated to speak to me about all of this because he didn't want to upset or hurt me. He sounded sincere in that. He always does, because he always is. Never in my life with him has he told me something just because I wanted to hear it. He may not always say what he's thinking about, but if it makes it past his lips, he means it. He even ventured to say that once the baby was born maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he was picturing, that we'd just have to see.
I pretty much let him speak and tried not to interrupt much. I didn't know how soon I'd get another chance to hear what he thought. When I did speak it was to agree with some of the fears he'd expressed. When it seemed he'd spoken his piece, I said that I hadn't wanted this to happen either, that I was still struggling with the fact that we were even pregnant again, terrified daily that we'd lose another baby, even before the amnio results. And having felt the baby move inside me and having heard it and seen it, I couldn't kill it. He said he understood that completely and that he wouldn't ask me to abort, but that he just felt so helpless about the Down syndrome, that it was all out of his hands, beyond his control. I told him that I could understand that because I felt helpless too, and that aborting would be so foreign to me that I also felt powerless, that from the moment that I knew we were pregnant, that it was out of my hands, that I also had no control. I said that from the moment I first knew, that it was a baby to me, his baby, every bit as much as both of The Littles, and that I too had absolutely no choice. I think he finally understood.
When we hung up he said he loved me without mumbling.
And then I got another surprise that nearly took me off my feet! My youngest older brother's father (what???) had written me a letter. I'd long suspected that he was actually my father, and I do still carry his name, but after 44 years of knowing about me and never acknowledging me, why did he reach out now? The only two people we have ever had in common have been laid to rest next to each other for long years now. He wrote that he'd wanted to reach me for some time now, and had found my address on the pregnancy announcement that I'd sent to my youngest older brothers other sister. (Got that? Good!) I know it's confusing. Try reading it slowly, out loud! He requested I not tell his other daughter that he'd written to me, could we please keep it our little secret. He wanted to congratulate us on The Baby. He also said he'd wanted to thank me for loving my brother so well throughout his difficult life. Was this guilt talking? I don't know. It was weird. Just plain weird!
And then my dear friend Bits called. She'd had an experience in children's court that day and was anxious to tell me about it. There was a gal in the Children's Center at the courthouse, employed by the courts, to keep children happy, safe and supervised while their parents are in court. And she has Down syndrome. And while she wasn't the person in charge, the boss, she was gainfully employed by a government agency and happy with her work!
And then a surprise. I'd given up my daily midday calls to The Beloved and I was trying to give him space to work things out. And today, wouldn't you know, he called me at about 10 am this morning. He said he was calling to see if the gardener had arrived yet. I told him that I'd run into him on the way home from the pharmacy, and he said he had one lawn to do and then he'd come to our house. I'd barely told him all of that when he asked, "Was there something you wanted to say to me this morning?" I said no. He asked if I was okay, and I said I was fine. He asked what was going on and I said "Nothing." So he said, "What's the matter? Talk to me." So I told him he could have at least said good bye to me this morning. That opened the hole to the gaping abyss and we both fell in. Throughout our long history together whenever we've had difficulties with each other we have habitually jumped head first into the dark, slimy, deep end of the pool where the monsters hide. We've always started off in the worst possible place and have had to struggle to find each other again and then work our way together to the clear, clean, safer water. This was no different.
He was ready to talk. He'd decided to take the wall down. I knew it when he said "Talk to me." And ironically, the hardest and most soul cleansing discussions we've had together have been over the phone. I don't know why that is, just that it is. He said he wasn't okay with my decision, and he still insists that I said I'd abort if there was something wrong with the baby. He said he still loved me very much, that I'd never know how much. He said that he couldn't condone the decision I'd made to keep the baby. He was worried that if something happened to him he couldn't be sure that we'd all be alright, even more so now with a baby with Down syndrome. He said that if something happened to me, he didn't know how he'd be able to cope with a child 24/7 that he didn't know how to deal with. He was very afraid that The Littles would get picked on because of the new child's mental retardation. He said that he was trying to respect the decision I'd made but that he was really struggling. He said he'd felt the pressing need to start making some decisions for himself and that he wasn't sure of our future together. He said that it would kill him for us to end, but he just wasn't sure. He'd finally opened up to let me see what he was feeling, how he was hurting, what was in the 'worst possible place.' He spoke at length and by the ending of this discussion he said that maybe he was seeing things from the worst case scenario, that maybe the baby's prognosis would be less severe than he was seeing. He said "we" will know more when we see the doctor next on July 22nd. He also said that he'd hesitated to speak to me about all of this because he didn't want to upset or hurt me. He sounded sincere in that. He always does, because he always is. Never in my life with him has he told me something just because I wanted to hear it. He may not always say what he's thinking about, but if it makes it past his lips, he means it. He even ventured to say that once the baby was born maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he was picturing, that we'd just have to see.
I pretty much let him speak and tried not to interrupt much. I didn't know how soon I'd get another chance to hear what he thought. When I did speak it was to agree with some of the fears he'd expressed. When it seemed he'd spoken his piece, I said that I hadn't wanted this to happen either, that I was still struggling with the fact that we were even pregnant again, terrified daily that we'd lose another baby, even before the amnio results. And having felt the baby move inside me and having heard it and seen it, I couldn't kill it. He said he understood that completely and that he wouldn't ask me to abort, but that he just felt so helpless about the Down syndrome, that it was all out of his hands, beyond his control. I told him that I could understand that because I felt helpless too, and that aborting would be so foreign to me that I also felt powerless, that from the moment that I knew we were pregnant, that it was out of my hands, that I also had no control. I said that from the moment I first knew, that it was a baby to me, his baby, every bit as much as both of The Littles, and that I too had absolutely no choice. I think he finally understood.
When we hung up he said he loved me without mumbling.
And then I got another surprise that nearly took me off my feet! My youngest older brother's father (what???) had written me a letter. I'd long suspected that he was actually my father, and I do still carry his name, but after 44 years of knowing about me and never acknowledging me, why did he reach out now? The only two people we have ever had in common have been laid to rest next to each other for long years now. He wrote that he'd wanted to reach me for some time now, and had found my address on the pregnancy announcement that I'd sent to my youngest older brothers other sister. (Got that? Good!) I know it's confusing. Try reading it slowly, out loud! He requested I not tell his other daughter that he'd written to me, could we please keep it our little secret. He wanted to congratulate us on The Baby. He also said he'd wanted to thank me for loving my brother so well throughout his difficult life. Was this guilt talking? I don't know. It was weird. Just plain weird!
And then my dear friend Bits called. She'd had an experience in children's court that day and was anxious to tell me about it. There was a gal in the Children's Center at the courthouse, employed by the courts, to keep children happy, safe and supervised while their parents are in court. And she has Down syndrome. And while she wasn't the person in charge, the boss, she was gainfully employed by a government agency and happy with her work!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
A Day for Tears
I have been extremely blue and prone to tears for much of the day. I got a good nap in while Susie was here, but I am still exhausted. And that damnable pepto-pink is giving me fits! Today I picked up a forth gallon of primer. And I haven't been using the cheap stuff either. I've been using the expensive stuff guaranteed to cover anything. The stuff I'd used four years ago when we first moved in to cover the Thomas The Train blue in The Youngest's bedroom! Who paints their kid's room that awful bright blue? I guess people who paint their kid's room pepto-pink!
I went to the beloved Dr S's office to pick up the amnio report. When the office gal went to verify that Dr S said I could have it, he came out himself to greet me. "Tracy," he said, taking my hands, "How are you doing, my dear?" I assured him that I was doing well and that I'd already begun researching the best and most recent therapies for babies with Down syndrome. "Okay sweetheart. That is good. We will see you in just a few weeks. If you have any problems, anything at all, you call me." So I left his office and sat in the van reading the amnio report. I had a copy in my hand of Jack's karyotype. His genes. And there it was. Three copies of chromosome 21. And a laundry list, in print, of things that can be wrong with My Baby. I sat in the van and had a good long cry before I pulled myself together and drove away.
The Incredible Miss S called me this afternoon to say what a beautiful job I'd done on the pregnancy announcements. It gave my spirits an incredible lift. Not only to speak of The Baby in a positive and cheerful fashion, but just to hear her and catch up on all the things we seldom get to speak of in our passing greetings to each other on-line.
The call from The Incredible Miss S also made me realise that others had gotten their announcements too. Including Mom and Dad in Idaho. Whom I had here-to-fore been too cowardly to tell myself. Shameful. But there it is. But really, I'd wanted to tell them we were having another Baby at the same time we told them the gender. And by the time we knew it was a boy, so much had gotten so much more complicated. Yes, I had taken the cowardly way out, but I think it was purely out of self preservation.
In the evening, The Dear Daddy arrived home in a huge green truck with 15 yards of soil amendment for the backyard. The Girls, no the Other Girls, Sophie and Princess, had destroyed the sprinklers the previous summer and we'd both been too busy with life to get them repaired in a timely manner. Consequently, the grass had died and it was a barren wasteland. And the grass had never been that great anyway, so we were starting over from scratch. Hence the need for 15 yards of soil amendment. The Littles ran out to the front lawn the watch The Dear Daddy operate the gears to lift the back of the truck and dump the pile into the driveway. When he joined us on the lawn he kissed The Littles and ruffed their hair. Once inside the house we made some small talk but he had a hard time meeting my eyes. Instead, he went off to take a nap.
I used the time to finish the primer in the nursery closet and to paint the door. I tried to be alone with my thoughts, but this was the favorite new place for The Littles to hang out and they were keeping up a steady stream of questions and bickering with each other. Kids do that. Especially The Littles.
Dinner that night was a casual affair of pizza and television. The Dear Daddy was busy engaging The Littles about how they'd spent their day, so I wandered back into the nursery to check the coverage of the primer. And then I decided to take a few minutes to seal the window on the inside. Imagine my surprise when I turned to see The Beloved standing there. He asked why I wasn't using a caulking gun and I explained that I wasn't good with one, that it was easier for me to do it by hand. He started listing the supplies he'd need to seal the window from the outside and that he'd do the shopping for that so I wouldn't have to. Then the moment passed and he returned to the living room and I went to take a shower. It was a start, at least.
We went to bed after midnight having said very little to each other that wasn't small talk. I was reminded of the time two months after my stroke when I'd suddenly regained my full range of speech and vocabulary. He'd hugged me and said how much he'd missed sitting around in the evening just talking with me. Now I was missing it.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
19 Weeks!
At 19 weeks the baby is 6" long, crown to rump, and weighs about 8.5 ounces. Sensory development is exploding. His brain is designating specialized areas for smell, touch, hearing, taste and vision. He may be able to hear my voice. His arms and legs are proportional to his body now and hair is sprouting from his scalp.
I've been tracking the baby's weekly development from an on-line site and recording it in his journal, even going back to the weeks before I knew he was with me.
Today The Oldest and I have started primering the nursery. (Yes, primering is a real word because I just made it up. I can make up words at will, ya know. It's my blog!) I took breaks every half hour, since I'm supposed to be on bed rest and taking it easy. On a side note, I have never comprehended how women with small children in the home are supposed to be on bed rest? Does a magic genie jump out at that moment in a poof of baby powder scented mist? I've had no cramping or pain or any other odd sensation, and little Jack has been very active. We were forced to stop and take a longer break when I sent Susie back to Wal-Mart for a third gallon of primer. That danged pepto-pink just wouldn't die!
I went to the PHC today. Usual stuff. BP elevated as usual. My Methyldopa was increased yet again to 750 mg three times a day.
And much as I would like to deny it, I have already referred to the baby as Jack-Jack. I am a Goober too!
I've been tracking the baby's weekly development from an on-line site and recording it in his journal, even going back to the weeks before I knew he was with me.
Today The Oldest and I have started primering the nursery. (Yes, primering is a real word because I just made it up. I can make up words at will, ya know. It's my blog!) I took breaks every half hour, since I'm supposed to be on bed rest and taking it easy. On a side note, I have never comprehended how women with small children in the home are supposed to be on bed rest? Does a magic genie jump out at that moment in a poof of baby powder scented mist? I've had no cramping or pain or any other odd sensation, and little Jack has been very active. We were forced to stop and take a longer break when I sent Susie back to Wal-Mart for a third gallon of primer. That danged pepto-pink just wouldn't die!
I went to the PHC today. Usual stuff. BP elevated as usual. My Methyldopa was increased yet again to 750 mg three times a day.
And much as I would like to deny it, I have already referred to the baby as Jack-Jack. I am a Goober too!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Primer, Spackle, Paint and Goobers
Today we bought Spackle for the holes in the soon-to-be nursery walls and two gallons of primer. It's a small room, really, and two gallons of primer might be a bit much, but that pepto-pink really is quite the eye sore. We bought tarps and brushes and rollers and trays and masking tape and stirrers and sand paper. I also bought two gallons of a lovely calming light sage green paint. It will go beautifully with the Winnie The Pooh theme I am planning for the nursery. I have often heard that babies with developmental delays require bright surroundings and heaps of stimulation of all kinds. But...since The Newest is going to have The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle for a sibling and therefor a constant barrage of stimulation, I have decided that a nice calming sanctuary is going to be required for his nursery. Then we hauled all of our treasures home and took naps! Well, I took a nap. Susie took care of The Littles.
Later in the day I took apart the daybed while Susie struggled the eight file cabinets of scrap booking supplies out to the garage. Then she hauled the daybed out in pieces. And the broken TV. And the entertainment center. And about 50 boxes of books and dishes and linens we no longer have beds to fit and all manner of junk that I hadn't realised our lives would be so destitute without, had I not kept all that crap!
Then Susie vacuumed the faux wood floor that I abhor while I Spackle the nail holes. I have since decided against re-plastering. We are on a time crunch and I frankly cannot tolerate the smell of plaster dust at the moment, and well, asking Susie to plaster and sand that whole room is pretty much beyond the realm of 'helper.' Until The Beloved has gotten his feelings and worries in check, I do not want to ask him to participate. His head might literally explode if I add anything to it. Any project he takes on will be completed to perfection. I know this from our two plus decades together. If I ask him to re-plaster, he will go the extra mile and remove all the drywall and start fresh, with a proper tape job and plaster. Our first home was fifty years plus old. I longed for the smoothness that he brought about when he ripped out the drywall and re-taped and plastered the living room in that old house. If only I could ask him to...no, no, no...bad idea right now, and I am too impatient to wait until it will be a good idea. Besides, I have a sneaking hunch this time around that Baby Dear is going to come sooner, rather than later.
I'm pretty sure that two gallons of primer and two gallons of paint will soften the rough spots. Besides, the Baby isn't going to be licking the walls! Although...there are some spots rough enough, that if we leave them rough, we could Velcro the Baby's diaper and stick him to the spots! Nah...probably won't exactly qualify as childcare. But I'm sure he'd still be there when we got back! I scraped the bright neon pink spray paint off the mirrored closet doors (who the heck let's their kid spray paint their mirrored closet doors any color? Those danged things are expensive!) and Susie took them down and hauled them out. We semi-demo the closet which has some horrid wire mesh cubes ceiling to floor, which had been useful in their time but wouldn't be practical for a baby's closet. That involved scissors, pliers, screw drivers, hammers, a lot of knuckle scraping and a surprising amount of cussing. On my part. Susie wouldn't cuss in my presence if I whacked her with the hammer. Which I did. By accident. Twice.
And once on purpose. No not really!
So, the kids aren't quite comfortable calling the Baby 'It' any longer, now that we know he is a 'He.' Since The Oldest is a great fan of the hero in the movie Titanic, we jokingly start calling the Baby Jack. Then The Youngest, Might-As-Well-Start-Calling-Him-The-Middle decides that we should call him Jack-Jack from Jack Jack Attack of The Incredibles. And they do. Both of them. This is the day it happened. The day my sweet, precious, unaware he's been branded, innocent little baby got the family name he will likely have forever. Jack-Jack. Danged kids. Both of The Littles are a couple of Goobers! Goobers!
Later in the day I took apart the daybed while Susie struggled the eight file cabinets of scrap booking supplies out to the garage. Then she hauled the daybed out in pieces. And the broken TV. And the entertainment center. And about 50 boxes of books and dishes and linens we no longer have beds to fit and all manner of junk that I hadn't realised our lives would be so destitute without, had I not kept all that crap!
Then Susie vacuumed the faux wood floor that I abhor while I Spackle the nail holes. I have since decided against re-plastering. We are on a time crunch and I frankly cannot tolerate the smell of plaster dust at the moment, and well, asking Susie to plaster and sand that whole room is pretty much beyond the realm of 'helper.' Until The Beloved has gotten his feelings and worries in check, I do not want to ask him to participate. His head might literally explode if I add anything to it. Any project he takes on will be completed to perfection. I know this from our two plus decades together. If I ask him to re-plaster, he will go the extra mile and remove all the drywall and start fresh, with a proper tape job and plaster. Our first home was fifty years plus old. I longed for the smoothness that he brought about when he ripped out the drywall and re-taped and plastered the living room in that old house. If only I could ask him to...no, no, no...bad idea right now, and I am too impatient to wait until it will be a good idea. Besides, I have a sneaking hunch this time around that Baby Dear is going to come sooner, rather than later.
I'm pretty sure that two gallons of primer and two gallons of paint will soften the rough spots. Besides, the Baby isn't going to be licking the walls! Although...there are some spots rough enough, that if we leave them rough, we could Velcro the Baby's diaper and stick him to the spots! Nah...probably won't exactly qualify as childcare. But I'm sure he'd still be there when we got back! I scraped the bright neon pink spray paint off the mirrored closet doors (who the heck let's their kid spray paint their mirrored closet doors any color? Those danged things are expensive!) and Susie took them down and hauled them out. We semi-demo the closet which has some horrid wire mesh cubes ceiling to floor, which had been useful in their time but wouldn't be practical for a baby's closet. That involved scissors, pliers, screw drivers, hammers, a lot of knuckle scraping and a surprising amount of cussing. On my part. Susie wouldn't cuss in my presence if I whacked her with the hammer. Which I did. By accident. Twice.
And once on purpose. No not really!
So, the kids aren't quite comfortable calling the Baby 'It' any longer, now that we know he is a 'He.' Since The Oldest is a great fan of the hero in the movie Titanic, we jokingly start calling the Baby Jack. Then The Youngest, Might-As-Well-Start-Calling-Him-The-Middle decides that we should call him Jack-Jack from Jack Jack Attack of The Incredibles. And they do. Both of them. This is the day it happened. The day my sweet, precious, unaware he's been branded, innocent little baby got the family name he will likely have forever. Jack-Jack. Danged kids. Both of The Littles are a couple of Goobers! Goobers!
Friday, July 10, 2009
The Great Divide and Overhauling the Homestead Part III
I am certain that The Beloved did not kiss me good bye when he left for work this morning. I am equally certain that he did stand over my sleeping form, looking at me, with all the pain in his heart showing in his eyes.
Today Susie and I began what should be an outright demolition of the room that will be The Baby's nursery. That room was initially, when we first moved into this home, full of potential, lofty dreams, and the source of much creative brilliance. Instead of repainting the pepto-bismol pink walls and straightening out the crappy plastering so that I could have a permanent place for scrap booking without having to put every thing away each time, that room became the repository of everything we had no other place for, but still couldn't toss out. What was I thinking? Why had we kept so much crap? Did we really need to keep the TV with the little thingamajig broken off and duct taped to the back that would require almost the price of a new one to have repaired? Why not? And the daybed that The Oldest had outgrown, did we really need that? Well, yes, actually we did need that. But seriously, when we started pulling lids off of boxes of dishes I'd gotten along without, the old silverware that I'd had to replace when I realised we were having 12 people for dinner our first Thanksgiving a month after moving in and had not found the old, perfectly beautiful silverware, canned goods that while perfectly safe looking I would not in a million years open, for fear of toxic gas, much less eat, litter boxes that were carefully cleaned and packed in separate boxes because they are disgusting litter boxes after all but we no longer had any need for because both of our cats are outdoors, thank you very much...I really wanted to go back to my original plan and demo the whole thing. Contents included. But that would have required about ten grand that we didn't have. And besides...I needed something to keep my mind from dwelling on the great gulf that had begun to divide The Beloved and I. So we kept sorting and either carting stuff out to the newly cleaned, soon to be back-where-we started garage or out onto the newly established junk yard on the front porch.
Later in the day the Littles and I pick out some paint swatches to bring home. I have finally figured out what to say on the pregnancy announcements and I get them all printed and stuffed into envelopes before I can change my mind again. I take a late night trip down the street to the mail drop. They will go out first thing Saturday morning.
Today Susie and I began what should be an outright demolition of the room that will be The Baby's nursery. That room was initially, when we first moved into this home, full of potential, lofty dreams, and the source of much creative brilliance. Instead of repainting the pepto-bismol pink walls and straightening out the crappy plastering so that I could have a permanent place for scrap booking without having to put every thing away each time, that room became the repository of everything we had no other place for, but still couldn't toss out. What was I thinking? Why had we kept so much crap? Did we really need to keep the TV with the little thingamajig broken off and duct taped to the back that would require almost the price of a new one to have repaired? Why not? And the daybed that The Oldest had outgrown, did we really need that? Well, yes, actually we did need that. But seriously, when we started pulling lids off of boxes of dishes I'd gotten along without, the old silverware that I'd had to replace when I realised we were having 12 people for dinner our first Thanksgiving a month after moving in and had not found the old, perfectly beautiful silverware, canned goods that while perfectly safe looking I would not in a million years open, for fear of toxic gas, much less eat, litter boxes that were carefully cleaned and packed in separate boxes because they are disgusting litter boxes after all but we no longer had any need for because both of our cats are outdoors, thank you very much...I really wanted to go back to my original plan and demo the whole thing. Contents included. But that would have required about ten grand that we didn't have. And besides...I needed something to keep my mind from dwelling on the great gulf that had begun to divide The Beloved and I. So we kept sorting and either carting stuff out to the newly cleaned, soon to be back-where-we started garage or out onto the newly established junk yard on the front porch.
Later in the day the Littles and I pick out some paint swatches to bring home. I have finally figured out what to say on the pregnancy announcements and I get them all printed and stuffed into envelopes before I can change my mind again. I take a late night trip down the street to the mail drop. They will go out first thing Saturday morning.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Breaking My Beloved's Heart
This is a post I don't want to write. I don't want to know it happened and it still hurts me to remember that night. The Beloved got home. We progressed through our evening. He'd asked a few times if something was wrong. I think I mumbled something about being tired. We got the kids fed, bathed and into their rooms to watch a movie. I threatened them with loss of limbs if they came out before I said they could. I sat with The Beloved on the couch. I asked him to turn off the TV. He turned to me and I began...
I thought that the look on my face, that I'd sent the kids to their rooms, that I'd asked that he turn the TV off, the slow and quiet approach, the tremor in my voice, so many things that should have given him alarm but didn't, might have prepared him at least a little. It didn't. He was not prepared. Quietly I said, "I got the amnio results back." Pause. Why aren't the alarm bells going off for him? "We're having a little boy." Pause. Why don't I look elated? "He will have Down syndrome." Finally a reaction. He couldn't have looked more shocked if I'd stood up and slapped him across the face. He keeled forward and put his face in his hands. After a few minutes he straightened but was still holding his hands to his face and asked, "What are we going to do?" I said quietly that we'd know more after the 22 week ultrasound. The doctor would look carefully at the brain and heart and would have a good idea if The Baby would need surgery at birth or not. He said we'd be looking at a lifetime of financial burdens. I said that The Baby would automatically have state medical aid with the diagnosis of Down syndrome, in addition to our medical insurance. He looked me straight in the eye and said "We can't do this." He was slowly shaking his head no. I said quietly, "I can't kill it. I can't kill him. I've felt him move."
It took a long time before he spoke again. He enumerated the many reasons why we should not be having this baby. He is not an unkind man. He is a very thoughtful and giving man. His first thoughts were of what was best for his family; me and The Littles. His first thoughts when we found ourselves expecting were for me and The Littles. My health was a giant pile of ammunition in his arsenal of arguments. The needs and well being of The Littles was another huge pile. "But we talked about this. We talked about this very thing. You stood right here in this very room and said you would terminate if this happened." Now it's my turn to be shocked to my very core. "What? When?" He said that we'd discussed this possibility shortly after we found out that we were pregnant and that when Down syndrome was brought up he had said "I don't want that," and that I had said, "I don't want that either." And I did say that. I remember it now. I was walking into the kitchen. But I never intended it to mean that I'd abort. I did say that I didn't want that. But who does? Who actively desires to have one of their children be handicapped for life? Who actively wants for their child to have chromosomal abnormalities that may cost him a life of poor health? Who in their right mind intentionally wishes for their child to possibly, or quite likely, be ridiculed and hurt by the nastiness of others? Who? That's what I'd meant. I'd never meant that I would abort. And there it was. The great divide. A grave misunderstanding that I don't have the words to begin to straighten out.
"What about you?" he asks. "What is this going to do to your health?" I told him that the The Baby having Down syndrome would not influence the pregnancy. "And what about after?" he asks. "How long are we going to live? Who is going to take care of him when we die? What will happen to him then? How is he going to cope, to get along when we aren't there for him?" The very idea that either of The Littles would be able to care for him when we eventually die is too far off to consider. But The Beloved was looking ahead that they may well eventually be saddled with The Newests' care. That The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle will eventually be out on his own and readily capable of marrying and caring for his own family is not really unheard of. He is a smart little whipper-snapper and I am convinced that what ever he decides to do with his life, he will be very successful. I could look to his rather high IQ as evidence, but I live with the child and see those wheels spinning and I already know, or at least suspect, that he's hatching a plan to take over the world. He may well build the better mouse trap. I can easily see him building an empire on graphic arts - at 6 years old he is really, really insightful and detailed with his art. I can see him being a rock star - he has a genuine love of a very diverse musical library. My big fear for The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle is that he will take his giant ball of smarts and improve on my youngest oldest brother's career in crime. The kid is brilliant. That kid is much, much too cunning, charming, skilled and wise for his six years. Time will tell.
It's much easier for me to believe that if anyone takes responsibility for the The Newest, it will My Girlie. It would be like her. At ten years old, she has long said that she will not have her own babies, that she will adopt someone else's babies, "So they will have someone to love them and take care of them." Not what a mother wants to hear, but hey, the girl has a big, soft, squishy, loving heart. She isn't always the first to look out for someone else, but when she does see it, she will go the extra mile. And Lord help the person who is caught doing something mean to someone else. She will send the offender to meet Their Maker and pronto! She is the embodiment of the idea that she can pick on her younger brother all she wants, but Heaven help anyone else who does. She's always had a very tender heart. She's the girl who walks any injured student to the nurses office at school. She's the first one to respond if anyone cries. She's the girl who shares her little 2" brownie with four of her friends. She's the girl who receives candy at school and brings it home to share with her little brother, even though she says he's a pest. My sweet, sometimes fragile Girlie has always had a soft spot for the vulnerable. Maybe, just maybe, God above has known what He's doing all along in sending this particular baby to our family, ya think?
The rest of the evening was rather gloomy. The Beloved and I spoke very little, and then only out of necessity. I could see very clearly that he was struggling. And he felt blatantly betrayed. By me. Once that wall is up though, it stays up until he is ready to take it down and let me in on his pain. I know it's going to be a long time before that happens. But I also know that what is troubling the him most is the welfare of The Littles, and that eventually, he will incorporate The Newest into The Littles. I already have, but then, he has just heard this news that really, I have known all along.
And he still tucked me in that night.
Post Script: In a later conversation with The Big Sis, I was relating how shocked I'd been that The Beloved has misunderstood what I'd said. She said to me, "Yeah well, I'd thought that same thing myself when you told me about that discussion. That's why I thought when you first told me about him having Down syndrome, that you were going to tell me that you would abort. But I still don't know how I ever could have thought you would do that." So. The two people in my life who know me the best, the most intimately, the most nakedly, thought I'd said I would abort. My betrayal of The Beloved is clearly my fault. And I don't know how to repair the damage. Or if I even can.
I thought that the look on my face, that I'd sent the kids to their rooms, that I'd asked that he turn the TV off, the slow and quiet approach, the tremor in my voice, so many things that should have given him alarm but didn't, might have prepared him at least a little. It didn't. He was not prepared. Quietly I said, "I got the amnio results back." Pause. Why aren't the alarm bells going off for him? "We're having a little boy." Pause. Why don't I look elated? "He will have Down syndrome." Finally a reaction. He couldn't have looked more shocked if I'd stood up and slapped him across the face. He keeled forward and put his face in his hands. After a few minutes he straightened but was still holding his hands to his face and asked, "What are we going to do?" I said quietly that we'd know more after the 22 week ultrasound. The doctor would look carefully at the brain and heart and would have a good idea if The Baby would need surgery at birth or not. He said we'd be looking at a lifetime of financial burdens. I said that The Baby would automatically have state medical aid with the diagnosis of Down syndrome, in addition to our medical insurance. He looked me straight in the eye and said "We can't do this." He was slowly shaking his head no. I said quietly, "I can't kill it. I can't kill him. I've felt him move."
It took a long time before he spoke again. He enumerated the many reasons why we should not be having this baby. He is not an unkind man. He is a very thoughtful and giving man. His first thoughts were of what was best for his family; me and The Littles. His first thoughts when we found ourselves expecting were for me and The Littles. My health was a giant pile of ammunition in his arsenal of arguments. The needs and well being of The Littles was another huge pile. "But we talked about this. We talked about this very thing. You stood right here in this very room and said you would terminate if this happened." Now it's my turn to be shocked to my very core. "What? When?" He said that we'd discussed this possibility shortly after we found out that we were pregnant and that when Down syndrome was brought up he had said "I don't want that," and that I had said, "I don't want that either." And I did say that. I remember it now. I was walking into the kitchen. But I never intended it to mean that I'd abort. I did say that I didn't want that. But who does? Who actively desires to have one of their children be handicapped for life? Who actively wants for their child to have chromosomal abnormalities that may cost him a life of poor health? Who in their right mind intentionally wishes for their child to possibly, or quite likely, be ridiculed and hurt by the nastiness of others? Who? That's what I'd meant. I'd never meant that I would abort. And there it was. The great divide. A grave misunderstanding that I don't have the words to begin to straighten out.
"What about you?" he asks. "What is this going to do to your health?" I told him that the The Baby having Down syndrome would not influence the pregnancy. "And what about after?" he asks. "How long are we going to live? Who is going to take care of him when we die? What will happen to him then? How is he going to cope, to get along when we aren't there for him?" The very idea that either of The Littles would be able to care for him when we eventually die is too far off to consider. But The Beloved was looking ahead that they may well eventually be saddled with The Newests' care. That The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle will eventually be out on his own and readily capable of marrying and caring for his own family is not really unheard of. He is a smart little whipper-snapper and I am convinced that what ever he decides to do with his life, he will be very successful. I could look to his rather high IQ as evidence, but I live with the child and see those wheels spinning and I already know, or at least suspect, that he's hatching a plan to take over the world. He may well build the better mouse trap. I can easily see him building an empire on graphic arts - at 6 years old he is really, really insightful and detailed with his art. I can see him being a rock star - he has a genuine love of a very diverse musical library. My big fear for The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle is that he will take his giant ball of smarts and improve on my youngest oldest brother's career in crime. The kid is brilliant. That kid is much, much too cunning, charming, skilled and wise for his six years. Time will tell.
It's much easier for me to believe that if anyone takes responsibility for the The Newest, it will My Girlie. It would be like her. At ten years old, she has long said that she will not have her own babies, that she will adopt someone else's babies, "So they will have someone to love them and take care of them." Not what a mother wants to hear, but hey, the girl has a big, soft, squishy, loving heart. She isn't always the first to look out for someone else, but when she does see it, she will go the extra mile. And Lord help the person who is caught doing something mean to someone else. She will send the offender to meet Their Maker and pronto! She is the embodiment of the idea that she can pick on her younger brother all she wants, but Heaven help anyone else who does. She's always had a very tender heart. She's the girl who walks any injured student to the nurses office at school. She's the first one to respond if anyone cries. She's the girl who shares her little 2" brownie with four of her friends. She's the girl who receives candy at school and brings it home to share with her little brother, even though she says he's a pest. My sweet, sometimes fragile Girlie has always had a soft spot for the vulnerable. Maybe, just maybe, God above has known what He's doing all along in sending this particular baby to our family, ya think?
The rest of the evening was rather gloomy. The Beloved and I spoke very little, and then only out of necessity. I could see very clearly that he was struggling. And he felt blatantly betrayed. By me. Once that wall is up though, it stays up until he is ready to take it down and let me in on his pain. I know it's going to be a long time before that happens. But I also know that what is troubling the him most is the welfare of The Littles, and that eventually, he will incorporate The Newest into The Littles. I already have, but then, he has just heard this news that really, I have known all along.
And he still tucked me in that night.
Post Script: In a later conversation with The Big Sis, I was relating how shocked I'd been that The Beloved has misunderstood what I'd said. She said to me, "Yeah well, I'd thought that same thing myself when you told me about that discussion. That's why I thought when you first told me about him having Down syndrome, that you were going to tell me that you would abort. But I still don't know how I ever could have thought you would do that." So. The two people in my life who know me the best, the most intimately, the most nakedly, thought I'd said I would abort. My betrayal of The Beloved is clearly my fault. And I don't know how to repair the damage. Or if I even can.
Grandma Emmie & Michigan Purple
I may have mentioned or not, but like Mom and Dad, Grandma Emmie is not my Mother. Neither is she The Beloved's Mother. She is one of my very best friends. And a wonderful mother to her own now grown daughter. She was always so wonderful to My Girlie when she was born, and eventually to The Middle when he came along. She was just so much more than the Aunties who were not real Aunts. She was as wonderful and perfect to my Kidlets as my Mother would have been. Like a real Grandma would have been. But she wasn't older enough than I to be my mother. So, she got dubbed Aunt-Grandma. Over the years, I finally shortened it to Grandma M---E----, now Grandma Emmie for the sake of reading flow. And so she has been ever since!
So, the last phone call I had left to make was to my dear friend Grandma Emmie. I told her as simply as I could that The Baby was a boy and he would have Down syndrome. She was quiet for a bit and then asked gently, "Well, what are you going to do?" I told her that we were keeping him. She knew that. She's the one person I'd confided in, that I was sure as soon as I knew I was pregnant that he would have it.
Then she told me about a day she'd had to make up in college years ago. She had to spend an eight hour day at a group home for people with developmental disabilities. She said there were 8 people living there, from kids to young adult, and they all had Down syndrome. She was very encouraging as she described how impressed she'd been with their lives. They went about their normal day doing things normal people do. Making beds, Eating meals. Cleaning up after. Watching TV. Playing games. Talking over lunch. Washing dishes. Doing crafts. Reading books. Being a family. It made me feel better to hear her words because I knew she knew the fears in my heart. It gave me some hope that we'd be alright. "You are a strong person. You can do this. You aren't the first pregnant woman facing this news. There are others out there to help you. You will know what to do when the time comes." Her faith in me somehow gave me a little faith in myself.
I'd already called my on-line friend, Purple Rose, the one I'd confided in way back in March that I suspected I was pregnant, in the wee hours of this morning. She's been my friend-on-the-phone through thick and thin, through more late night work breaks and middle of the night chat fests than I could count. She'd visited with us for two weeks in March the previous year, and we'd been on-line friends since The Middle was just a few days old. I told her I'd gotten the amnio results. "And..." And it's a boy, I said. "Well, I already knew that. What else?" I told her he would have Down syndrome. She was quiet for a beat. I never know if she heard what I said, if she was thinking, or if she was looking for the next address she had to throw a paper to. "Well..." she finally says, "You already knew that, right?" She was encouraging. She said she knew we could do it. She said she was sure he'd be born healthy, to stop "going there!" She knows me too well.
So, the last phone call I had left to make was to my dear friend Grandma Emmie. I told her as simply as I could that The Baby was a boy and he would have Down syndrome. She was quiet for a bit and then asked gently, "Well, what are you going to do?" I told her that we were keeping him. She knew that. She's the one person I'd confided in, that I was sure as soon as I knew I was pregnant that he would have it.
Then she told me about a day she'd had to make up in college years ago. She had to spend an eight hour day at a group home for people with developmental disabilities. She said there were 8 people living there, from kids to young adult, and they all had Down syndrome. She was very encouraging as she described how impressed she'd been with their lives. They went about their normal day doing things normal people do. Making beds, Eating meals. Cleaning up after. Watching TV. Playing games. Talking over lunch. Washing dishes. Doing crafts. Reading books. Being a family. It made me feel better to hear her words because I knew she knew the fears in my heart. It gave me some hope that we'd be alright. "You are a strong person. You can do this. You aren't the first pregnant woman facing this news. There are others out there to help you. You will know what to do when the time comes." Her faith in me somehow gave me a little faith in myself.
I'd already called my on-line friend, Purple Rose, the one I'd confided in way back in March that I suspected I was pregnant, in the wee hours of this morning. She's been my friend-on-the-phone through thick and thin, through more late night work breaks and middle of the night chat fests than I could count. She'd visited with us for two weeks in March the previous year, and we'd been on-line friends since The Middle was just a few days old. I told her I'd gotten the amnio results. "And..." And it's a boy, I said. "Well, I already knew that. What else?" I told her he would have Down syndrome. She was quiet for a beat. I never know if she heard what I said, if she was thinking, or if she was looking for the next address she had to throw a paper to. "Well..." she finally says, "You already knew that, right?" She was encouraging. She said she knew we could do it. She said she was sure he'd be born healthy, to stop "going there!" She knows me too well.
Day Two
My first waking thought this morning was, "I'm having a baby with Down syndrome." I didn't want to get out of my safe, secure bed. The shock and mock bravery of the day before, the good face I'd put on for The Oldest and others had slid off during the night. It might be hiding under my bed. I might be able to find it. I might be able to glue it back on. Might need some staples. If only I could be bothered to try. That would require getting out of my bed. I lay there for a few minutes, rolling in my misery, and then I get up and start our day. There are announcements to modify. There is a nursery for a special little baby to plan. There are tiny little blue things to be bought. And later in the day, there is The Dear Daddy to tell. Crap!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The Call, Part II
Okay, so I allowed myself a few minutes of crying and actually let myself feel the despair that had been looming. I had confirmation of what I had known all along...right from the moment that pee stick clock gave way to the word PREGNANT. I don't know how I knew, I just did. And it had been said out loud now, so it was time to go to my knees and pray to the loving God that decided that this baby was worth while and would breath life. Dear God, please let him live to breath life. I don't remember all that I said. I remember asking for peace. And strength. I remember saying that I was sorry for having been so cowardly. I remember telling God that since He gave us this child, I would do what ever was required to bring him forth. I swore to God that I loved him already, but please, please let me know how to mother him. I knew that he was meant for us, but would I be adequate for him? Then a peace of sorts settled upon me. We already had two special needs children. What better family to add another? Why not us? And that started my quest to find out how best to care for the baby we would soon come to call Jack-Jack while we waited for a real name.
But first, a new dilemma. The Dear Daddy was working out of town. Would it be wrong to not tell him until he was back tomorrow night? Would I be able to keep this news out of my voice? Would he hear it over the phone? Would one of the kids let it slip before I could tell him? Okay...I herded The Dear Daughter back into my bedroom. Did she tell her little brother? "Mom. I really don't think he's going to understand this. I don't think we should tell him yet." Oh the wisdom of a ten year old. So, she hadn't told. I instructed her not to. Then we went to The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle's room and in a unified front told him that Mommy wanted to tell The Dear Daddy about the baby being a boy, SO DON'T TELL! He agreed. In the meantime, could I really keep this information from The Beloved? Even for a day. What to do...
I rallied The Girls. The Girls being The Other Mommy, Bits and The Big Sis. The Big Sis is not really my sister. I had only brothers. She was dating my youngest older brother when I was five. She's almost ten years older than I am. When their relationship eventually dissolved, we kept her and after 40 years together, she is My Big Sister. Which is rather funny because I she stands 5' 1 1/4" at her tallest and until my recent weight loss, she weighed about as much as my right thigh! She was a teenager when she came into my life and we often say that we grew up together. I can't remember a time when she didn't call my mother Mom, and she's been there through all the events in life. The good ones, the bad ones, the new romances, the boyfriends who turned out to be turds, the great new jobs, graduations from college, the death of my Mother, the birth of My Girlie, and a year later, the death of my youngest older brother, the elation of finally getting pregnant with my now Middle son, the devastation of losing what was to be her namesake, Hannah Marie, the utter pain and terror of The Youngest being diagnosed as autistic, the acceptance of The Oldest following that same diagnosis, and the shock of me being pregnant again, this time without medical intervention, at the ripe old age of 44. We'd been there for each other for all of the sister stuff. Sometimes I think more than with her own biological sister.
First I called Bits. She knows about these things. And her row to hoe has been a rather rocky one. She's younger than I by a few years. Her youngest is only a few years younger than my Oldest. She cried with me when I told her the news, genuine heart felt tears for the baby we weren't having, but full of encouragement for the baby we were having. She'd known it was a boy, she said, but I'd kept talking about a girl and she wasn't going to be the one to burst my bubble. Now all I wanted was a healthy boy.
Next I IM'd The Incredible Miss S, my long time friend. She was a grown woman with a husband and children while I was still really a little girl, but she's always been a kindred friend. She also expressed her sorrow for the baby we weren't having, but was again, amazingly supportive and encouraging for the baby she hoped we would eventually come to our senses and name Liam Christian Addison.
Then I called The Other Mommy. I let my tears really flow with her. She's become so much more than my children's care giver. She is my friend, sister, mother, and sometimes cohort and partner-in-crime when a plot was afoot. She was saddened but also very loving and supportive. She is after all, The Other Mommy, and so being, she is all wise and wonderful and all things good.
Next I called The Big Sis. She was the most shocked of all. I don't think I'd let on to her or anyone else just how fearful I was of this very thing. Her first concern has always been for my health and well being. For The Beloved, For The Littles, for Myself, for herself. My health and well being, first and foremost. In a pregnancy complicated at every turn, she was always the voice of reason and would often say, "I don't know Trace. I don't know how you're doing it. I'm really worried about you getting through this without your health being compromised or you maybe even, God forbid, dying." So when I told her the baby would have Down syndrome she was floored. My very lady like Big Sis's actual first words were, "F%$& me!"
I think I actually heard her plop down into a chair. She'd never actually even come close to suggesting that I abort, but with this new development, the picture for her certainly became more muddied and uncertain. I couldn't blame her either. I shouldn't be pregnant again at my age. With my health. With The Littles needing so much and still being so young. With The Beloved already working so much. "What if you die, Trace?" My Big Sis can say out loud the things that scare me the most. She's my Sis. It's her job. We cried together and explored the "What ifs" together until she had to get back to work.
In all of my calling to rally support, the PHC had called the house phone and left a message. They said to come in first thing tomorrow morning. I called them back and said that I'd already spoken to Dr S, and knew the baby's gender and that he would have Down syndrome. Oh. No need to come in then.
Much later in the day I was standing in the bathroom and felt the baby kick really hard! I hugged my belly - my son - and told him, "Don't worry Baby. You're alright. You aren't going anywhere." And now that I have the news - no not that news - that news! It's a boy! I can start on the nursery. It will be a great way to keep my mind in the right place. As a good friend would soon tell me, "He's a baby. He is not a diagnosis. He's just a baby."
In the evening My Big Sis called and she was excited to tell me about her day at work. Her very next client that day was a woman who had raised a daughter with Down syndrome. My Big Sis told her about the news I'd shared that day and expressed frustration that she hadn't known what to say to me or how to say it. The woman was very kindly and was perfectly willing to explain how her life had been since bringing home a baby with Down syndrome, back in the day when these babies were hidden away in facilities and institutions. She told My Big Sis all about her daughter, her infancy, her childhood, her young adulthood, her successes, her heartbreaks, what she did for work, where she lived in a group home. And that not only was she a happy woman, but that her daughter had also grown into a happy woman. Just like any one else. My Big Sis somehow felt that she needed to apologise to me. She said she thought she hadn't been supportive. She said on one hand she just naturally assumed that I would abort, but on the other hand, she wondered how she ever could have thought that, knowing me as she does. I love My Big Sis more than I can say. Her promise to be supportive, to do anything she could for us, was a balm to my soul.
I've opened the rough draft of my pregnancy announcement a million times today. I want to incorporate the baby having Ds. I want to tell every one at once, in one fell swoop rather than say "Surprise I'm pregnant, but oh, (doom and gloom) the baby has Down syndrome." I didn't want it to come off that way. I wanted people to know it all at one time so I wouldn't have to explain to a million different stunned silences. But I have no ideas right now. I'll try again tomorrow.
But first, a new dilemma. The Dear Daddy was working out of town. Would it be wrong to not tell him until he was back tomorrow night? Would I be able to keep this news out of my voice? Would he hear it over the phone? Would one of the kids let it slip before I could tell him? Okay...I herded The Dear Daughter back into my bedroom. Did she tell her little brother? "Mom. I really don't think he's going to understand this. I don't think we should tell him yet." Oh the wisdom of a ten year old. So, she hadn't told. I instructed her not to. Then we went to The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle's room and in a unified front told him that Mommy wanted to tell The Dear Daddy about the baby being a boy, SO DON'T TELL! He agreed. In the meantime, could I really keep this information from The Beloved? Even for a day. What to do...
I rallied The Girls. The Girls being The Other Mommy, Bits and The Big Sis. The Big Sis is not really my sister. I had only brothers. She was dating my youngest older brother when I was five. She's almost ten years older than I am. When their relationship eventually dissolved, we kept her and after 40 years together, she is My Big Sister. Which is rather funny because I she stands 5' 1 1/4" at her tallest and until my recent weight loss, she weighed about as much as my right thigh! She was a teenager when she came into my life and we often say that we grew up together. I can't remember a time when she didn't call my mother Mom, and she's been there through all the events in life. The good ones, the bad ones, the new romances, the boyfriends who turned out to be turds, the great new jobs, graduations from college, the death of my Mother, the birth of My Girlie, and a year later, the death of my youngest older brother, the elation of finally getting pregnant with my now Middle son, the devastation of losing what was to be her namesake, Hannah Marie, the utter pain and terror of The Youngest being diagnosed as autistic, the acceptance of The Oldest following that same diagnosis, and the shock of me being pregnant again, this time without medical intervention, at the ripe old age of 44. We'd been there for each other for all of the sister stuff. Sometimes I think more than with her own biological sister.
First I called Bits. She knows about these things. And her row to hoe has been a rather rocky one. She's younger than I by a few years. Her youngest is only a few years younger than my Oldest. She cried with me when I told her the news, genuine heart felt tears for the baby we weren't having, but full of encouragement for the baby we were having. She'd known it was a boy, she said, but I'd kept talking about a girl and she wasn't going to be the one to burst my bubble. Now all I wanted was a healthy boy.
Next I IM'd The Incredible Miss S, my long time friend. She was a grown woman with a husband and children while I was still really a little girl, but she's always been a kindred friend. She also expressed her sorrow for the baby we weren't having, but was again, amazingly supportive and encouraging for the baby she hoped we would eventually come to our senses and name Liam Christian Addison.
Then I called The Other Mommy. I let my tears really flow with her. She's become so much more than my children's care giver. She is my friend, sister, mother, and sometimes cohort and partner-in-crime when a plot was afoot. She was saddened but also very loving and supportive. She is after all, The Other Mommy, and so being, she is all wise and wonderful and all things good.
Next I called The Big Sis. She was the most shocked of all. I don't think I'd let on to her or anyone else just how fearful I was of this very thing. Her first concern has always been for my health and well being. For The Beloved, For The Littles, for Myself, for herself. My health and well being, first and foremost. In a pregnancy complicated at every turn, she was always the voice of reason and would often say, "I don't know Trace. I don't know how you're doing it. I'm really worried about you getting through this without your health being compromised or you maybe even, God forbid, dying." So when I told her the baby would have Down syndrome she was floored. My very lady like Big Sis's actual first words were, "F%$& me!"
I think I actually heard her plop down into a chair. She'd never actually even come close to suggesting that I abort, but with this new development, the picture for her certainly became more muddied and uncertain. I couldn't blame her either. I shouldn't be pregnant again at my age. With my health. With The Littles needing so much and still being so young. With The Beloved already working so much. "What if you die, Trace?" My Big Sis can say out loud the things that scare me the most. She's my Sis. It's her job. We cried together and explored the "What ifs" together until she had to get back to work.
In all of my calling to rally support, the PHC had called the house phone and left a message. They said to come in first thing tomorrow morning. I called them back and said that I'd already spoken to Dr S, and knew the baby's gender and that he would have Down syndrome. Oh. No need to come in then.
Much later in the day I was standing in the bathroom and felt the baby kick really hard! I hugged my belly - my son - and told him, "Don't worry Baby. You're alright. You aren't going anywhere." And now that I have the news - no not that news - that news! It's a boy! I can start on the nursery. It will be a great way to keep my mind in the right place. As a good friend would soon tell me, "He's a baby. He is not a diagnosis. He's just a baby."
In the evening My Big Sis called and she was excited to tell me about her day at work. Her very next client that day was a woman who had raised a daughter with Down syndrome. My Big Sis told her about the news I'd shared that day and expressed frustration that she hadn't known what to say to me or how to say it. The woman was very kindly and was perfectly willing to explain how her life had been since bringing home a baby with Down syndrome, back in the day when these babies were hidden away in facilities and institutions. She told My Big Sis all about her daughter, her infancy, her childhood, her young adulthood, her successes, her heartbreaks, what she did for work, where she lived in a group home. And that not only was she a happy woman, but that her daughter had also grown into a happy woman. Just like any one else. My Big Sis somehow felt that she needed to apologise to me. She said she thought she hadn't been supportive. She said on one hand she just naturally assumed that I would abort, but on the other hand, she wondered how she ever could have thought that, knowing me as she does. I love My Big Sis more than I can say. Her promise to be supportive, to do anything she could for us, was a balm to my soul.
I've opened the rough draft of my pregnancy announcement a million times today. I want to incorporate the baby having Ds. I want to tell every one at once, in one fell swoop rather than say "Surprise I'm pregnant, but oh, (doom and gloom) the baby has Down syndrome." I didn't want it to come off that way. I wanted people to know it all at one time so I wouldn't have to explain to a million different stunned silences. But I have no ideas right now. I'll try again tomorrow.
The Call, Oh The Dreaded Call
I wish I had written a more detailed record of that phone call, but I think I was just too stunned finally having heard the news to do more than document the fact. Reading back on the file lovingly renamed 'Jack-Jack' I see only the sterile facts. It's a boy. There are three copies of chromosome 21. He will have Down syndrome. There is no test to determine how affected he will be. Only birth with give us that information. The doctor will look closely at the heart and brain at the 22 week ultrasound, but yes, do keep my appointment for July 22 at 20 weeks.
The actuality of that phone call, as I remember it, was of Dr S's voice being very warm and gentle. He didn't beat around he bush. "My dear, we have the amnio results and it is not good news." I asked directly, "Does the baby have Down syndrome?" "Yes, my dear. He does have Down syndrome. I wish there was better news, but that is what we have." He never contracts words. Ever. I asked if there were any more chromosomal abnormalities and he assured me that there were not. He did ask was I still sure about continuing the pregnancy. Yes I was. He said he still wanted me to consider the options before I really made up my mind for sure. Either way, he says, he will respect my decision and support me to the fullest. I believe him and thank him for his tact and warmth. Now cut sideways to my Dear Daughter, a very tender and sensitive soul, lounging on the couch in her blanket. I have tears softly rolling down my cheeks, but I'm not loudly boo-hooing. She knows something is up but she doesn't know what. The words she's heard so far mean nothing to her, so she has no reason to be alarmed, and Mommy being upset and tearful these days is frankly, I'm sorry to say, nothing new. So when I say to Dr S that the only way I'd terminate is if the baby was anencephalic and has zero chance of survival and would die anyway, she was suddenly all ears and the look on her face was terror. I damn myself for not taking this call into the bedroom. I quickly hang up with Dr S and bum rush My Oldest into my bedroom. I want her sequestered before she can alarm The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle. He was happily playing in his room. I absently think to myself that I don't have to deal with me right now, because I need to comfort My Girlie.
I push her into my bedroom and close and lock the door. Her face is a reddened mask of tears and fear. "It's okay" I tell her very firmly. It occurs to me, not for the last time, that I'm convincing myself too. "Did the baby die?" No, I tell her. The baby is fine, he will be okay, I promise her over and over again but she just won't be convinced. Even while I'm holding her and stroking her silky soft back, she just won't be comforted. I finally get out the Doppler to let her hear for herself. Then I sit her on my big bed where she loves to snuggle with me and sitting across from her with our knees touching, I begin the hard talk. Mommy was crying because the big test Mommy had says the baby will have something called Down syndrome. Does that mean he will die? No. It doesn't. It just means he might be a little slower than some babies. He might not be as tall as her or her brother. They are projected to be 5' 11" and 6' 5" respectively. It might take him longer to crawl and walk and speak, but he will be a perfectly good baby all the same! At that point, what I knew about Down syndrome could be exhausted on all of one sentence. She has one thing to say and she says it with all the conviction of her soul, "It will be okay. He will be loved." Period. We laid down in my big bed and held each other for a while, me stroking her back, her hair, her face. Then, "Mom?" in a more perky voice,"Did you say it's going to be a boy?" I don't really know I tell her. I think the doctor said it is a boy, but I'm not really so sure. Let's call him back and find out! When I got Dr S back on the phone to confirm that we are indeed having a Little Brother, I gave my Dear Daughter a thumbs up! She was correct when she predicted a boy. With the tears now dried, she ran down the hall to announce to the Bothersome Brother that she'd been right all along and they were getting a Baby Brother. Dr S tells me again that he will respect my decision and provide any support that he can.
While The Littles are playing, I retreat back into my bedroom and lock the door. "It" is no longer out there. It's here now. It came for me. The words I could not utter, even to my loving God, have finally been spoken. Down syndrome. I settled in for just a few minutes of indulgent crying. What are we going to do now? It was a non-question really. That question was answered the instant when The Newest's, our Little Baby Boy's heart started beating. What will we do? We will have a baby. A Boy Baby. With Down syndrome. And it will be alright. Right?
The actuality of that phone call, as I remember it, was of Dr S's voice being very warm and gentle. He didn't beat around he bush. "My dear, we have the amnio results and it is not good news." I asked directly, "Does the baby have Down syndrome?" "Yes, my dear. He does have Down syndrome. I wish there was better news, but that is what we have." He never contracts words. Ever. I asked if there were any more chromosomal abnormalities and he assured me that there were not. He did ask was I still sure about continuing the pregnancy. Yes I was. He said he still wanted me to consider the options before I really made up my mind for sure. Either way, he says, he will respect my decision and support me to the fullest. I believe him and thank him for his tact and warmth. Now cut sideways to my Dear Daughter, a very tender and sensitive soul, lounging on the couch in her blanket. I have tears softly rolling down my cheeks, but I'm not loudly boo-hooing. She knows something is up but she doesn't know what. The words she's heard so far mean nothing to her, so she has no reason to be alarmed, and Mommy being upset and tearful these days is frankly, I'm sorry to say, nothing new. So when I say to Dr S that the only way I'd terminate is if the baby was anencephalic and has zero chance of survival and would die anyway, she was suddenly all ears and the look on her face was terror. I damn myself for not taking this call into the bedroom. I quickly hang up with Dr S and bum rush My Oldest into my bedroom. I want her sequestered before she can alarm The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle. He was happily playing in his room. I absently think to myself that I don't have to deal with me right now, because I need to comfort My Girlie.
I push her into my bedroom and close and lock the door. Her face is a reddened mask of tears and fear. "It's okay" I tell her very firmly. It occurs to me, not for the last time, that I'm convincing myself too. "Did the baby die?" No, I tell her. The baby is fine, he will be okay, I promise her over and over again but she just won't be convinced. Even while I'm holding her and stroking her silky soft back, she just won't be comforted. I finally get out the Doppler to let her hear for herself. Then I sit her on my big bed where she loves to snuggle with me and sitting across from her with our knees touching, I begin the hard talk. Mommy was crying because the big test Mommy had says the baby will have something called Down syndrome. Does that mean he will die? No. It doesn't. It just means he might be a little slower than some babies. He might not be as tall as her or her brother. They are projected to be 5' 11" and 6' 5" respectively. It might take him longer to crawl and walk and speak, but he will be a perfectly good baby all the same! At that point, what I knew about Down syndrome could be exhausted on all of one sentence. She has one thing to say and she says it with all the conviction of her soul, "It will be okay. He will be loved." Period. We laid down in my big bed and held each other for a while, me stroking her back, her hair, her face. Then, "Mom?" in a more perky voice,"Did you say it's going to be a boy?" I don't really know I tell her. I think the doctor said it is a boy, but I'm not really so sure. Let's call him back and find out! When I got Dr S back on the phone to confirm that we are indeed having a Little Brother, I gave my Dear Daughter a thumbs up! She was correct when she predicted a boy. With the tears now dried, she ran down the hall to announce to the Bothersome Brother that she'd been right all along and they were getting a Baby Brother. Dr S tells me again that he will respect my decision and provide any support that he can.
While The Littles are playing, I retreat back into my bedroom and lock the door. "It" is no longer out there. It's here now. It came for me. The words I could not utter, even to my loving God, have finally been spoken. Down syndrome. I settled in for just a few minutes of indulgent crying. What are we going to do now? It was a non-question really. That question was answered the instant when The Newest's, our Little Baby Boy's heart started beating. What will we do? We will have a baby. A Boy Baby. With Down syndrome. And it will be alright. Right?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Overhauling the Homestead Part II
It's been very busy around here! Susie and I have done more cleaning of the garage, hauled all of The Youngest's stuff into the front room, cleaned and rearranged the living room yet again, cleaned and rearranged The Youngest's room, sorted and hauled all of his stuff back into his room, then hauled all of the Oldest's stuff into the front room, cleaned and rearranged her room, sorted all of her stuff and hauled it all back into her room. Not to mention, the monstrous pile of toys in the hallway is gone! It's cleaned and sorted and put away! YES! I can walk through the hallway without risking life and limb! Our front porch looks like a junk yard, and the Dear Daddy says he fears it will cave in on one of us, but all of that will go away via donation truck on Thursday. Yippee-skippee! Now I can start on the nursery...it needs gutted and thoroughly cleaned and re-plastered and painted and carpeted. That's going to be a job! I've been looking at different nursery themes, waiting to find out if it's going to be sweet and girlie or sweet and boyish. I'm biting at the bit. And still, there has been no call. 15 days. No call. Not good.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The Waiting Game
I am 18 weeks today. And the genetics lab has not called. It's been 13 days. With The Youngest, they called on day 10. They said all was well. They told me his gender. And the celebrating began. I went out and bought The Beloved a miniature child size baseball mitt and a baseball. All wrapped in bright yellow paper. Why haven't they called? Why aren't we celebrating? But I know why. It's still out there. I still can't say it out loud, but every day that goes by is another day that I am more sure.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
4th of July
Today we celebrated with hot dogs and hamburgers from the grill, with cheese please, and potato salad. Then The Beloved and I packed up the van with kids and pillows and drove out to the fairgrounds to watch fireworks. My sense of direction is really off kilter. The Beloved pointed out landmarks that I should be quite familiar with after over 20 years in this valley, but I got turned around completely when he made a U-turn!
Friday, July 3, 2009
A Purchase
I took The Dear Daughter shopping with me today while The Little Fireball napped at home with Miss Susie. We cruised down the baby isle and we picked out three packs of tiny white socks! My Sweet Girlie wants to buy everything in sight! I had to really reign her in but promised that we'd do some shopping just as soon as we know if it's a boy or a girl. She's going to be lots of fun shopping!
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Errands
It was a busy day. Lots of running around. Lots of errands. And a trip to the PHC for my post circlage follow up to the follow up. It seemed redundant, but I kept the appointment. My weight was %&#, so no gain! My BP was in the 160's/80's times three tries, so my Methyldopa was increased to 1250 mg in three divided doses. I tried to get them to increase it to four times a day, but what do I know? The Dear Daughter came along and was thrilled to hear the heartbeat, and the CNA let her hold the doppler and read the heart rate - 149! My fundus is about three fingers below my navel. I left with more vitamins, more iron, and instructions to increase the iron to twice daily. Oh joy. I'm going to love that, but my hemoglobin is only 11.
Between Miss Susie and I the garage is finished. For now. It makes me happy every time I go out there and see empty spaces. The front porch looks like a scrap yard, and it will only get worse when we start gutting the kids' rooms, but it will all be donated eventually.
Between Miss Susie and I the garage is finished. For now. It makes me happy every time I go out there and see empty spaces. The front porch looks like a scrap yard, and it will only get worse when we start gutting the kids' rooms, but it will all be donated eventually.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
17 Weeks, Through a Child's Eyes, and Miss Clairol
Wow! I've made it to 17 weeks already. On one hand it has taken forever to get here. On the other hand, I still cannot get my head around the idea that we are having another baby. I'm trying very hard to just be hopeful and look forward. The instant I saw that word on the pee stick those short months ago, I've just had this feeling, this secret, that I can't quite get over. I'm still not willing to say the words out loud. But it's out there. It's waiting. Now that I've had the amniocentesis, I feel as though I have a 'Date with Destiny.' And it's only day 4 of the two week countdown until results of the test.
These days I cannot undress, change clothes, shower, or even go pee without the Dear Daughter intruding on my space. She wants to know why certain things are bigger, and darker. She wants to know why my lower half is "huge Mom!" and the middle is only "a little 'huger,' " and why my face, arms and neck are still "pretty much the same." She is truly in wonder over the changes happening to my body. Today's' offering for her perusal is a faint but distinct Linea Negra. I didn't get that with my other pregnancies, but I certainly have it with this one. Does that mean a brunette and brown-eyed baby? I don't think it does, but who knows? She is constantly touching me somewhere and asking questions. It's actually kinda fun. Kinda. Until she wants to know why my butt is suddenly floppy. Or why "these" are hotter than the rest of my skin. And why my palms are bright pink. And why I'm getting "spots" on my face. And why are my moles getting darker. It goes on and on, but it is kinda fun.
At least it was until the guy at AM/PM asked me if I was spending the day with my grand kids. Last week it was the guy at Carl's Jr, then the witch at Taco Bell (she was all of 20 years old and simply aghast when I cupped my round belly and said we were having another one too!) and a few days later some lady shopping at Walden books. Dang. I must need a date with Miss Clairol. And some make up. And a spa day. And a big box of See's milk chocolate Bordeaux candies.
These days I cannot undress, change clothes, shower, or even go pee without the Dear Daughter intruding on my space. She wants to know why certain things are bigger, and darker. She wants to know why my lower half is "huge Mom!" and the middle is only "a little 'huger,' " and why my face, arms and neck are still "pretty much the same." She is truly in wonder over the changes happening to my body. Today's' offering for her perusal is a faint but distinct Linea Negra. I didn't get that with my other pregnancies, but I certainly have it with this one. Does that mean a brunette and brown-eyed baby? I don't think it does, but who knows? She is constantly touching me somewhere and asking questions. It's actually kinda fun. Kinda. Until she wants to know why my butt is suddenly floppy. Or why "these" are hotter than the rest of my skin. And why my palms are bright pink. And why I'm getting "spots" on my face. And why are my moles getting darker. It goes on and on, but it is kinda fun.
At least it was until the guy at AM/PM asked me if I was spending the day with my grand kids. Last week it was the guy at Carl's Jr, then the witch at Taco Bell (she was all of 20 years old and simply aghast when I cupped my round belly and said we were having another one too!) and a few days later some lady shopping at Walden books. Dang. I must need a date with Miss Clairol. And some make up. And a spa day. And a big box of See's milk chocolate Bordeaux candies.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Overhauling the Homestead Part I
These have been very busy days. I've hired someone to help me, since I'm not allowed to do anything. I'll call her Miss Susie. So far, Miss Susie has rearranged the living room and dining room in anticipation of needing a swing and eventually a high chair to fit in these rooms. She's also helped me start on the garage. We open the big door and prop the house door open for an hour before we start so that it's not so hot and the temperature is tolerable. There's a huge pile of books, clothing, utensils, blankets and all manner of junk stacking up on the front porch. Both of The Littles are out of school for the summer now, so there's quite a bit of dissent on my decisions to toss toys they've had since The Oldest was two! I'd always thought that I'd get to those many boxes in the garage - we've been here in our new home for almost four years - but I had no idea that it would take me so long to get it done. Or that it would be a surprise pregnancy that finally spurred me on!
Miss Susie found a crate of baby linens and three crates of baby clothes. I could kick myself for getting rid of so many baby things in 17 consecutive yard sales before we moved...but really, who ever would have dreamed that we'd need baby things again? The Oldest and I sorted the clothes into piles...girl, boy, unisex. I am still scared silly, but with three days after the amniocentesis and still no complications, I feel fairly confident the The Newest is going to stick! I am actually starting to feel hopeful, and - dare I say it - excited!
And excited I should be! Miss Susie hauled the cradle out of the garage and gave it a thorough cleaning! It's in our bedroom, sparkling and waiting for a brand new layette for a brand new baby!
Miss Susie found a crate of baby linens and three crates of baby clothes. I could kick myself for getting rid of so many baby things in 17 consecutive yard sales before we moved...but really, who ever would have dreamed that we'd need baby things again? The Oldest and I sorted the clothes into piles...girl, boy, unisex. I am still scared silly, but with three days after the amniocentesis and still no complications, I feel fairly confident the The Newest is going to stick! I am actually starting to feel hopeful, and - dare I say it - excited!
And excited I should be! Miss Susie hauled the cradle out of the garage and gave it a thorough cleaning! It's in our bedroom, sparkling and waiting for a brand new layette for a brand new baby!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Post Amnio
I feel pretty good today. I've had no contractions, no spotting and the Baby is wiggly. I'm allowed to shower today, so I remove the band aid and set it aside for the baby book. If we make it. I have The Youngest's band aid in his baby book, with a tiny spot of amnion on it. I shower and pray the whole time that God will protect our baby. Again, I can't quite make myself think the actual words, so I beg God to keep him healthy.
Dr S gave us two regular ultra sound pictures plus one in 4-D. I can finally see the Baby's face in it and he looks exactly like The Youngest. Soon-To-Be-Middle. If we make it. I hate feeling this sense of dread. Crap!
Dr S gave us two regular ultra sound pictures plus one in 4-D. I can finally see the Baby's face in it and he looks exactly like The Youngest. Soon-To-Be-Middle. If we make it. I hate feeling this sense of dread. Crap!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Oh, The Amnio
So, again with the needles and the poking me. But first, I thought I was going to have to pick The Beloved up off the floor when he saw the scale and the flashing red numbers they revealed. Oh, the look of amazement and horrified wonder on his face could only be matched by the look of homicidal rage I returned to him. It spoke volumes. It screamed, "YOU did this to me! YOU deal with it and keep your mouth SHUT! Ya hear?" Okay, so it wasn't nearly so dramatic or violent. I meekly pointed to my ankles and calves and said, "It's all right there!" Wisely, he just smiled. In all honesty, it was a shock to me as well. Fluid or not, packing 30# onto my previously, finally sleek and slim body was a killer. I'd always been heavy. With The Oldest I'd lost weight during the first half of the pregnancy and was only 13# heavier when I delivered her. With The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle, I'd lost a lot of weight and had barely caught up to my pre-pregnant weight when I delivered him. This time, starting out 70# lighter than at any other time it my adult life, plus the beautifully soft curves than only aging maturing brings, I'd finally had a pretty rockin' body!
But we're here, so we might as well get started! I get over my shock, drop my drawers and lumber up onto the table. The tech got started and then the office gal popped in to take her order for In-N-Out Burger. We put in our order too and had a good chuckle. The mood started off so light! The tech did the usual extensive scan but she wasn't nearly as chatty and informative as usual. Then she stepped outside to tell Dr S her findings. I heard her say that the ventricles looked a little dilated. Which ventricles? The heart? The brain? Then the beloved Dr S came in. He looked like he was on his last leg. He sat on the stool and hung his head over his folded arms - not an easy task for a man his size. "I am exhausted," he says. "I am so tired! How about you? How are you feeling my dear?" and again with the hand holding. Ever since Hannah, Dr S had made me feel more like his daughter than his patient. So I get right to the point and ask him which ventricles look dilated. "The brain" he says, "but let's look and see." He repeated what was already an extensive ultra sound. He had to be sure of the exact location of the Baby before poking any needles in there. He said that the heart looked fine, with a very small calcium foci not uncommon at this stage. He said the brain ventricles did measure a little dilated, as well as slight dilation to both kidneys. He asked again how far along we were and then said, "Oh of course they all look big. The ventricles start large and get smaller as the brain grows." But I wasn't really comforted by that news. His demeanor was just a little off, more than I could account for with fatigue.
Next he prepped my bulging belly for the amnio. While Dr S was scrubbing my tummy, The Beloved started making motions that he could do it if I wanted. I told Dr S that he was offering. Dr S jokingly said he'd demonstrate this time and then he could do the next patient. He even said, "In fact, you can do the next one at home. You don't even have to bother with an office visit." He explained everything he was doing and let me know he wasn't stabbing me yet, just pressing a small hollow tube against my belly to "Mark The Spot!" And then the tech started scanning again to make sure The Newest hadn't moved. And then the poke. First a huge hollow bore stylus through the skin and muscle. Not too bad. Then the first poke into my uterus. And the second. And the third. There's a lot of scar tissue on my uterus and it was very hard to puncture. The Beloved later said that he was waiting for the doctor to jump up on the table and straddle me to get his weight behind the pushing force. Let me tell you, that hurt like #$@&! And it continued to hurt. With The Youngest, it only hurt for the puncturing. With this one, it hurt long, long after. Deep, zinging electrical pain. The doc threaded the catheter in and got the fluid. Nice and clear he said. And when he pulled the stylus out I thought he was dragging my uterus and both kidneys out with it! And a few feet of intestine! Crap! That hurt! It continued to hurt for a good ten minutes and Dr S said he could see my uterus contracting, not to worry, it was normal considering he'd had to poke so many times. The Beloved stood on one side holding my hand and wiping my face, and the beloved Dr S stood on the other side holding my hand and wiping my face. There's always some way to wind up with tears in your ears.
So once I had a band aid over the spot, and my uterus finally relaxed, Dr S started scanning again. He saw no evidence of bleeding. He was focused again on the brain. I asked him to let us know if he saw the Baby's 'parts' but he said simply, "That's not what I'm concerned with right now." It really threw a wet blanket on The Beloved getting to see the baby. When he was all finished he repeated the post instructions, said it was okay to drive through In-N-Out Burger, and sent us home.
I called my good friend Bits on the way home. She knows about these things and is still one of The Few who know we are pregnant. She comforts me and by the time we get through the drive through I am able to tell The Beloved what she said and he feels a little better too. But just a little.
Once home we ate our burgers and made a call to The Other Mommy to let the kids know that Mommy and Daddy were home safe and sound. Then we took a nap, as ordered. The Beloved tucks me in. Always. I think this started when I had my stroke...but since the stroke my memory is shot, so I don't really know for sure when it started. I'm pretty sure that the first time was just after we'd gotten home from the hopspittle and I was getting into bed to nap. My right arm had been a limp dead fish that I had no control over, but was amazingly painful at all times. He'd gotten my right arm positioned 'just so' on the pillow and he covered me up. I do know that he's done it every time since. Every time. Even when we've been bickering or are unhappy with each other. And this time as he leaned in to kiss me I whispered in a tiny voice, "I'm scared." He knew. He was too. So we spooned and slept and rested our souls.
But we're here, so we might as well get started! I get over my shock, drop my drawers and lumber up onto the table. The tech got started and then the office gal popped in to take her order for In-N-Out Burger. We put in our order too and had a good chuckle. The mood started off so light! The tech did the usual extensive scan but she wasn't nearly as chatty and informative as usual. Then she stepped outside to tell Dr S her findings. I heard her say that the ventricles looked a little dilated. Which ventricles? The heart? The brain? Then the beloved Dr S came in. He looked like he was on his last leg. He sat on the stool and hung his head over his folded arms - not an easy task for a man his size. "I am exhausted," he says. "I am so tired! How about you? How are you feeling my dear?" and again with the hand holding. Ever since Hannah, Dr S had made me feel more like his daughter than his patient. So I get right to the point and ask him which ventricles look dilated. "The brain" he says, "but let's look and see." He repeated what was already an extensive ultra sound. He had to be sure of the exact location of the Baby before poking any needles in there. He said that the heart looked fine, with a very small calcium foci not uncommon at this stage. He said the brain ventricles did measure a little dilated, as well as slight dilation to both kidneys. He asked again how far along we were and then said, "Oh of course they all look big. The ventricles start large and get smaller as the brain grows." But I wasn't really comforted by that news. His demeanor was just a little off, more than I could account for with fatigue.
Next he prepped my bulging belly for the amnio. While Dr S was scrubbing my tummy, The Beloved started making motions that he could do it if I wanted. I told Dr S that he was offering. Dr S jokingly said he'd demonstrate this time and then he could do the next patient. He even said, "In fact, you can do the next one at home. You don't even have to bother with an office visit." He explained everything he was doing and let me know he wasn't stabbing me yet, just pressing a small hollow tube against my belly to "Mark The Spot!" And then the tech started scanning again to make sure The Newest hadn't moved. And then the poke. First a huge hollow bore stylus through the skin and muscle. Not too bad. Then the first poke into my uterus. And the second. And the third. There's a lot of scar tissue on my uterus and it was very hard to puncture. The Beloved later said that he was waiting for the doctor to jump up on the table and straddle me to get his weight behind the pushing force. Let me tell you, that hurt like #$@&! And it continued to hurt. With The Youngest, it only hurt for the puncturing. With this one, it hurt long, long after. Deep, zinging electrical pain. The doc threaded the catheter in and got the fluid. Nice and clear he said. And when he pulled the stylus out I thought he was dragging my uterus and both kidneys out with it! And a few feet of intestine! Crap! That hurt! It continued to hurt for a good ten minutes and Dr S said he could see my uterus contracting, not to worry, it was normal considering he'd had to poke so many times. The Beloved stood on one side holding my hand and wiping my face, and the beloved Dr S stood on the other side holding my hand and wiping my face. There's always some way to wind up with tears in your ears.
So once I had a band aid over the spot, and my uterus finally relaxed, Dr S started scanning again. He saw no evidence of bleeding. He was focused again on the brain. I asked him to let us know if he saw the Baby's 'parts' but he said simply, "That's not what I'm concerned with right now." It really threw a wet blanket on The Beloved getting to see the baby. When he was all finished he repeated the post instructions, said it was okay to drive through In-N-Out Burger, and sent us home.
I called my good friend Bits on the way home. She knows about these things and is still one of The Few who know we are pregnant. She comforts me and by the time we get through the drive through I am able to tell The Beloved what she said and he feels a little better too. But just a little.
Once home we ate our burgers and made a call to The Other Mommy to let the kids know that Mommy and Daddy were home safe and sound. Then we took a nap, as ordered. The Beloved tucks me in. Always. I think this started when I had my stroke...but since the stroke my memory is shot, so I don't really know for sure when it started. I'm pretty sure that the first time was just after we'd gotten home from the hopspittle and I was getting into bed to nap. My right arm had been a limp dead fish that I had no control over, but was amazingly painful at all times. He'd gotten my right arm positioned 'just so' on the pillow and he covered me up. I do know that he's done it every time since. Every time. Even when we've been bickering or are unhappy with each other. And this time as he leaned in to kiss me I whispered in a tiny voice, "I'm scared." He knew. He was too. So we spooned and slept and rested our souls.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
One Week Check Post Stitch
I saw the lovely and personable Dr RF today. He says the stitch appears to be just fine, but I'll spare anyone the unpleasantness and pain involved in making that determination! I'm supposed to do a fasting blood sugar before my next visit. The random blood sugar was slightly high. If this fasting sugar comes back too high I think I will flat refuse to do the two hour glucose test they will want to order. Why put myself through that misery? Both of my pregnancies with The Littles were complicated by gestational diabetes, so how can this one not be also? I say let's go right to diabetic management!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Father's Day, 16 weeks
Today is Father's Day! We certainly never thought we'd be celebrating another Father's Day with a bun in the oven, but here we are! We hung around the house relaxing, taking it easy and just enjoying The Littles. We watched movies, took naps, were lazy and laid around in a big pile of arms and legs.
And today I am 16 weeks pregnant. I think I'll be significantly less worried after the amniocentesis. I keep thinking "I'll breath easier when..." By that time we will know the baby's gender and if there are any problems, and I'll certainly be past the risk of miscarriage from the procedure. Of course I'll be devastated if the baby has health issues, but I will print and mail the announcements all the same. I am still hopeful and praying that the genetics lab will call me at home to say all is well. I'm hoping to do very little modification of the announcements. For now, all I can really do is wait.
And today I am 16 weeks pregnant. I think I'll be significantly less worried after the amniocentesis. I keep thinking "I'll breath easier when..." By that time we will know the baby's gender and if there are any problems, and I'll certainly be past the risk of miscarriage from the procedure. Of course I'll be devastated if the baby has health issues, but I will print and mail the announcements all the same. I am still hopeful and praying that the genetics lab will call me at home to say all is well. I'm hoping to do very little modification of the announcements. For now, all I can really do is wait.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
New Worries, New Joys
Last night was rather uncomfortable "in there" and downright painful at my cervix. I'd been spotting some bright red since I left the hopspittle, but it wasn't worrisome since that happened with both of The Little's stitch placements, and the fact that I'm taking aspirin every day with this pregnancy. By afternoon today, the spotting has pretty much stopped, only to be replaced by this other sensation. I was afraid that my membranes might have ruptured. But then I found The Newest's heartbeat way up high, closer to my navel, where he/she has never been before! If my membranes had ruptured, the Baby would be down low, losing fluid, not exploring the deep end of the pool! It's always a relief to hear the thunk-thunk-thunk! And The Newest continues to kick at the intrusion of the Doppler and moves away! Little fart already, I tell ya!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Surgery
Today was a scary day, but it all went well. It was scary because there is always a risk with surgery. There is a risk specifically of losing The Baby. But, there was a guarantee of losing The Baby if I didn't have the stitch placed. And there is always a risk of rupturing the membranes. I was scared. We arrived at the hopspittle at 5:30 and then waited until 6 for OPS to actually open. Why they said to be there 30 minutes before they opened is beyond me. I got a gown. I stuffed my clothes into a bag. I got on the gurney. I was wrapped in a warming blanket. I got an IV. No less than 3 people reviewed my history. I saw the anesthesiologist, Dr P. He ordered something nasty tasting that made me groggy and I went to sleep. My case was scheduled for 7:00 am. The OR nurse woke me up when the lovely Dr RF finally said he was ready at 8:15. And I was rolled down to OR.
Let me say that Dr P rocks! He did my cesarean with The Youngest after my anesthesiology with The Oldest was botched. I was glad I was able to have him for this. It was a good sign. After pushing 100 mg of Diprivan, I was still able to carry on a conversation with him. So he gave me more. "A little sleepy," I reported. So he waited a few minutes and gave me more. "Okay," I say, "Here I go!" And I woke up in recovery. My nurse there wasn't nice, but she did give me pain meds. She did not want to give me narcotics, but the wonderful Dr P told me what I could have before I went to OR...and really, it was 1 mg for crying out loud!
There was quite a delay while several nurses tried to find the Baby's heartbeat with a pencil Doppler. No luck. They tried and tried. They could hear movement, and they thought the Baby kept bumping the Doppler, and they could see my tummy jiggle with the kicks, but they had no luck finding the heart rate. Finally someone produced a regular hand held Doppler and they let me hunt for it. (This was reminiscent of The Youngest. I found his heart beat after stitch surgery too! Again, a good sign.) I caught it for a few seconds at a time, but never long enough to hand over the ear pieces. Finally after the one nurse cupped my tummy in both hands, the other nurse was able to catch it long enough to measure it...151! "Is this baby always so active?" they ask. "Yes" I say. "And the Baby got anesthesia too." They exchange knowing looks across my exposed tummy. "How far along are you? 20 weeks?" one nurse asks. "No," I say, "15 weeks, one day." Again with the knowing looks to each other. "Well," one nurse says, "This one's going to give you a run for your money!" After that I was allowed to get dressed to go home. And get a jumbo Slurpee for my horribly sore throat!
The rest of the day saw plenty of napping, movie watching and pampering from The Beloved. Grandma Emmie stopped by and had snacks with us then dashed out to see The Fireball get his award. The Other Mommy took my camera to photo document said Fireball receiving said award. The Beloved drove all the way to the next town to Sonic to get me a jumbo grape slushie for my still very horribly sore throat. And a Sonic dog for our pitty-bull Sophie! One hurdle down, two to go!
Let me say that Dr P rocks! He did my cesarean with The Youngest after my anesthesiology with The Oldest was botched. I was glad I was able to have him for this. It was a good sign. After pushing 100 mg of Diprivan, I was still able to carry on a conversation with him. So he gave me more. "A little sleepy," I reported. So he waited a few minutes and gave me more. "Okay," I say, "Here I go!" And I woke up in recovery. My nurse there wasn't nice, but she did give me pain meds. She did not want to give me narcotics, but the wonderful Dr P told me what I could have before I went to OR...and really, it was 1 mg for crying out loud!
There was quite a delay while several nurses tried to find the Baby's heartbeat with a pencil Doppler. No luck. They tried and tried. They could hear movement, and they thought the Baby kept bumping the Doppler, and they could see my tummy jiggle with the kicks, but they had no luck finding the heart rate. Finally someone produced a regular hand held Doppler and they let me hunt for it. (This was reminiscent of The Youngest. I found his heart beat after stitch surgery too! Again, a good sign.) I caught it for a few seconds at a time, but never long enough to hand over the ear pieces. Finally after the one nurse cupped my tummy in both hands, the other nurse was able to catch it long enough to measure it...151! "Is this baby always so active?" they ask. "Yes" I say. "And the Baby got anesthesia too." They exchange knowing looks across my exposed tummy. "How far along are you? 20 weeks?" one nurse asks. "No," I say, "15 weeks, one day." Again with the knowing looks to each other. "Well," one nurse says, "This one's going to give you a run for your money!" After that I was allowed to get dressed to go home. And get a jumbo Slurpee for my horribly sore throat!
The rest of the day saw plenty of napping, movie watching and pampering from The Beloved. Grandma Emmie stopped by and had snacks with us then dashed out to see The Fireball get his award. The Other Mommy took my camera to photo document said Fireball receiving said award. The Beloved drove all the way to the next town to Sonic to get me a jumbo grape slushie for my still very horribly sore throat. And a Sonic dog for our pitty-bull Sophie! One hurdle down, two to go!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
He Who Takes the Child By the Hand...
...takes the Mother by the heart. That is a Danish proverb and it is absolutely true. And tonight in a late evening phone call, I find out from The Youngest, Soon-to-be-Middles' first grade teacher that he will be getting an award tomorrow. His first ever award. For the kid who gets suspended more frequently than Elmo says, "Ohhh, that tickles!" Notices were supposed to be sent home days ago and weren't. And I can't be there. I'll be having surgery. Crap. No, double crap. With corn in it!
So I lock myself in my bathroom for a good round of nearly hysterical, pregnancy hormone induced, life is not fair, oh the injustice of it all sobbing. My little fireball of sunshine and dynamite is getting an award and his Mommy should be there to see him get it. I think about calling The Beloved, but realise that my hysterical crying is only going to alarm him. He won't understand a word I'm saying and he will rush 90 miles at 110 miles an hour, to leave work to get to me. And the whole reason he's at work tonight is so he can be home early tomorrow to take care of me without irritating The Boss too much when he takes two days off for the amniocentesis. Bosses are like that, ya know...they expect their employees to actually show up and work. If the Dear Daddy can't be in two places at one time, I really shouldn't ask him to try for three...So there's little else to do except to continue sobbing hysterically...unless...
A few frantic phone calls later and not only will The Other Mommy be there to see the fireball beam with pride, but Grandma Emmie will be there too! Okay, so life is good again. If I can't be there to cheer on my son, he will still have his own cheer leading squad! He's already worried about The Mommy going to The Big Hopspittle to have AN OPERATION for crying out loud, and I'm worried that his obvious conclusion will be that I'm not there because I died. The Other Mommy and Grandma Emmie will be there to convince him otherwise. I will explain it to him, but he will still forget between now and tomorrow. God bless Grandma Emmie and The Other Mommy!
So I lock myself in my bathroom for a good round of nearly hysterical, pregnancy hormone induced, life is not fair, oh the injustice of it all sobbing. My little fireball of sunshine and dynamite is getting an award and his Mommy should be there to see him get it. I think about calling The Beloved, but realise that my hysterical crying is only going to alarm him. He won't understand a word I'm saying and he will rush 90 miles at 110 miles an hour, to leave work to get to me. And the whole reason he's at work tonight is so he can be home early tomorrow to take care of me without irritating The Boss too much when he takes two days off for the amniocentesis. Bosses are like that, ya know...they expect their employees to actually show up and work. If the Dear Daddy can't be in two places at one time, I really shouldn't ask him to try for three...So there's little else to do except to continue sobbing hysterically...unless...
A few frantic phone calls later and not only will The Other Mommy be there to see the fireball beam with pride, but Grandma Emmie will be there too! Okay, so life is good again. If I can't be there to cheer on my son, he will still have his own cheer leading squad! He's already worried about The Mommy going to The Big Hopspittle to have AN OPERATION for crying out loud, and I'm worried that his obvious conclusion will be that I'm not there because I died. The Other Mommy and Grandma Emmie will be there to convince him otherwise. I will explain it to him, but he will still forget between now and tomorrow. God bless Grandma Emmie and The Other Mommy!
Friday, June 12, 2009
Pre-registration
I went to the hospital today to preregister and get my blood drawn for the stitch placement in a few days. I am extremely mindful that the last time I went through these exact same steps, it was to complete the process of saying good bye to Hannah. Before. I pray to God above that I won't have to repeat these same steps again anytime soon. Talk about 'once bitten, twice shy.'
I bought stamps yesterday, so in a show of faith, today I addressed all of the envelopes for the pregnancy announcements and put stamps and return labels on them. I played with the text a little bit, but I'm still waiting for the amnio results until I send them. No matter what that stupid gender predictor test for $29.99 + tax said.
I bought stamps yesterday, so in a show of faith, today I addressed all of the envelopes for the pregnancy announcements and put stamps and return labels on them. I played with the text a little bit, but I'm still waiting for the amnio results until I send them. No matter what that stupid gender predictor test for $29.99 + tax said.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Movement!
Tonight again I felt very hard and distinct kicking! This baby is apparently going to be a night owl. Now if I could just get over my nagging fear of miscarriage...
I went to the PHC again today and met Dr RF. The gal at Dr JF's office said he was warm, but I didn't really feel that from him. I liked Dr ER and Dr ER did NOT renew his contract. So, Dr RF will be doing my stitch. It will be June 15th...just four days away. I am his first case of the day and I'll have to be at the big hospital at 5:30 am. It's every bit as frightening as it was when I went through this same procedure with my other pregnancies to make both of The Littles stay put. I think I'm more scared now. The odds of me even being pregnant are phenomenal, and of staying pregnant to 15 weeks even more so. What are the odds that Baby and I can get through this stitch without one of us dying?
My labs were all slightly off. Not severely. Slightly. Dr RF increased my Methydopa to 500 mg three times a day. And my iron dose got increased. Crap!
I went to the PHC again today and met Dr RF. The gal at Dr JF's office said he was warm, but I didn't really feel that from him. I liked Dr ER and Dr ER did NOT renew his contract. So, Dr RF will be doing my stitch. It will be June 15th...just four days away. I am his first case of the day and I'll have to be at the big hospital at 5:30 am. It's every bit as frightening as it was when I went through this same procedure with my other pregnancies to make both of The Littles stay put. I think I'm more scared now. The odds of me even being pregnant are phenomenal, and of staying pregnant to 15 weeks even more so. What are the odds that Baby and I can get through this stitch without one of us dying?
My labs were all slightly off. Not severely. Slightly. Dr RF increased my Methydopa to 500 mg three times a day. And my iron dose got increased. Crap!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Test Results
Well the gender test says it's a boy! I'll still wait for the amnio results to print the announcements.
Tonight "he" was hiding from me. It took forever to locate his heartbeat but with persistence I finally found it. I'm really puffy tonight. Even my fingers and arms are tight. I'm sure I'll feel better after I sleep for a while. I'm trying to imagine what The Newest will look like. Will he be fair and blue eyed like our son or have dark hair and eyes like our daughter?
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Screaming It to the Neighbors
Tonight when we were getting home from errands, the neighbor and friend was also getting home. As I was putting the key into the front door I heard The Youngest beller to the neighbor,"Hey guess what? My Mom's having a baby!" So of course I went over to chat with her for a few minutes. She was surprised and happy for us and full of well wishes. I have to admit that it was great to finally tell someone!
Earlier this afternoon I was browsing the aol news clips and saw an ad for early gender prediction kits. I tracked one down at the local Walgreen's for $29.99 and went right out to buy it. It's a bummer that I have to use first morning pee. I want to find out right now!
The gardener was here today and started on our backyard. He'll remove all the weeds, kill all the vegetation, rototiller and take out the rickety old swing set. Then he'll fix all the sprinklers and level it. Once that's done, The Beloved will go get soil amendment so the gardener can seed the yard. I'd planned on doing this myself over the spring, but there was a change of plans with this pregnancy. Oh well...I think I can get over the idea and enjoy not doing that job! The last step in the project will be getting a new swing set. Next summer there will be 3 Littles out there playing on it!
Earlier this afternoon I was browsing the aol news clips and saw an ad for early gender prediction kits. I tracked one down at the local Walgreen's for $29.99 and went right out to buy it. It's a bummer that I have to use first morning pee. I want to find out right now!
The gardener was here today and started on our backyard. He'll remove all the weeds, kill all the vegetation, rototiller and take out the rickety old swing set. Then he'll fix all the sprinklers and level it. Once that's done, The Beloved will go get soil amendment so the gardener can seed the yard. I'd planned on doing this myself over the spring, but there was a change of plans with this pregnancy. Oh well...I think I can get over the idea and enjoy not doing that job! The last step in the project will be getting a new swing set. Next summer there will be 3 Littles out there playing on it!
Sunday, June 7, 2009
14 weeks
Wow. 14 weeks. I keep having to constantly reassure myself that I'm still pregnant. I know I worried about miscarriage before, but I don't remember it being such a relentless fear. This starts my second trimester! I'd thought I'd tell more people after my last visit with Dr S, but now I'm pretty sure I'll wait until the dangers of the amnio are done and over with. By then I'll already have healed from the stitch placement. I've ordered and received all the printer cartridges to print the pregnancy announcements, and I've even bought the cards. All I have to get now are stamps. I even printed labels for the outside of the envelopes. They're just our return address and a pretty bunch of roses and lavender. I didn't put a baby theme on the labels like with the Littles pregnancy announcements because I don't want the recipient to know what's inside until they read it. A little drama to make up for my weeks - no months - of self imposed silence. Besides, with both of the Little's pregnancies, everyone knew we were trying to get pregnant, and this time they can share in our deep surprise. I just wish I could shake this feeling of being scared witless.
I can usually find the baby's heartbeat pretty quickly these days. He/she is still hanging out very low on my right side, just above the pubic bone. It's always a wonderful sound to hear! I just wish the stitch and amnio were over with already. I'm not so afraid of the amnio results. We will keep the baby no matter what. I'm really afraid of the possibility of miscarriage from both of those procedures. I try to reason with myself that "we" both made it through okay with both of the Little's' pregnancies. I find myself praying a lot these days.
I'm supposed to be feeling better as I enter the second trimester, but instead I'm feeling fatigued again. I think I need some exercises. And hungry! Oh boy do I wake up from naps starving! I've also seen a return for at least part of the day of those nasty headaches. Those really suck, but I find they ease significantly and sometimes go away entirely if I eat.
Tonight when The Youngest planted one of his frequent kisses on my belly he said again, "I love you baby!" I tell him that the baby loves him too. This evening he said, "I'm going to get some milk to pour down your throat so the baby can feel refreshed!" He's such a funny and sweet little boy. The Oldest still says often that she's still so surprised that I'm having another baby. I smile and say, "So am I sweetheart." The Youngest wants a baby brother but the girls of the house are rooting for pink!
I just wish I weren't still so scared witless.
I can usually find the baby's heartbeat pretty quickly these days. He/she is still hanging out very low on my right side, just above the pubic bone. It's always a wonderful sound to hear! I just wish the stitch and amnio were over with already. I'm not so afraid of the amnio results. We will keep the baby no matter what. I'm really afraid of the possibility of miscarriage from both of those procedures. I try to reason with myself that "we" both made it through okay with both of the Little's' pregnancies. I find myself praying a lot these days.
I'm supposed to be feeling better as I enter the second trimester, but instead I'm feeling fatigued again. I think I need some exercises. And hungry! Oh boy do I wake up from naps starving! I've also seen a return for at least part of the day of those nasty headaches. Those really suck, but I find they ease significantly and sometimes go away entirely if I eat.
Tonight when The Youngest planted one of his frequent kisses on my belly he said again, "I love you baby!" I tell him that the baby loves him too. This evening he said, "I'm going to get some milk to pour down your throat so the baby can feel refreshed!" He's such a funny and sweet little boy. The Oldest still says often that she's still so surprised that I'm having another baby. I smile and say, "So am I sweetheart." The Youngest wants a baby brother but the girls of the house are rooting for pink!
I just wish I weren't still so scared witless.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Anniversary
Today The Beloved and I celebrate our 23rd year together. Wow. It's been a an amazing journey, and to be honest, we are both still reeling from this latest adventure we find ourselves on. We're still walking on eggshells. Ordinarily we'd get a sitter for The Littles, but The Oldest has a new passion for crab legs and will do anything to get them. So we packed all up and trekked out to Red Lobster with the kids in tow. The Beloved asked quietly, "Is it okay for you eat sea food? You know, with the baby in there?" It's progress.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
More Spotting, More Devotions, and a Date
I spotted the day after my last ultrasound and again yesterday morning. I was extremely anxious to get the kids off to school and get home so that I could stretch out on the couch with the Doppler. It's an amazingly reassuring sound to hear that rapid thunk-thunk-thunk! I spoke with Dr S and assured him that there was no cramping or pain. He said to use my judgment about going to the hopspittle or not. He scheduled me for the amniocentesis on June 24th.
The Youngest has taken to kissing my tummy quite often and patting it with his small hands. One morning he announced that he wanted to "Sing a cheerful song to the baby!" So he did! Later in the evening I felt a distinct hard kick! Amazing and wonderful!
The Youngest has taken to kissing my tummy quite often and patting it with his small hands. One morning he announced that he wanted to "Sing a cheerful song to the baby!" So he did! Later in the evening I felt a distinct hard kick! Amazing and wonderful!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Proclamations and Maternity Clothes
Today the Youngest announced to my belly "I know you're in there baby and soon you will be able to come out! I love you, Baby!" Then he kissed and hugged my belly. For all his wildness and willfulness, he is a sweet boy.
I wore maternity clothes today. I can't say that I look pregnant, but I am certainly showing if you'd seen me just 2 months ago. Maternity clothes are certainly more comfortable than regular clothes. Meanwhile the Maternity Underwear War rages on. I've still had no luck!
I wore maternity clothes today. I can't say that I look pregnant, but I am certainly showing if you'd seen me just 2 months ago. Maternity clothes are certainly more comfortable than regular clothes. Meanwhile the Maternity Underwear War rages on. I've still had no luck!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Telling The Youngest, Soon-To-Be-Middle
Well, we told The Youngest this afternoon. The Oldest and I were side by side and he'd been over hearing things we'd said to each other. He suspected and said as much, so I said, "Yes it's true. Mommy is going to have a baby!" He jumped up and down and clapped his hands. Later he kissed my tummy and said, "I love you baby!"
I finally decided to take the tags of the maternity clothes and get them washed. It's a bold step, but I am 13 weeks along tomorrow, so I've decided to stop walking on eggshells and commit emotionally to this pregnancy. I keep saying to myself, "I'll breath easier when..." I'm still afraid of the pain of loss, but tomorow marks the last week of my first trimester.
The Oldest has vowed to lift or move anything too heavy for me. She keeps saying she can hardly believe this is happening. She continues to say she is happy about it. Today I could finally hear the baby's heartbeat clearly enough with the Doppler to pass the ear pieces to The Oldest. It was nice that she finally got to hear it and really fun for me when her eyes lit up! The Youngest, with all of his "isms" was too creeped out by the whole idea of hearing the baby from the inside to have a go at listening.
I finally decided to take the tags of the maternity clothes and get them washed. It's a bold step, but I am 13 weeks along tomorrow, so I've decided to stop walking on eggshells and commit emotionally to this pregnancy. I keep saying to myself, "I'll breath easier when..." I'm still afraid of the pain of loss, but tomorow marks the last week of my first trimester.
The Oldest has vowed to lift or move anything too heavy for me. She keeps saying she can hardly believe this is happening. She continues to say she is happy about it. Today I could finally hear the baby's heartbeat clearly enough with the Doppler to pass the ear pieces to The Oldest. It was nice that she finally got to hear it and really fun for me when her eyes lit up! The Youngest, with all of his "isms" was too creeped out by the whole idea of hearing the baby from the inside to have a go at listening.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Maternity Clothes and the Beloved Dr S
I bought a few pieces of maternity clothing today. A few pair of shorts and some belly shirts. I haven't taken the tags off yet. That's too big of a step so far. I have yet to locate affordable belly undies so I've had to content myself with buying my usual panties in the next size up. At least it doesn't cut off my circulation at the groin. At this early stage I am already so swollen that sitting on the toity for more than a minute has my right leg going numb. Then the shooting pains and tingles start. It's really rather difficult to pee when you have to balance on a narrow seat with one leg stuck straight out in front!
I took The Youngest over to visit The Other Mommy and then set out with The Oldest for Dr S's office. I'd been telling her for a week that she and I were going on a special field trip, just she and I. She was thinking Magic Mountain or Lego Land and I kept telling her that it wasn't anything wildly fun like that, and that it was right here in town, so not to get her hopes up. It was going to be special, just not a wildly fun and exciting thing.
I pulled into the medical complex and she asked "This is where we're going? But you don't work here anymore." I say yes, we're going in to that building over there, and no I don't work here anymore. We get all the way into the doctors office waiting room and sit down. There are baby related magazines everywhere, but she still hasn't caught on. She asks a few more questions. Are you dying? No. Are you sick? No. Why are we here? You'll see in a little while.
Then a lady comes out with a long strip of ultra-sound prints. The Oldest looks at the prints and recognition sets in. She's seen these fuzzy black and white photo strips before. She turns to me all squinty eyed and proclaims, "You are sneaky! You are very, very sneaky!" But there's a smile trying to break through that accusing look!
The gal calls us in before there are any more questions from The Oldest. I drop my drawers and hop onto the table and the tech gets right to work smearing my belly with goo and sliding the probe around. I show The Oldest what to look for on the big LCD screen above the exam table, describing body parts of her newly discovered baby brother or sister. The tech puts audio up so she can hear the heartbeat with the jumping yellow line. She's looking at the screen and I am looking at her. I think she's going to cry. Her eyes are all watery and about to spill over. Instead, she lays her cheek next to mine and says simply, "Oh Mommy!"
Then Dr S comes in and he tries very hard to see the nuchal fold behind the baby's neck. He can't get it because the baby is active but will not turn to show the space. We discuss the test and I opt not to have it because the accuracy isn't that good. I'd planned on having an amnio anyway, so why wait weeks in fear for false results. I should have been alarmed that he was so intent on getting the baby to move. He repeatedly bounced the probe on my belly trying to get him to move. Then he'd go on to something else, describe what he was looking at for the The Oldest, and then go back to try to see that nuchal space again. I think my beloved Dr S already suspected that there was a secret Our Newest was hiding. He said the heart rate was just fine and that there was no immediate concern for the baby's well being. I've had only a minor weight gain. He says he wants the stitch placed within two weeks and the amnio done in four weeks. It's sooner rather than later, but he said we want to proceed with the utmost caution and he feels sooner is best. I'll be 14 1/2 weeks for the stitch, 16 1/2 weeks for the amnio.
We left with pictures of the baby and drove through McDonald's for ice cream cones. She has more questions. Does Daddy know about this? Who else knows? Are you excited? I can't believe you're pregnant Mom! I knew it! I just knew it. You lied to me! So I pull over into a parking spot and explain about losing Hannah. I tell her quite honestly that we didn't want her to know about this baby in case he or she didn't make it. She's satisfied with the answer and goes on to say several more times, "I just can't believe you're pregnant!" We went to pick up The Youngest and got home right as The Dear Daddy was getting home. Of course she was anxious to show The Dear Daddy the pictures, but she also wanted to keep our little secret from the Youngest for a little while. She was just about to bust before she got to show them to him!
I took The Youngest over to visit The Other Mommy and then set out with The Oldest for Dr S's office. I'd been telling her for a week that she and I were going on a special field trip, just she and I. She was thinking Magic Mountain or Lego Land and I kept telling her that it wasn't anything wildly fun like that, and that it was right here in town, so not to get her hopes up. It was going to be special, just not a wildly fun and exciting thing.
I pulled into the medical complex and she asked "This is where we're going? But you don't work here anymore." I say yes, we're going in to that building over there, and no I don't work here anymore. We get all the way into the doctors office waiting room and sit down. There are baby related magazines everywhere, but she still hasn't caught on. She asks a few more questions. Are you dying? No. Are you sick? No. Why are we here? You'll see in a little while.
Then a lady comes out with a long strip of ultra-sound prints. The Oldest looks at the prints and recognition sets in. She's seen these fuzzy black and white photo strips before. She turns to me all squinty eyed and proclaims, "You are sneaky! You are very, very sneaky!" But there's a smile trying to break through that accusing look!
The gal calls us in before there are any more questions from The Oldest. I drop my drawers and hop onto the table and the tech gets right to work smearing my belly with goo and sliding the probe around. I show The Oldest what to look for on the big LCD screen above the exam table, describing body parts of her newly discovered baby brother or sister. The tech puts audio up so she can hear the heartbeat with the jumping yellow line. She's looking at the screen and I am looking at her. I think she's going to cry. Her eyes are all watery and about to spill over. Instead, she lays her cheek next to mine and says simply, "Oh Mommy!"
Then Dr S comes in and he tries very hard to see the nuchal fold behind the baby's neck. He can't get it because the baby is active but will not turn to show the space. We discuss the test and I opt not to have it because the accuracy isn't that good. I'd planned on having an amnio anyway, so why wait weeks in fear for false results. I should have been alarmed that he was so intent on getting the baby to move. He repeatedly bounced the probe on my belly trying to get him to move. Then he'd go on to something else, describe what he was looking at for the The Oldest, and then go back to try to see that nuchal space again. I think my beloved Dr S already suspected that there was a secret Our Newest was hiding. He said the heart rate was just fine and that there was no immediate concern for the baby's well being. I've had only a minor weight gain. He says he wants the stitch placed within two weeks and the amnio done in four weeks. It's sooner rather than later, but he said we want to proceed with the utmost caution and he feels sooner is best. I'll be 14 1/2 weeks for the stitch, 16 1/2 weeks for the amnio.
We left with pictures of the baby and drove through McDonald's for ice cream cones. She has more questions. Does Daddy know about this? Who else knows? Are you excited? I can't believe you're pregnant Mom! I knew it! I just knew it. You lied to me! So I pull over into a parking spot and explain about losing Hannah. I tell her quite honestly that we didn't want her to know about this baby in case he or she didn't make it. She's satisfied with the answer and goes on to say several more times, "I just can't believe you're pregnant!" We went to pick up The Youngest and got home right as The Dear Daddy was getting home. Of course she was anxious to show The Dear Daddy the pictures, but she also wanted to keep our little secret from the Youngest for a little while. She was just about to bust before she got to show them to him!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day
The Littles and I are in full swing preparing a barbecue by the time The Dear Daddy gets home. We have hot dogs and burgers on the grill, and chips and dip and baked beans and all the fixin's for a Memorial Day feast.
The Littles are in the house playing and The Dear Daddy joins me at the grill. He's ready to talk. He doesn't know if this pregnancy is a good idea. And for good reasons. There's my age for one. And we already have two high needs kids, and how will a new baby take away from meeting their needs. There's a financial concern. How are we going to manage the expense of another baby? What if this one also has autism? And retirement? If the Littles stay home while they go to college we were looking at a retirement age in our early 60's. If the new one goes to college we were looking at the 70's at the earliest. And what about The Other? Could we really stand to lose this one after we'd been through the hell of losing The Other? And my health. I'd had a stroke less than 6 months ago. The Dear Daddy says he can't stand the thought of losing me. And what about The Littles? They need their Mom. How will he know how to raise them if I die? And what if I die in childbirth and leave a new baby? What then? I was glad he was finally talking, but it did little to reassure me. Still, it was really good that he was finally willing to talk.
The Littles are in the house playing and The Dear Daddy joins me at the grill. He's ready to talk. He doesn't know if this pregnancy is a good idea. And for good reasons. There's my age for one. And we already have two high needs kids, and how will a new baby take away from meeting their needs. There's a financial concern. How are we going to manage the expense of another baby? What if this one also has autism? And retirement? If the Littles stay home while they go to college we were looking at a retirement age in our early 60's. If the new one goes to college we were looking at the 70's at the earliest. And what about The Other? Could we really stand to lose this one after we'd been through the hell of losing The Other? And my health. I'd had a stroke less than 6 months ago. The Dear Daddy says he can't stand the thought of losing me. And what about The Littles? They need their Mom. How will he know how to raise them if I die? And what if I die in childbirth and leave a new baby? What then? I was glad he was finally talking, but it did little to reassure me. Still, it was really good that he was finally willing to talk.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
12 weeks
Wow, 12 weeks! I'm still feeling pretty well. Some of the fatigue has dissipated. The Titty Fairy has definitely been a visiting! They are quite tender but I've had extremely little nausea. My appetite is intense. I wake up hungry. I first noticed my appetite about a month ago. I'm eating 3 nutritious meals a day, plus having a high protein snack several times a day. And orange juice is my new favorite drink of all time! I'm still listening by Doppler twice a day, sometimes more. Sometimes I hear it immediately, a reassuring sound, and other times I have to really hunt for it. I can usually hear movement, and now and then I can feel distinct movement while I'm listening to the baby moving! This baby is really active, more so than The Oldest or The Youngest. Sometimes it seems that I can see the Doppler rise a little when Newest kicks against it. And the spotting has not resumed. Maybe we'll make it. I'm still fighting against embracing a surge of hope. I still pray many times a day to God that He will keep my baby safe. I have a nagging fear of chromosomal abnormalities, given my age. That was the reason for "Well..." upon learning that we were having another baby. That is the most likely cause for Hannah's early loss. So when I think about the baby I also send a prayer up. I beg God to keep the baby safe and free from abnormalities. I tell Him that I will still love the baby no matter what, but I cannot say the words or even think them...so I beg God to make the baby healthy. This goes on about a million times a day.
I've glanced at baby furniture a few times and I am strictly avoiding baby clothing. Returning the stuff I'd bought for Hannah was just too much to experience again if things don't go well. But still, I am 12 weeks along today, and that is a good thing. I've still had no luck finding maternity undies. I may have to resort to those huge pairs of Granny Panties that you find in large bins in the ladies department. They never come in cotton though, it seems like I've only even seen them in nylon. My right leg is actually getting numb from the undies being too tight at the groin. I'm puffed up like a blow fish from the waste down and the Underwear War is starting to have alarming implications.
I've glanced at baby furniture a few times and I am strictly avoiding baby clothing. Returning the stuff I'd bought for Hannah was just too much to experience again if things don't go well. But still, I am 12 weeks along today, and that is a good thing. I've still had no luck finding maternity undies. I may have to resort to those huge pairs of Granny Panties that you find in large bins in the ladies department. They never come in cotton though, it seems like I've only even seen them in nylon. My right leg is actually getting numb from the undies being too tight at the groin. I'm puffed up like a blow fish from the waste down and the Underwear War is starting to have alarming implications.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Lab work and The Underwear Wars
First thing after the Kidlets are off to school I go out early to get my labs drawn and to drop off the first of many 24 hour urine tests in two huge, heavy, ugly orange containers. I'd been expecting to have to do a 24 hour urine test with this pregnancy. I'd had to do two of them with The Youngest. Funny story...I was pregnant with The Youngest and The Oldest was curious about the big ugly container sitting in ice in a bucket in the bathroom. She was fascinated with the process of watching me pee in a cup - no potty privacy with toddlers - and then pour it into the big ugly container. Little did I know that she was really paying close attention. Later when she went to use the bathroom I went to check on her because she was taking just a little too long and she was being just a little too quiet. I rounded the corner just in time to see her pour her pee-pee from the cup into the big orange container. She looked up proudly and grinned. "I'm helping!" she announced!
After I dropped off the pee containers and got stuck with needles I hit the local stores to try to engage the enemy in The Underwear Wars. My underwear are driving me nuts. I'd finally thrown out the comfy maternity underwear when The Youngest was about 5 years old. I had a bunch of them and they were in good shape and comfy. As long as The Dear Daddy didn't see me in them, there was no point in tossing them out. But after my first 30 pounds fell off, they were no longer comfy. Just bunchy and wrinkly under my clothing. So I bought undies that actually fit and still covered my caboose and tossed the old friendly maternity undies. Dang I regret that day! They were like old friends, those undies. They'd been brand spanking new and a funny joke through my pregnancy with the Oldest and I'd kept them to wear with the Youngest. Seriously, I had a million pair of maternity undies so they really were in great shape. But if I hadn't tossed them with the first 30 pounds, surely I would have tossed them with the final 40 pounds. Now I was on a quest to replace them.
Only no body carries maternity underwear any more. No body. Not Wal-Mart, not K-Mart, not Target. JC Penney had them via catalogue only and they were available in packages of 3 pair for $18.00! Plus shipping and handling! At this rate I could afford to buy 3 pair and wear them throughout the pregnancy and hope I never lost a pair. This wouldn't do. Anyone who's ever even thought about being pregnant knows you change undies about 20 times a day. No, this would not do! I started scouring discount places like Big Lots! and Burlington Coat Factory, Ross and the like. No luck. Did you know that you can buy intimate apparel like underwear at Goodwill? I didn't either. Neither was I willing to place onto my body any clothing article that had already been that close to someone else's 'parts.' I had to find a solution. I trolled the online specialty maternity stores looking for belly undies. Oh now really? $34.00 for ONE pair of maternity underwear? Are you serious? Yes, they were serious. Crap!
A bit of good news is that I haven't spotted for the last few days. I've done at least four pee tests since I first found out. I guess I will stop with that madness finally.
After I dropped off the pee containers and got stuck with needles I hit the local stores to try to engage the enemy in The Underwear Wars. My underwear are driving me nuts. I'd finally thrown out the comfy maternity underwear when The Youngest was about 5 years old. I had a bunch of them and they were in good shape and comfy. As long as The Dear Daddy didn't see me in them, there was no point in tossing them out. But after my first 30 pounds fell off, they were no longer comfy. Just bunchy and wrinkly under my clothing. So I bought undies that actually fit and still covered my caboose and tossed the old friendly maternity undies. Dang I regret that day! They were like old friends, those undies. They'd been brand spanking new and a funny joke through my pregnancy with the Oldest and I'd kept them to wear with the Youngest. Seriously, I had a million pair of maternity undies so they really were in great shape. But if I hadn't tossed them with the first 30 pounds, surely I would have tossed them with the final 40 pounds. Now I was on a quest to replace them.
Only no body carries maternity underwear any more. No body. Not Wal-Mart, not K-Mart, not Target. JC Penney had them via catalogue only and they were available in packages of 3 pair for $18.00! Plus shipping and handling! At this rate I could afford to buy 3 pair and wear them throughout the pregnancy and hope I never lost a pair. This wouldn't do. Anyone who's ever even thought about being pregnant knows you change undies about 20 times a day. No, this would not do! I started scouring discount places like Big Lots! and Burlington Coat Factory, Ross and the like. No luck. Did you know that you can buy intimate apparel like underwear at Goodwill? I didn't either. Neither was I willing to place onto my body any clothing article that had already been that close to someone else's 'parts.' I had to find a solution. I trolled the online specialty maternity stores looking for belly undies. Oh now really? $34.00 for ONE pair of maternity underwear? Are you serious? Yes, they were serious. Crap!
A bit of good news is that I haven't spotted for the last few days. I've done at least four pee tests since I first found out. I guess I will stop with that madness finally.
Friday, May 15, 2009
FHT's!
I finally was able to hear Fetal Heart Tones today! It was a wonderful sound alone in my bed in a dark room so I could really concentrate. I've felt really isolated since I've told so few people about this baby, and I'm not out in the workplace with other adults to be around. The Dear Daddy refuses to discuss anything right now. He says it's too soon. He reminds me how devastated we were before. And I am still spotting.
The Doppler
I have in my possession a Doppler. A good one. I won't say how it came to be in my possession, only that it was given to me by someone who also should not have had access to that good of a quality Doppler. And now that I know where to listen, I listened. Twenty frustrating minutes later, all I've been able to locate are my own uterine thrill and a high pitched high speed oscillating sound at about 170 OPM. Dang.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Second visit to the PNC
I go to the PNC and first thing I do is a glucose tolerance test. It's awful. It's orange flavored and burns the back of my throat. By the time I sit there for an hour to have my blood drawn, the awful orange goop has given me a raging headache. Then I go out to wait with every one else in the waiting room. I sit there for about another hour this time. Not too bad. I'd sat for much longer waiting to see the very popular doctor who delivered The Oldest. Then they call me in. I pee in a cup. They say my BP is too high. I again show them the pitting edema up to my mid-thigh. I hop on the scale and the gal weighs me. I can't believe what I'm looking at. I step off the scale to be sure I am seeing correctly. I move the weights back to zero myself. It's level. I get back on and start moving the weights and get the same number I had before. I've gained 9 pounds over night. OVERNIGHT! I tell the nurse taking the vitals that I've gained 9 pounds over night. She says that cannot be. She looks for my previous days' weight. She says that maybe the previous days' weight was wrong. She has Dr JF's report with my weight clearly stated. Even if yesterdays weight was wrong, that's still an 18 pound weight gain in 2 weeks. Crap! I'm sent out to the waiting room again until they call me in to see the NP.
Next I see the NP who takes a full and thorough history, again with the whole drawn out explanation of my BP, then a thorough exam. Then I see Dr ER and instantly like him. This whole PHC thing isn't too bad. He finds the baby's' heartbeat and lets me listen, even though the NP already did that. It's 170. He says that if Dr S couldn't find the source of the spotting I'm still having, he doubted that he'd be able to locate it. He goes over my history and really listens to me about my concerns. I really like him. We decide I should have another cervical stitch, just like my other pregnancies, and that he will do the procedure. He has Dr S's report and agrees with the baby aspirin every day and recommends an amniocentesis. He also tells me that the NP heard bilateral carotid bruits, and agrees that I should be on bed rest, if not for that, then the spotting. Then I'm sent out to wait again.
And again I get called in and walked down the hall to see the gal who goes over Dr ER's findings. She gives me a bottle of prenatal vitamins and several lab orders. Dr ER increased my Methyldopa to 500 mg twice a day. I tell her that Dr ER says he'll do my cervical stitch at 16 weeks. She tells me that he hasn't renewed his contract with the PHC so she doubts that he will be the one doing it. Crap!
Next I see the NP who takes a full and thorough history, again with the whole drawn out explanation of my BP, then a thorough exam. Then I see Dr ER and instantly like him. This whole PHC thing isn't too bad. He finds the baby's' heartbeat and lets me listen, even though the NP already did that. It's 170. He says that if Dr S couldn't find the source of the spotting I'm still having, he doubted that he'd be able to locate it. He goes over my history and really listens to me about my concerns. I really like him. We decide I should have another cervical stitch, just like my other pregnancies, and that he will do the procedure. He has Dr S's report and agrees with the baby aspirin every day and recommends an amniocentesis. He also tells me that the NP heard bilateral carotid bruits, and agrees that I should be on bed rest, if not for that, then the spotting. Then I'm sent out to wait again.
And again I get called in and walked down the hall to see the gal who goes over Dr ER's findings. She gives me a bottle of prenatal vitamins and several lab orders. Dr ER increased my Methyldopa to 500 mg twice a day. I tell her that Dr ER says he'll do my cervical stitch at 16 weeks. She tells me that he hasn't renewed his contract with the PHC so she doubts that he will be the one doing it. Crap!
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
First PNC Visit at the PHC
So today I go for my first PNC visit. It takes forever of course. I pee in a cup. I fill out papers. I get weighed. I weigh 9 pounds more than I did at Dr F's just 13 days ago. They say my blood pressure is too high. I show them that I have pitting edema up to my mid-thigh and tell them it started right after I started taking the Methyldopa. Was I hypertensive before? I explain to no less than 3 people that I was hypertensive but have lost 70 pounds over the last three years and the wonderful Dr JF stopped my BP meds two years previously because I didn't need them any longer. The gal taking my history says that the first available doctor's visit isn't until early June. Then she takes my history. Then she decides that I'd better come back tomorrow morning to see the doctor. Okay then!
Monday, May 4, 2009
Grandparents
My 'adoptive' parents are visiting from their new home in Idaho. They've been Mom and Dad since shortly after The Oldest was born, in a comfortable progression that went from Aunt L and Uncle J to Grammy and Grandpa. It wasn't long before they were including me in their batch of kids and my daughter in their batch of grand kids. And I really want to tell them the news but I don't. For one thing, the kids are at the table and I can't think of a discreet way to say it that the kids won't understand. We're in a crowded noisy restaurant for another. And it's a whole group people there besides Mom and Dad. And I'm still bleeding. Why tell them this news if I'm only going to have to tell them different news later? To the inquiries as to why I am not working, I have replied in an almost truth. I am off work right now until I can get my blood pressure under control. That is the truth, but it is not the whole truth. There is that matter of a small stroke I had the previous November. Coupled with that and my giant calves and thighs and the lie is plausible. I just can't put myself through that awful experience again of telling everyone that our baby has died. And since I am still bleeding, it is just better to wait. The pregnancy can be my secret for a little longer. At least until I am more sure about the pregnancy surviving to become The Newest.
Not telling the whole truth is sometimes different than outright lying. Like I did with the kids recently. The Littles came into my bedroom. The Oldest says in a very mature fashion, "Are you having another child?" I divert my glance and continue dusting my room. And I lie. "Honey, Mommy and Daddy are too old to be having babies." And it's true. We are too old! The Youngest is no longer interested and goes off to play with his toys. The Oldest is still not convinced. She says that the bottle of vitamins I take every day has the word PREGNANT on it.
Okay...think fast. Send a silent plea to all the pathological liars that my bloodline has been graced with. I go get the bottle of vitamins and the bottle of Methyldopa. I explain that the BP medicine depletes a vital element that women need, and that vital element can only be found in prenatal vitamins. I even show her the tiny print that says how much folate is in the prenatal vitamins. And I lie through my teeth again. "Honey, Mommy is 44 years old. That's too old to be having babies." She is satisfied with this answer and I send a silent vow to eat something chocolate and decadent in homage and thanks to The Pathological Liars. The oldest leaves to go play and I breath easier. Dodged the bullet for now.
I really did want to tell The Littles. I wanted them to be excited and to feel their excitement. I wanted their excitement to infect me and replace this awful feeling of dread, of always holding my breath. I wanted to feel happy. With The Dear Daddy still not willing to talk about anything, I really don't want The Littles bombarding him with talk of another baby. A baby who might not live. There was a very good reason we hadn't told The Littles about Hannah. Yes, better to wait.
Not telling the whole truth is sometimes different than outright lying. Like I did with the kids recently. The Littles came into my bedroom. The Oldest says in a very mature fashion, "Are you having another child?" I divert my glance and continue dusting my room. And I lie. "Honey, Mommy and Daddy are too old to be having babies." And it's true. We are too old! The Youngest is no longer interested and goes off to play with his toys. The Oldest is still not convinced. She says that the bottle of vitamins I take every day has the word PREGNANT on it.
Okay...think fast. Send a silent plea to all the pathological liars that my bloodline has been graced with. I go get the bottle of vitamins and the bottle of Methyldopa. I explain that the BP medicine depletes a vital element that women need, and that vital element can only be found in prenatal vitamins. I even show her the tiny print that says how much folate is in the prenatal vitamins. And I lie through my teeth again. "Honey, Mommy is 44 years old. That's too old to be having babies." She is satisfied with this answer and I send a silent vow to eat something chocolate and decadent in homage and thanks to The Pathological Liars. The oldest leaves to go play and I breath easier. Dodged the bullet for now.
I really did want to tell The Littles. I wanted them to be excited and to feel their excitement. I wanted their excitement to infect me and replace this awful feeling of dread, of always holding my breath. I wanted to feel happy. With The Dear Daddy still not willing to talk about anything, I really don't want The Littles bombarding him with talk of another baby. A baby who might not live. There was a very good reason we hadn't told The Littles about Hannah. Yes, better to wait.
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