Category Archives: Pregnant… AGAIN?!

PREGNANCY PALS

I had a Pregnancy Pal when I was pregnant with XBoy. We didn’t start off as friends who had planned pregnancies at the same time. Instead we had met during our late 2nd trimesters at the YMCA where we both were taking the swim class. We even worked for the same company, but had never met since we worked on different campuses.

Pregnancy Pal and I were due within a week of each other in December 2001. We both were going through our first pregnancies. She was in her late-20s. I was in my early-30s. Looking at us as we climbed out of the pool you might have thought she was at least 8 weeks behind me as her bump was just that – a bump – whereas I bulged.

We became good friends.

Her son was born at the end of November. I remember coming to visit her and her baby and holding him and marveling at how small he was. Less than a week later, I delivered XBoy.

During the first couple of years, all four of us spent a lot of time together. We compared milestones in both our babies’ lives and our own. We dressed them similarly for holidays and took pictures. Soon we were talking about having our second children. Early summer 2004, she announced she was pregnant. By the end of August, I told her I was, too. We were again Pregnancy Pals.

I specifically remember how we packed up the now three-year-old boys in my SUV and made a trip to The Metro for a day at the zoo, something we had done the year before together. The boys were in the second row trying to outdo each other in noise levels, silliness, and snack consumption. My friend looked at me and announced, “Next year when we go, our baby girls will be in the second row and the boys will be in the far back!” jokingly said since neither of us knew the sex of our babies, but it was a lovely image to have.

As most of you know, in November 2004, the path my Pregnancy Pal and I had started on violently diverged. I miscarried at 15 weeks. She went on to deliver a healthy baby girl in the spring. Obviously I did not.

A rift was created that November between us. We still got together for play dates with our sons. We got together to discuss flooring options and pour over paint chips as we both were building new homes. But those times weren’t as often as before. Part of it was the constant time demand of dealing with construction decisions, but what went unsaid was the fact that we were no longer Pregnancy Pals.

Compared to her first baby, who I held when he was less than 24 hours, I did not see her daughter until she was almost two weeks old. She was on maternity leave and I was still working full-time so getting together to go for a swim, or lunch or shopping, were moments few and getting further between.

A couple years later, her husband was transferred to another region and they moved away. For the first year, she would call up when they had returned to town to visit family so that our sons could get together (XBoy took his friend’s move pretty hard, and he still talks about him), but even those times came to a stop. I don’t know when exactly the last time I saw her or her children, but I know it was before our donor egg cycle.

The other day I typed in her name on Facebook’s search and I saw her face for the first time in two years. It wasn’t just her I saw, either. Her profile picture was of her and flanking her, in a group hug, was her son and her daughter. They were both wearing back-packs. I assumed the picture was of their first day of school.

As I stared at the postage size picture on my screen, I saw what might have been.

Angrily, I also thought, what SHOULD have been.

I closed her profile screen without sending a friend request. I shut off the light above my computer, kissed my husband goodnight who was watching TV, and went to bed with my heart heavier than it has been in a long, long time.

I lost a baby and a good friend that fall. I really miss them.

AN OFFER TO UPDATE

Clover from Hidden Clover has graciously offered to update her blog with any immediate details, which I will text her with (maybe even a picture). Her blog is password protected so she will also stop by here and put in comments any information she is sent.

Clover and I go waaaayyyyyy back. She was the first SIF blog I read and she reached out to me knowing that our sad little genre covered those weird little gray areas of infertility after having children.

Thanks, Clover. Love ya, you cheeky monkey, you.

TIME

I started a rather serious post about how terrified I am right now: scared I’ll won’t bring home a baby – scared that I actually might.

Unfortunately, I just can’t spend a lot of time at a keyboard right now as each tap is like keying over shards of glass. That should also explain my limited commenting. That is, if you noticed.

Today I am supposed to finish up some preadmission bloodwork. Tomorrow I check in by 10:00 a.m. and if all goes well I will have my c-section at noon and meet Murdock. Sounds so simplistic, doesn’t it?

I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to update again. I suspect that I’ll be discharged by the weekend, barring any complications. Depending on how I feel, I might even be able to hijack a computer at the hospital since my laptop will be useless. And as I mentioned before, I will update via Twitter when I can.

As for the rest of my day, I will try to pack and work on convincing myself that I might actually be able to pull this off, this birthing a baby thing, without waking up and finding out that the past year has been nothing but an elaborate dream sequence of which the likes haven’t been seen since the TV show Dallas reincarnated Bobby (if you have no idea of what I’m referring to, I envy your youth). A year ago, I was recovering from my 4th miscarriage and my XXth Birthday, waiting for a donor match.

A million years ago…

A millisecond ago…

I’M NOTHING MORE THAN A HORMONAL, BLITHERING IDIOT

At this point, the idea that I may have had to wait until at least the 25th – my actual due date – to deliver Murdock seems absolutely ludicrous.

If it wasn’t for next week’s scheduled c-section, I would not only have NOT given up using the riding lawn mower, I would have loaded up a suitcase or two and driven that sonofabitch to South Dakota this weekend.

Aside from the contractions I experienced a few weeks ago, I’ve only had what have been identified as “irritated muscles” by my OB. Trust me, it’s not just my muscles that are irritated. This morning I was trying to fish my contacts out of my case, except my fingers, which are nothing less than kielbasa sized, would not fit past the opening. Plus, even if I was able to get a pinch on a contact, I couldnt’ feel it. Cue helpless tears before finally getting contacts in.

XBoy has been quite a trooper. I especially appreciate his nimbleness. While I feel a deep guilt for asking him to pick up things I drop, he’s so damn cheery about it that I assuage my guilt a bit by thinking he must enjoy feeling useful to his blimp of a Mom.

I did catch him peeking under the frosted part of the shower door this a.m. I’m not sure if he was confirming what I have been telling him for ages and that is girls don’t have penises, or if he was checking for the unnatural eclipse of the recessed shower light.

A couple of weeks ago, I called one of my favorite photography places to get pictures taken of Murdock and XBoy for announcements (I know! …how presumptuous of me!). I told the girl who answered the phone I wanted newborn pictures. She informed me that the soonest opening was in September. Not sure about you, but Murdock won’t be a “newborn” in September. Mr. DD and I have decided to try to tackle this task ourselves. Frankly, I’m worried. Lots of camera toys and attachment a photographer does not make. For either of us.

Related to that, I asked OB what he thought of us bringing a camera into surgery. While he stated he has no problems with it, the hospital has a policy against it. I guess they are afraid of the chance there might be documentation of someone fucking up. No matter. We are bringing our small, pocket digital in with us. Actually, Mr. DD will be bringing it as I will be crucified to the table. It’s not that I want pictures of my uterus laying on top of my abdomen or anything as graphic, but I would like to have a picture of Murdock covered in cottage cheese and blood while being held up by his/her freakishly large head to put in my still yet to be purchased baby book.

Makes you almost want to be there, doesn’t it? You can be in a way if you have a Twitter account. I finally figured out how to tweet from my phone and since the hospital does not have wi-fi, (and even though cell phones are supposedly not allowed on the unit….like, seriously?), I will try to give some brief spurts of info through Twitter. You can either click on the link over there on the right if you don’t have an account, or if you “follow” me, you’ll get the info automatically.

I seriously am flattering myself thinking you care, aren’t I? Delusional or hormonal? You be the judge.

And with that, I suppose I will start a pool as a continuation of me believing you are invested enough to guess Murdock’s stats at birth:

  • sex
  • weight
  • length

I’ll put together a little prize package of some kind or another to send to the commenter with the closest guess. I promise it will contain either chocolate, liquor or a combination of both, as well as a plethora of foam peanuts or packaging pillows.

If you would rather not guess, your comments are always welcome.

(How’s that for comment whoring?!)

QUICKIES

Sometimes a quickie is just more satisfying, isn’t it? OK, this won’t exactly be a “quickie”, but just like when your man makes that promise and then falls through, so will I. I’ll at least apologize for the lack of foreplay and post-cuddle.

Still looking for drawer pulls for the “new” dresser. Zandra, I loved the idea of the blue/transparent legos. Unfortunately, they need to be a bit bigger – like duplos – but duplo doesn’t make transparent pieces. We’ve been toying with using band buttons (like Green Day, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Johnny Cash, etc.), but we’re still open to ideas.

Here’s the first-dining room/then-den/currently-spare bedroom, before:

 

And after:

The colors don’t come across very well via a photograph, but there it is. The sofa is a sleeper and my dough trough is peeking out in the lower right corner and stores quite a bit of bedding. It still needs some minor touches, but you get the idea.

My sincerest thanks to Scissorbill for the crib bedding; to Portlairge for the night-time soother; and to Katrinafor a stack of goodies (pictured below) for Murdock (and a little sump’n-sump’n for XBoy).

I have two NSTs remaining. One this Thursday and another yet again next Monday, which seems a bit much, especially since Wednesday is the c-section (scheduled at noon, which means maybe by 3:00 p.m. or later…stupid ENT and orthopedic surgeons – hogging the OR).

My edema has reached maximum capacity in my feet. To give you an idea, if you are a closet croc wearer, you know how roomy they are. And normally they are for me, too. Except now when I put them on, not only are they a bit of a squeeze, but when I take them off it’s like my feet have been put through a play-doh fun factory and every croc hole, bump and indentation is clearly visible.

Sure, you can say, “keep your feet up”, but that’s not possible with an office job. Nothing shy of laying absolutely verticle and on my side helps with the swelling. Add to that the continued discomfort in my hands, which I’ve nearly grown accustomed to, especially the non-stop tingling that one normally experiences when a limb wakes up.

So yeah. It’s getting down to the wire and I don’t feel any more prepared for us to bring home a baby than I did seven months ago. I have to remind myself constantly that after next week, instead of *it* finally being over (it = pregnancy), we are only just starting over.

Just as I had hoped, even as I have feared.

THE RUBBER GLOVES ARE OFF

Thanks for the Birthday Wishes, everyone. For those of you who saw the pwp post and were like, “pfft! not going to bother typing in that crazy-ass password for another crappy post…” you? Are a party pooper and I’m keeping track of your party-pooper-eyness. I’m squinting my evil eye at you Dino, Kath, and Cricket (and several others, but I don’t want to humiliate any more of you then I need to).

My husband gave me Milky Way candy bars, Riesen chocolates, and vacuumed.

Yes, vacuumed!! Plus, he even added the brush attachment to vacuum the baseboards!

*sigh* I think I wuv him.

You have time for a rant?

While “enjoying” my NST this morning (overstuffed recliners suck monkey-ass at 37 1/2 weeks pregnant), I read some letters to the editor in one of those pregnancy magazines about elective c-sections. Keep in mind that my c-section is actually considered “elective” when done as a repeat. Some hormonal bitch wrote this long, spewing letter on how c-sections result in 99% infant mortality rates, congenital rickets, vaginal warts, illiteracy, and ringworm (OK, not really, but she really was laying it on) whereas vaginal births produce babies who qualify for Mensa and mothers who never experience postpartum depression (again, I exaggerate…a little…).

In a perfect world, sure, I would have loved to have had a vaginal birth, but for those who keep shoving the preconception that c-sections are solely being done because certain egotistical women don’t want to stretch out their vaginas or want to plan around a dinner party really need to watch their judgemental mouths. I know there are risks, but my risk for this “elective” c-section is much less then if I tried a VBAC. And personally, my emergency c-section seven years ago was preferable over a dead baby. Call me crazy…

Plus? I’m not going to end up with a torn taint with stitches catching in my underwear like freakish wild hairs AND my vagina will remain as purty as it was 20 years ago, with or without kegls.

So there.

FOCUS FETTERED BY FINGERS

I had my third NST as well as another ultrasound to measure fluid levels. Everything is still normal as far as the baby is concerned. Not so normal is the worsening of the carpal tunnel, especially in my left hand.

Imagine running your finger tips over some low grit sandpaper. At first it probably doesn’t hurt, but if you keep doing it over and over again eventually you’re going to feel first irritation, and then pain. The first two fingers and thumb tingle non-stop; flexibility is severely limited and performing simple tasks is becoming more difficult because of how weak my hand is. I can’t even insert my left ear-plug using the left hand. YOU try doing that with the opposite hand and you’ll quickly discover it’s not as easy as you would think. Additional suckage? It’s not just when I sleep anymore. It’s all day. Yesterday I sat with an ice pack wrapped around my wrist and hand to see if I could bring some comfort. Unfortunately, it didn’t help in the slightest.

My concern now is that it won’t diminish after Murdock is born, and that the damage has become more or less permanent (OB stated that if it doesn’t go away, it’s not related to the pregnancy). If my hand has become less than useful now, I’m worried about caring for a newborn if the tunnel remains blocked after the delivery. Then I will have to try to figure out when to have surgery while caring for said newborn since I’d want to get it done before returning to work in September.

It’s all speculation of course, using the worst case scenario, but what I thought was going to be a simple inconvenience has now become potentially serious.

I tell myself frequently that caring for a newborn with one useful hand is better than not having a newborn at all, right? I give myself reality checks frequently. Don’t even ask how many times I’ve worried myself almost sick about a stillbirth, especially after extended periods of quiet from Murdock. I also worry if it’s possible for an unborn to suffer from shaken baby syndrome…

I would like to write more about those fears, but something inside me makes me wonder if I’m not just trying to stroke my own ego when I should be focusing instead on the continuing preparations of the birth of Murdock and on just how lucky I am to be at this moment, especially when I am noting yet another of my shoulda/woulda due dates (Wolf) for myself, but the dates of a couple of other bloggers still either waiting or who have decided to put the painful processes of treatment behind them.

Par for the survival guilt-trip, I guess. I can’t imagine that it’ll ever go completely away.