Day 89

Celebrating American heritage in an America I don't recognize. 

     I've been quiet for some time now. Always thinking, but not sure how give voice to the place I'm at. I've tried to transfer my frustration into writing, but I don't feel any better- and I won't change any minds. In fact, the postpartum depression that I've been battling feels amplified knowing that there is a large portion of the population that I simply don't understand. I cannot comprehend the hatred and I wonder what kind of world lies before us. I'm truly concerned for my friends and family. 

     In times like this, and in such a negative head space, finding something to be thankful for can seem like a monumental task. Even though I am blessed with an amazing family, I fear the world they are growing up in. The already present anxiety has multiplied with each news story. I, like many, have been struggling. 

     On Tuesday during choir rehearsal with Princeton Pro Musica, our conductor Ryan talked to us about giving thanks for the people who brought him music. He spoke about how there are people in the world who were never given that gift, who cannot find solace in beautiful music. It was a moment of clarity for me. 

My very first concert.

      This year, I'm thankful for those that brought music into my life. From my grandfather playing "Beautiful Doll" on the organ while I sang, to Mr. Ketterer who introduced me to chorus, the French horn and "Danse Macabre". Ginny Kraft who believed in an awkward freshman and gave her amazing performance opportunities. Rich, whose musical influence is too much and too personal to retell here. And my amazing college friends who shaped my life in ways I never anticipated. Or Dr. Gardner who instilled a work ethic toward musical excellence that I was too young and stupid to appreciate at the time. Dr. Reeves for supporting and treating me like family during a time I was truly lost. My "work husband" Keith, who makes me a better musician and teacher everyday. And today, Ryan and PPM for reminding me that I am a musician. Music is in my soul. I'm truly lucky. 

Music has brought me life during times I struggled to find the positive. I'm so thankful to everyone who has contributed and nurtured this aspect of myself. Happy Thanksgiving, and may you enjoy all that you are thankful for as well. 

Day 88

     Dear Stranger at the grocery store,

I can't hide my exhaustion anymore.

     I'm just kidding. Well, sort of. I don't love those types of posts, so I always promised myself I would never write one. However, I had an experience that prompted me to want to address a man I met in the grocery store.

     On Tuesday, I went to the store to pick up our food for the week. Grocery shopping can be pretty intense because of my dietary restrictions and the boys' aversion to any food I make. I'm pretty sure I prepare three or more options for each meal and now that I'm also making the baby's food… the cart fills quickly, and the refrigerator empties even faster.

     On this particular day, my daughter was clingy, so I wore her in a carrier as I shopped. She was rather comfortable as I walked through the aisles, eventually falling asleep. While I love baby wearing and it's convenience, I'd still rather shop alone. I enjoy wandering the aisles and imagining meals I could make if I had the time (and the eaters!). Shopping with a kid- baby or grade schooler- just doesn't go the same way. I end up with things in my cart that I don't really want and usually forget half of my list.
      As I sped down the laundry aisle for dryer sheets, a kindly older man stopped me to find out where I had picked up the item I was carrying, the baby. It was like a pick-up line, only he was a grandfatherly character looking to dote over a baby. Something about the man seemed very comforting and we engaged in a conversation about babies and how fast the time flies. It turned out that he also had three children-two boys and then a girl. I enjoyed the brief conversation but had to move on to finish the shopping and check out before the baby woke up.
     I went to the register and began to put my purchases on the belt. I frequent this particular grocery store often, so I know many of the workers. There is a bagger who either may not pick up on social cues or who may be uncomfortable helping me, but he avoids whichever register I go to. I don't mind at all as he seems to be a very nice man who completes each specific task he is given. My daughter woke up while I was being rung up and immediately began to cry. Picture an overtired woman, wearing a baby, trying to simultaneously move three hundred dollars worth of groceries out of the cart, into a bag and back into the cart. It wasn't going well, but I could handle it. I consciously thought "I don't need help". I was sweating, Caroline was crying and people were looking. The bagger stood at the register next to mine with nothing to do, but would not help. I didn't want to cause a scene by asking him to assist me. But, if I'm honest with myself, I was quickly losing my composure. Then, a hand grabbed my arm. It was the gentleman I had met in the laundry aisle.
     This older man, who was about 80ish years old, walked with a cane and was at least two inches shorter than me said "let me help you, dear". I told him that I was fine and he didn't need to pick up anything. He grabbed my arm again, looked me in the eyes and said firmly, "It's ok to ask for help. I'm telling you this because I wish someone had told me. Please ask for help."

    Well as you can imagine, I began to cry in the middle of Stop & Shop. I was overflowing with emotion. I think I still am.

     Plenty of people have told me to ask for help if I need it. In fact, I know there are those of you who are reading this post who have specifically offered help. I am terrible at taking people up on the offer. I think I am not really sure what kind of help I need, so I guess I'll start off with asking for suggestions.

    How do you do this? How do you get through each day and give your kids, your partner, your job, and yourself the proper attention and energy each aspect deserves? Any tricks? Hints? Life hacks?
   I'm asking because I need help being a better mom, wife, and friend.

     So, thank you to the man at the grocery store who helped me to focus on the bigger picture of my life, which I hope will help me get through the regular tasks of everyday living. I hope you know how much your kind words meant to a haggard mom on a Tuesday afternoon.

Day 87

     On Saturday night we took our kids to the university football game, which was followed by fireworks. This picture is of my daughter's reaction to those fireworks.

What are those?!?!?!?

     I want to capture this moment for forever. The look of joy and wonderment. What must she be thinking as she watched the colorful explosions? Everyday she is confronted with new sights, sounds, smells, and sensations. She explores, learns about and enjoys the world around her. There is so much in life that she has yet to discover.

     There was difficult news out of our town this past week, the loss of a young man to suicide. As my children grow, it becomes harder to digest moments like this. I've had personal experiences- the loss of a friend, as well as my own suicidal thoughts during my battle with postpartum depression.
     I remember being void of emotion. I think that is what stands out the most for me- there was no joy, no anger, no frustration. There was nothing. I don't ever want my children to experience that emptiness. There is so much around us to experience- good, bad, painful, wonderful. I used to focus on being happy. I felt that if I wasn't happy, I was probably doing something wrong- weren't we all supposed to strive for happiness? I have come to realize that it's an unrealistic expectation- particularly when you battle depression and anxiety. Now, I just focus on feeling.

     Right now, I feel raw. I do not know what led to this young man's desperation. I don't even know the complete spectrum of what led me to my own desperation. I also don't know what it was that led me to get help before I caused myself harm. This is what frightens me- the complete lack of control. There is so much that the world has to offer. Yes, there are times when the news is awful, the politics unbearable, and reality overwhelming. But I want my children to experience it all. I want them to know that difficult situations don't have to be desperate. That I will always be there for them. I will love them always.
     The uncertainty of life is what makes it so precious, but it is also what makes parenthood the most challenging undertaking I have ever faced.

   

Day 86

     Fifteen years ago, I witnessed a horrific event unfold before my very eyes. Today, I shared my memories with my son.

Confronting a hard truth

     A lot has changed in fifteen years. In fact, the entire trajectory of my life changed because of that gorgeous Tuesday morning.
     The memories I have of that day are not particularly intriguing, but they are etched in my mind unlike any other moment. It truly feels like yesterday- the details are so vivid. I woke up early to go to the gym. This was not something I normally did, but I was trying my best to work through some intense anxiety and depression as I entered my senior year of college. I was stressed about my final year, my grandmother and my favorite professor were both dying of cancer, and I felt like I had no control over my life. The gym seemed like a good place to start out the semester. The sky was the beautiful shade of blue that everyone from the NY metro area recalls. The late summer air was cool, with the hint of autumn. I checked into the gym, got on the elliptical and looked at the TV. I watched in horror as the attack unfolded before me. Most concerning to me was the lack of response from my fellow gym goers. When the second place crashed, I screamed out loud. No one else reacted. Was I dreaming? This all felt so wrong. I ran out of the gym as fast as I could, back to my apartment.
     I woke up my roommate, turned on the TV and watched. I called my professor to tell him I wasn't making it to class. I knew this wasn't good. I called my mom and told her she needed to turn on the TV. I started crying, thinking about all of those people on the planes. I tried to figure out how the people above the impact would get out of the building-then it hit me hard. I knew they wouldn't. The buildings looked wrong. I screamed. That scream haunts me- I have never made a sound like that in my life. The buildings were coming down. This feeling of terror, I knew this was terrorism. That's what they want you to feel, the way I felt that morning. The way I still feel today as I try to recount my experience. That was when I lost my innocence.

     This morning, I took my oldest son to church after his first Sunday school class, and as we walked between buildings, we were confronted by this enormous tribute. A flag for every life lost was planted into the grounds of the parish. It took my breath away.
     My son asked me for an explanation. How do you explain that day? I paused and knew that I had to share the truth with him. This wasn't something I could brush off- the impact of those flags was too great.
   
     I don't know if I said the right things, but I was honest. I got down to his level and held him as we talked. I told him that we must share kindness and not hatred. I said that we must pay tribute to the lives that were lost with loving actions.

     I changed on September 11, 2001. It was the catalyst for long and painful process that took me to some pretty dark places. I ended relationships, started new ones, changed my plans for senior year by postponing graduation and reexamined my career plans. These decisions led me to where I am today. My life today is not what I had planned for on September 10, 2001. I can only hope that I am living a life that honors and respects the victims of 9/11 and their families.

Day 85

     I had hoped to return to frequent writing, as my stress level has been high and writing has always helped me to sort through my emotions to gain a clearer perspective. But here I am yet again, beginning a post with the same complaint that a lack of time and energy are preventing me from blogging with any sort of consistency. The truth is, how much time does it really take to turn on my computer and write a few thoughts? Surely I can cut back on my scrolling through Twitter and Facebook… Nope, even as I wrote out this sentence, I picked up my phone and began scrolling again!

One of us is in deep thought...

     

     I'm pretty sure that I am avoiding deep thought. Staying abreast of world news makes me miserable. Contemplating another year away from working outside of the home and the independence that allows makes me feel guilty. In fact, addressing a multitude of issues in my life only brings about increased depression/anxiety. So, I stay superficial. I stay isolated. I stay quiet. 

     But I've slowly begun to think again. What type of role model am I for my children- my daughter in particular- if I become aloof and lose my identity? I used to have opinions. I was well read. I would argue my perspective with thoughtfulness and intelligence (at least I think I did). I set goals for myself. 

     When I was at the height of my postpartum depression after Ben was born, I began this blog with the intent to write for 40 consecutive days. It was a short-term goal and at the end of the 40 days, I felt accomplished. It's been around two and half years since I wrote that first post and I've only added an additional 45 days after the first 40. That realization does not sit well with me. What am I doing?

     As an individual with a leaning toward perfectionism, I either go 110% toward something or I barely make it through. If I cannot do something perfectly, I lose the motivation to continue. I think it's important to acknowledge this about myself. It's a strength, as well as a weakness. In HS and graduate school it lead to straight As. In my undergraduate education, this was nearly my undoing. As a wife, mother, and friend, the impact remains unknown.

     Do I attempt to set goals again for myself in each facet of my life? I know that by doing this, I will give myself motivation beyond "making it through the day", but I will also open myself up to increased depression and anxiety should I not achieve the goals. I could start small, but will my perfectionism lead me down a dark path? This has happened before. Do I trust myself? 

I cannot continue the way I have been. I deserve better.

Day 84

     I'm throwing it back to Mother's Day. At least I think this is from Mother's Day…

I'm wearing non pajamas/workout clothes!

     Tonight I'm celebrating the fact that we have gone a full week without a visit to the doctor's office for the first time since Caroline was born!
     We've had a pretty crazy month since I last blogged, which included a brief hospital stay for Caroline because of a virus, more foods eliminated from my diet, a kindergarten play, a soccer tournament, our first year in public school in the books, and of course, lots of doctor's visits. Oh, and laundry. So. Much. Laundry.
     That's actually why I went back to this picture. Today while I folded 7+ loads of laundry, I narrated my actions to Caroline. Does anyone else do that? "Here are daddy's socks. Here are Lucas's shorts. Here is another stained shirt belonging to Ben." She got a kick out of my descriptions (she's becoming very vocal and interactive!) and once I began sorting through my own clothes, I realized I had three piles- sleep clothes, exercise clothes and underwear. I wouldn't say I "workout" frequently, rather I'm ready for the opportunity. Same goes for sleep. Any other article of clothing I wear is usually worn for such a short amount of time that I don't need to wash it. Or in the case of the shirt I'm wearing right now, it will be off to the dry cleaners after Ben had his way with a carrot and my shoulder.

Where was I going with this post?

     I love these kids. I'm sort of putting myself together each morning. But I'm trying- really trying. We are almost four months into this and I've worked out a few times, done a ridiculous amount of laundry, gone grocery shopping, taken my kids to school/practice/games/doctors visits, and loved them tremendously. Yes, I've cried a lot (sometimes in public) and I am still hoping for a date night at some point, but I'm so, so very happy to have these three in my life.

Day 83

     Today is the day I have realized that I must accept things for what they are right now. Or maybe it's the day I admitted defeat. I guess it all depends on perspective.

Enjoying a shared meal with my daughter

     Over the past few weeks I've been fairly quiet on the blog and in life. Postpartum depression & anxiety have continued to be a part of my life, but I am managing them. Unfortunately, they are ever-present and something I need to tackle each day. I keep pushing through, though it takes a tremendous amount of energy to believe in myself- sometimes more energy than I have on a particular day. Still, I congratulate myself on all the little things, no matter how mundane they may be. 

     

     That being said, it's been hard to congratulate myself on finally being able to say I'm exclusively breastfeeding my child. To think that during the previous two infant stages I faced such personal guilt over the need to use a bottle or formula. I would be thrilled if I could at this point. The decision to be the sole provider of nutrition for my daughter was not a choice for me to make- that decision was made for us. 

     

     I used to be so envious of women who touted that they never needed formula or never gave their child a bottle. I want to hug every single one of those women now. I want to take them out for a night away from their nursling and get them drunk. I want them to eat any type of food that they crave and not have to worry about whether their child might react to hidden soy or butter. I want them to feel the freedom of independence from holding and comforting a miserable infant. Because now I realize how much of a sacrifice this can truly be, and how difficult it is when it wasn't your choice to make.

 

     My daughter is allergic to something in my milk. I've removed all dairy and soy from my diet, yet she is still not tolerating the milk well. But at least she will nurse. If we give her a bottle of formula, she will projectile vomit. And they specialty formula she needs is THE WORST smelling thing ever on it's own, let alone partially digested. Give her a bottle of expressed milk and she will push it away. She wants the real thing. She wants the comfort of mom. Because if the milk will make her uncomfortable, at least mom will hold her tight, skin-to-skin, and soothe her aching belly. It's inspiring that my presence truly means that much to her, that I am more than just a food source. However, it's also taken exhaustion to a new level. 

     Tonight as my husband and sons sat at the dinner table chatting about the weekend and enjoying their burgers, I sat in the other room nursing my daughter after failed attempts to use a medicine dropper to feed her additional formula. Eventually after the boys went upstairs for bath and bed, I got up and used my one free hand to put together my plate. I returned to my chair (I'm pretty much always in this chair now) and fed the two of us. In some ways I felt alone, in other ways I could sense how much of a force I am in this world for my family. 

     I reminded myself that the days are long, but the years are short and just as it did for my two sons, this will all be a cloudy memory in the not too distant future. But the thing is, I don't want this to be a cloudy memory. I want to clearly remember looking into her beautiful eyes (as I dropped particles of food on her when I attempted to shove the burger in my mouth). I want to remember her long thin fingers grasping onto my shirt and skin. I want to remember the cries and wiggles that indicated a huge burp was about to take place and the smile she gave me after it was released. I want to remember her sighs as she drifted off into a satisfied sleep. 

    I want to remember how simple this time is, because I know there will be a day when she won't look me in the eye or hold my hand. There will be a time when her troubles will be far worse than gas and GI pains, and I won't be able to stop them from happening with an elimination diet. 

    

     So for now, this is where we are.

Day 82

We mothers are struggling.

Flowers I bought myself because I deserve them.

     I'm overwhelmed by and grateful for the messages of support and encouragement I received after my last post. So many of you shared similar experiences and it absolutely breaks my heart that so many of us struggle in silence because we think this is just the way motherhood is supposed to be.
     And it's not one particular demographic. Younger moms, older moms, stay-at-home moms, work-outside-the-home moms, single moms, married moms, wealthy moms, middle class moms, paycheck-to-paycheck moms. I could go on, but I think you get the picture. So many of us are in constant fear that we are somehow failing at motherhood and nothing could be further from the truth.
     We basically are thrown into one of the most important roles in the history of the world with little or no training. There are thousands of "experts" who have written books or run websites about motherhood, but the truth is that no one is an expert at each mother/child relationship. We all have very different personalities, as do our children. Each family situation is unique, which means all the well meaning advice in the world might not necessarily apply. We do the best we can with the circumstances and resources we are presented with. Why is it so hard to give ourselves credit for what we accomplish as parents?

     As I navigate my experience, I am so thankful to have a community of supportive women around me. Some of them I've known my entire life, others I've only just met this month. Some I see practically every day and others I've only communicated with online. However they came into my life, each one of them offers me a perspective on motherhood/womanhood that I incorporate into my life to be the best I can. Some days I'm an attentive and energized mother and other days I struggle to get out of bed. Even on my worst day, I'm still trying and I know you all are too.

     Thank you to all the wonderful women (and men) who are sharing this journey with me. Your presence means the world.

Day 81

     After the last post almost two week ago, things got really bad really fast. Depression for me can sometimes feel like draining a bathtub. Energy and emotions leave my body and I try not to get sucked down into the darkness.

 I felt nothing. I struggled to talk to my own children. I could barely make eye contact with my husband. I knew I needed to see my doctor.

I haven't washed my face or brushed my teeth & hair, but I'm going to be OK. 

     I got into the car last Monday morning with my daughter dressed and in a clean diaper. She was strapped into her carseat, which was safely in place. I had clothes on. We both had eaten breakfast. My car had gas and I was stable enough to drive. On difficult days, these are successes that I need to celebrate.

     I got to my doctor's office and I had a very strong feeling of nostalgia. What an awful thing to feel nostalgic about- longing for the days when I was struggling with only one child. Now I have three to wrangle and hopefully not scar for life. I don't want them to remember their mother crying on the kitchen floor, unable to articulate what made her so sad.

     I talked through the things I was feeling and we made a game plan for changes to make to my routine so I could find time to care for myself. I think that's one of the biggest changes in me since becoming a mother. I no longer give myself permission to be cared for. I focus on the needs of others and it leaves me drained just like that bathtub. I need to find ways to fill myself again with purpose and energy. 

     I'm working on scheduling time for writing, showers, exercise, coffee with friends and other activities that make me feel alive. I will not lose myself this time. 

Day 80

     Caroline turned 6 weeks old today. In that time I've had some amazing highs and some pretty dark lows. I'm in the midst of a low point and through my tears, I asked my husband to document this moment.

Shutting down isn't very beautiful

     Post partum depression/anxiety sucks. I've now experienced it three times and I'm not sure if this time is the easiest or if I just know I can get through it because I have in the past.
Just like the previous times, my anxiety has centered around weight gain (baby), sleep (me) and breastfeeding (both of us).

     All three of my children have been preemies and slow to gain weight. As I discussed in a previous post, I was having supply issues due to a variety of factors. Thankfully I've been able to resolve many of the issues and my supply has improved greatly, but Caroline still isn't growing as much as we'd like due to her inefficient sucking reflex, and reflux. I  supplement bottles to get extra milk in and spend lots of time pumping, cleaning bottles & pump parts, making/drinking nursing tea, taking supplements- never mind the act of nursing her. It's consuming, rewarding and exhausting. There are some days when I feel so proud as I feed her because I have pushed myself through the self doubt and the difficulties. Unfortunately there are days when I feel like an absolute failure. When people see her they always comment on how tiny she is. I know they mean well, I know they are simply making an observation, I know they have no clue what my day looks like or how hard this is and I know they don't realize every time I hear she's small, it feels like a punch in the gut. I smile and say something witty, but it eats away at me. I'm doing absolutely everything I can and it still feels like I'm a terrible mother.

     The lack of sleep amplifies these feelings of failure. While the baby may sleep in 3-4 hour increments overnight (with the occasional 5 hr), I'm not sleeping that full stretch. After a feeding, my mind is racing over whether she drank enough or if she is going to throw up and choke. Logically I know she won't aspirate, but when I'm filled with anxiety, the fears take over. Every single one of her squeaks jolts me awake. There are nights where I just stare at her to make sure she's ok. I do get some sleep and I do try to nap with her, but let's be honest- when in your life, other than when you're parenting a small child, is a three hour stretch of sleep considered a luxury? Sleep deprivation is a form of torture and I'm currently being tortured by that lack of sleep, as well as my own demons.

Day 79

I have so many pictures and posts in my head and I just haven't had a moment to pull them together. Until now...

You do not want to know what is going on in my lap...

It's telling that I will allow myself to sit covered in pee and write, because I just don't want to get up and do yet another load of laundry.

I'm exhausted. I'm happy, but I'm exhausted. The house is full of sick family members, the baskets are full of laundry, the sink is full of dishes and I'm full of emotions. This is hard. Yesterday I ran into bathroom, chased by a two and a half year old. I just wanted to not be touched for 30 seconds. That's all I got. Yes, I absolutely live for the affection my children show me, but I'm drained. I know we are only a month into this adventure as a family of five, but I need to work on regaining myself for longer than 30 seconds a day!

Now please excuse me while I clean the pee and spit up...

Day 78

     I had it in my mind that nursing this time around would be a breeze. Even if she was a preemie, my daughter would latch on and nurse like a champ from the first time. There would be no visits to the doctor for the dreaded weight checks, no need to supplement and no frantic phone calls to a lactation consultant.

     Well, I was very wrong.

So this is part of the reason I've been stuck in my house since returning home. 

     I know I set myself up with unrealistic expectations this time around. Mostly I wanted to believe that something about this process would be easy. I anticipated that there would be a learning curve as Caroline and I began our nursing relationship, but I did not anticipate the low supply due to a variety of health factors on my part and the sleepiness and immaturity on the part of my daughter. As a late preterm infant, Caroline still has not developed to the point of a full term and it's glaringly obvious when I compare her (I know I shouldn't!) to other babies. Her due date is next Friday and I can only wonder what our lives would look like if we had made it that far.
     For one, maybe I wouldn't be using this ridiculous looking, although helpful, contraption- a Supplemental Nursing System (SNS). Basically it is used with either breast milk or formula to supplement what she is getting at the breast. Caroline's prematurity came with under developed muscles that make her sucking inefficient and cause her to tire quickly. The additional nutrition should help her to gain weight and be more effective with her latch as she grows. However, this might be one of the most awkward things I have ever used. And I  have to pump. And I'm exhausted. And stressed. And feeling like a failure again because I didn't keep her in to full term.
     I know some of you mothers who are reading this may be thinking back to previous conversations you have had with me where I spoke with you about the difficulties of deciding how to feed your baby. I'm always the first person to say "do what you need to do to keep sane" or "the most important thing is to make sure you feed your baby". I stand by those statements and every other conversation I've had. For me personally however, I need to nurse. Maybe it's my way of controlling something about this situation. While I couldn't control the pregnancies or deliveries of my children, I could still make sure I breastfed. For some reason, I have hung onto this since Lucas was born and it stays with me today.

     The picture I shared above shows me after the lactation consultant left my house this afternoon. I was feeling positive. Caroline has gained another 1.5 ounces, although she is still not back to her delivery weight. By the end of the day, I was in tears. In fact, as I write this I'm still crying- I think there is some exhaustion playing a role right now. Clearly we are going in the right direction. Clearly I am devoted to making sure my daughter is healthy. Clearly I need to give myself some credit.

     Thank you for allowing me to share my stories of womanhood/motherhood. I'm so lucky to be surrounded by a such a supportive community. The phone calls, messages, emails and comments all mean so much to me and encourage the honesty in my writing. Now that I am the mother to a little girl, I find it all the more important to work to discover the beauty in that honesty and to take a "body positive" approach to life.

Day 77

     Is there anything more imperfectly beautiful than a deflating postpartum belly? It's the perfect example of sacrifice, growth, love and life.

That belly once held this baby

     For over seven years my body has either been pregnant, trying to get pregnant or recovering from being pregnant. And now that part of my life is over. The feelings I'm having during this postpartum period could only be described as complicated. During the last few weeks of this pregnancy I was in tears nearly everyday, wishing, praying, hoping and begging for this to end. I told myself that this was a mistake and I simply wasn't strong enough. I was filled with doubt, depression, anxiety and a real concern over my mental and physical health. My husband is my rock and somehow he kept me going despite my daily pleas for this to end. The doctors were concerned for my health and there was some discussion about delivering early for maternal distress. But it never went beyond a hypothetical because I knew in my heart that it wasn't safe. During an appointment with my psychiatrist he told me to remind myself each time it felt too hard to continue, that I was never going through this again. It helped to approach the pregnancy this way, but it also felt wrong to be counting down the days not with joyful anticipation, but with disengaged gratitude to be so close to the end.

     On March 5th, I went into the hospital for the fifth and final time with contractions that could not be tolerated at home. I never really went into detail before, but the issue in the last two months of the pregnancy was preterm contractions (prodromal labor). They were painful, constant throughout the day- everyday, and they did nothing to induce labor. The baby tolerated them well, so nothing could be done other than medication and bed rest. I was given injections in the hospital whenever the contractions were too painful to tolerate. They wouldn't stop them, but they did decrease the frequency. At home I took another medication every 4-6 hours to help, but that too never stopped them completely. I took baths, showers and tried to sleep but the pain was too much to get rest. I'd dream about being in labor and wake up to contractions. All along I didn't dilate and the baby didn't mind, so I suffered. A lot.

     Each day that the baby stayed in, was a benefit to her health, but took away from my own. It's difficult to talk about the last two months. I really struggled, and my reproductive history plagued me with guilt for feelings so negative. How could I possibly hate this pregnancy so much when I know so many others who would trade places with me in a heartbeat? I remember the torture during each struggle to conceive. Here was a blessing and I was blinded by my pain.
The last four days of the pregnancy were spent in the hospital hooked up to monitors, an IV and heavily medicated. Our goal was to make it to 37 weeks but at 36 and 4 days, Caroline decided she had enough and I was rushed in for an emergency csection. While I was prepared for the inevitable NICU stay, the surgery and subsequent delivery were probably the most frightening moments of my life. I'll spare the details, but suffice it to say that there are certain sounds that will haunt me forever. The whole time I kept reminding myself that I was never going to go through this again.
     That was the theme over the next few days. Trouble with pain management in recovery? I'll never have this again. Not able to touch/hold my newborn for almost 24 hrs? Never again. Can't nurse the baby and have to pump instead? Last time ever. Massive stretch marks that appeared during the final IV fluid filled days of torture? Done.

     But as the days passed, the hormones fluctuated and I bonded with my daughter, I began to mourn the fact that I was never going to feel the kicks of a growing baby within me again. How absurd! After all that we went through, after all the tears and struggles and doubt- I was practically in hysterics over the thought of never conceiving again! I guess this is biological instinct that has kept humans reproducing despite the difficulties that accompany the process.

     I'm happy to say that as we approach the two week mark, my emotions regarding never having another child have calmed down (emotions on other topics, not so much!). I look at our daughter and I know she was worth the sacrifices that our family had to make. I know she completes us. My body went through hell in order to bring our children to this world. I'm surprisingly content with the condition my body has been left in after this pregnancy. I have scars, stretch marks, saggy skin and an odd looking belly button. But I have a full heart and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced.

Day 76

     If you aren't sure where to find me these days, there are three places you should check- the couch, the bed or the bathtub.

I really miss the soaking tub we had in our old house

     I've reached the "get this the f*** over with" stage of pregnancy. I know this is one of the most insensitive things a pregnant woman can possibly say, especially at 32 weeks, but unfortunately it's my truth. I remember wanting to punch pregnant women who complained about discomfort and anxiety during the frustrating times when I was longing for a viable pregnancy. I literally wanted to slap them. How dare they complain about a foot kicking their ribs or their inability to sleep. Did they know how lucky they were? Obviously they were just ungrateful women and I hated them.

     Then, I experienced very difficult pregnancies that resulted in beautiful babies being handed to me. And  I realized that I was being a bitch. I apologize profusely to the women who never knew that I secretly wanted to scream at them. They had every right to complain. Pregnancy sucks. The outcome is glorious, but the process can be one of the worst experiences you will ever go through.

     I spend most of my time trying to find a way to be in the least pain possible. I don't sleep much anymore and I'm not very mobile. I was recently in the hospital for preterm labor, but luckily after multiple doses of steroids, medications and injections, they were able to slow the contractions. I'm on these new meds in addition to the weekly injections and my contractions have been fairly controlled- but they never go away, hence the no sleeping and constant pain.

Also, did I mention I now have gestational diabetes? The fun never seems to end with this one…

     We knew this would be tough, but never expected things to go this crazy. I've been on bed rest for 5 months. I am isolated, lonely, uncomfortable, exhausted and ready for this to be over. Every time my contractions get to 6 minutes apart, I not-so-secretly wish that this is the time things will get real. But, I lay down, drink my water, do my breathing and eventually after another dose of the medicine, I realize I won't be having this baby yet. And I cry.

     I've already experienced a NICU stay. I know that a baby born at 32 weeks would be more difficult. I've watched friends go through the unthinkable and I am truly grateful for every extra minute this child stays put. But I'm tired of being a vessel for this baby and not much else. I want to interact with humans. You know it's bad when start engaging in friendly conversation with the insurance folks on the phone because you just want to talk to someone.

     My husband asked me the other day if I had been blogging and I told him I just couldn't get motivated to write anything. Maybe it's because I'm tired of saying "I'm hanging in" and "the end is in sight". I need to say that this is the hardest thing I have ever done and I will never do this again. NEVER!!!!!! This child will be worth every bit of sacrifice and will complete our family, but I'd be lying if I said there was never a moment when I questioned our decision to have another child biologically. That's a really difficult thing to admit, especially having gone through so much loss to get to this point.

Day 75

     It's been almost 2 months since my last post. I needed to take some time off. The holidays are always tough for my family with the anniversaries of so many losses. That coupled with my increased depression/anxiety during bed rest, wild Christmas-crazed children, and life in general, lead me to do a lot of private soul searching and thinking. All good stuff, but I just needed to be gentle with myself and focus on the five of us. 

     With the new year upon us and insomnia in full force, I feel ready to start writing again. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

     So, does anyone know where my feet went?

     Obviously, there has been lots of growth for the baby/me during the past two months. This child is enormous (3lbs, 4oz at my 28 week appointment- average is 2.22 lbs). My other children were on the smaller size so this at least explains the pain I've been in. Contractions have been in full force and I've been stuck in bed more than I would like but the end is in sight. I have my c-section scheduled for March 25th, although my new doctor says there is absolutely no way I will make it even close to that date. Yes, new doctor. My original doctor lost his malpractice coverage for obstetrics due to his age (76 years young). There were lots of tears at our last appointment, but I'm happy with the new practice and I'm trying to move forward. I'll be forever grateful to Dr. J for bringing my first two children into this world and for his guidance, support and love to get Jim and I through some very difficult times. He is and always will be family. 

     I actually took this photo right before I went to my 28 week visit. In preparing to go to a new practice, there was a bit of...ahem, grooming…that needed to take place. After 20+ years with my first doctor, I didn't feel the need to impress, but with this new practice, I figured it would be appropriate to at least shave my legs. Kind of hard to do when you aren't really sure where they are. 

     Turns out the effort wasn't needed, but it was a good exercise in pulling myself together. With my absence from regular life, I have honestly let myself go. I rarely do my hair. Sweat pants are my norm and I hardly put on make-up or do my nails. I've had this "why put in the effort when it doesn't really matter" attitude. It probably hasn't helped my depression to resort to such a slug. I don't really have a resolution for the new year but I have made a promise to myself to put in a little more effort into caring for me, not just the baby. 

  

     We are now just weeks away from meeting our third…and hopefully weeks away from seeing my feet again, too!