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! 

Day 74

     I think like many people in this world, I have struggled over the past week to find the words to articulate my dismay with the world around me. I still have not found them.

     My Facebook newsfeed and Twitter feed are both full of anger, disgust, and confusion. I am truly fearful for our future, and not just because of the terrorist attacks. I am also afraid of the dark hatred I have seen on display, much of which is based on bias, gross generalization and misinformation.

     How do I raise my children in a society such as this? The inquisitive 5 year old who loves his friends of various races, genders and religions. The impulsive 2 year old who gives hugs and kisses to everyone he meets. The precious baby I carry within me who is the definition of innocence. How do I explain this world to them? How can I keep them loving and accepting children, when everything around us screams "Be Afraid!!!"? 

     This post is not so much about the events of Lebanon, Afghanistan, Paris, Nigeria or the many other places around the world where terrorists have inflicted pain. Nor is it about gun control, immigration or foreign policy. Rather, I want to return to the focus of this blog- Beauty.

     It's hard to find beauty in times such as these. How can there be beauty when innocent people die? When families are torn apart? When daily life is disrupted by terror? When extremists are seen as the ambassadors of over a billion people? When people are so fearful that they are willing to watch children die? How can we ever recover? 

     I've always tried to be an optimist. I choose love over war. Kind words over hateful ones. Education over ignorance. It feels like less and less are following this path. This is what scares me. 

     I wonder what I can do to be an agent of change and peace. What can I do to combat the evil that is enveloping our world? It feels impossible to do anything of significance. Posting an article on social media won't change the opinions of those who have already made up their minds. Changing a profile picture won't bring back lost loved ones. 

     How can I live a beautiful life that I am proud of? One that my children can look back on with respect and admiration?

     I will love the people around me- my family, my students, coworkers, friends and neighbors. I will demonstrate tolerance. I will speak kind words. I will be considerate to those who are struggling. I will listen. I will make eye contact. I will smile at strangers.  I will enjoy the little things. I will engage in the world around me. I will be an agent for good. This is the way I can affect change.  This is beautiful.

     Tonight I will start my own war on terror and hatred by holding my son and singing him to sleep- by choosing love. 

Please join me.

Day 73

     I'd like to preface this post by stressing that I am speaking from my experience and there is NO judgement being passed on how anyone else delivers their baby. This is my journey to come to terms with circumstances out of my control. 

     Twenty weeks pregnant as of tomorrow and officially "halfway" through this pregnancy. Today being #tbt, I was contemplating an old photo to use when a link came across my Facebook newsfeed- 10 Unexpected Things to LOVE About Childbirth. This struck a nerve and I knew I had to get a few things off my chest.
   
     When I went to childbirth classes during my last few months of pregnancy I remember looking around the room and silently judging the other moms. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I did. During the session on c-sections, I completely zoned out and whispered to my husband that we didn't need to pay attention because I wouldn't be having one of those. I was going to have a natural, med-free childbirth. I was going to feel the primal urge to deliver my child into the world. This is what my body was designed to do. C-sections were for other women, not me. The instructor gave us the breakdown of the percentage of c-section births and I looked around the room and mentally picked out the other couples who I thought would be having them. Maybe my birth experience was karma paying me back for being so judgmental.

Our first picture as a family of three

     Lucas's birth came via emergency c-section after 27 hours of labor, preceded by a few weeks of bed rest and medication to prevent an early delivery. The bed rest seemed so ironic as I waited over a day for any sort of labor progression.

     In the moment when Lucas's heart rate dropped and everyone rushed into the room, my doctor said they needed to get the baby out and I didn't argue. My hopes of the natural birth I had dreamed of were gone, but I needed my baby safe. I watched Jim dress in the blue scrubs for the operating room. There were nervous jokes. Would Jim pass out? I had never had surgery like this before. Would I be able to see the baby? We didn't even know what we were having. Would I ever wear a bikini again? The things you think in moments like these. What follows is my stream of conscious more or less. It's still fresh in my mind over 5 years later.

     They roll me into the OR. Things happen fast. The sheet goes up. Was something on fire? Why did I smell burning? Jim tells me not to worry. I feel vague pushing on my abdomen and then there is crying- from all three of us. A boy is born. I can't see him. Jim is with the baby. I'm strapped to an operating table with the contents of my insides exposed. Only a sheet separates me from an open belly. The baby is crying. Single Ladies was playing on the radio. Is it weird if I sing? Where is the baby? Can I see the baby? The nurse brings him over to me and places him against my cheek. I cry. They take him away and Jim goes with the baby. Does he look like a Lucas or is he Sam? Lucas! His name is Lucas James. OK. I have a baby boy. I begin to panic. Why can I feel pushing? I'm uncomfortable. SHIT, I'M HAVING SURGERY! What if something happens? I'm a mom! I never held my baby. I want my baby. Panic. Panic. Panic. I start to thank the doctor for taking care of me. I trust him. I know he did what was right. This was what we needed, right? He assures me. The priority was the safety of the baby and me. I am OK. Am I OK? This isn't what I wanted. Can I go back? Did this just happen? Wait, it's over? Can I hold the baby? Where is the baby? Where am I going? Recovery room? Will I see the baby? How is the baby? Jim comes to me and tells me the baby is great. The family is out there looking at him. I want him. I WANT MY BABY! I grew him. He's my baby why can't I see him? I need to recover for a bit before they bring him to me. I'm alone. Where is the baby? I cry. I tell myself I should have paid attention to the c-section session. The woman in the bed next to me is nursing her child. We are separated by a curtain, but I hear her. I can't believe I failed. 

     I've never let go of this experience. I felt so betrayed by my body. This wasn't supposed to be my experience- this was for someone else. In the years that passed, I listened to friends tell stories of their labors. Some where quick, others drawn out. Some were medicated, others were not. Some were vaginal, some were c-sections. I compared myself to every one, never judging others (I learned my lesson) but I was judging myself. Was I less of a woman because I didn't experience a "normal" delivery? Was I a terrible person because I couldn't let it go? I would get so frustrated with myself because I know that I had a beautiful baby boy and without that c-section, things may have gone very differently. As the weeks after delivery turned into months and then years, I distanced myself from my negativity (with the help of a fantastic therapist). I embraced my amazing child and was thankful for modern medicine, which allowed the delivery to be safe for both of us.

     When it came time for my second birth, I had hopes for a VBAC but those soon vanished as complications arose during the pregnancy. I went into the c-section prepared, experienced and in a much better state of mind.
     As I prepare for the months ahead, I know baby number three will be delivered via c-section. I also know that I am a damn strong woman. I did feel a primal urge with the previous deliveries and while it may not have been the desire to push, it was the desire to make sure my child was safe. There is nothing stronger than that feeling.


   

Day 72

     No Shave November? How about No Pants November?

The only view in which I can see my feet over my belly

     18 weeks down, 19 more to go (until I'm considered full term and safe to deliver). Almost halfway there and I'm now experiencing a fall/winter pregnancy. I'm surprised to feel this way, but I find it much more difficult than carrying during the hot summer months.
   
     The reason? I have to wear pants.

     In the summers, I wore breezy dresses and skirts and never had to worry about squeezing my expanding belly (and other areas) into constricting clothing. Yes, I know yoga pants are wonderful, but on the occasion that I must be out in public to pick up my kids from school or bring them to soccer, I'd rather secure this body in something a little more structured. I'm not sure if the first image I want to present to the other kindergarten parents is my bottom half challenging the ability of my spandex to keep it together...

     Once I'm home, I now go pants-less or wear my loosest pair of leggings. However, I'm getting to the stage where nothing is loose and it will only get worse. I guess this is one of the positive sides to being home on disability- not too many people see me. My pants-less way of living only has to offend my family. And let's be honest, my children would rather be pant-less too.

Day 71

     Yesterday I found myself in a panic while I was getting dressed in anticipation of my first progesterone shot. I decided I needed a little bit of encouragement.

Doesn't every 35 year old woman own a pair of these?

     Odd as it may seem, I own quite a few pair of superhero themed underpants. Maybe it's my attempt to connect to my superhero loving children or maybe it's because the further I go into my 30s, the more I appreciate a good pair of cotton briefs/boy shorts. Either way, on days I need extra support, I usually sport a pair of Superman or Wonder Woman underwear. I know it's silly, but we do what we need to, right?
     I went to my doctor in the afternoon and arrived late so I had to wait longer than I would have liked.  Too much time to think is never good for me. I have been pumping myself up for weeks for these shots. I read about all the possible side effects, asked friends for advice and continuously reminded myself that any discomfort I felt now would be better than meeting this child for the first time in a NICU isolette. Still, seeing the little jars of medication and syringes definitely freaked me out. The shot itself was fine, the ride home was uncomfortable and the remainder of the night was painful. Today has been pretty rough as well. Like a friend of mine had warned me, this medication definitely stops you in your tracks. The physical pain I feel now is worth it in comparison to the mental pain I will avoid.
   

Day 70

     I have finally graduated from looking like a bloated mess to pregnant mess.

Lucas's view of mommy

     Despite my frustration with bed rest, the pregnancy is progressing quickly . I feel little kicks and punches from the baby and I no longer fit into my pants. You probably cannot tell, but I am holding these pants together with a rubber band. This is definitely the last time in a long time that I will be able to wear them. Of course I got rid of most of my pregnancy clothes after Ben and I don't want to waste money buying new stuff for wearing around the house. So until I break down, I have two pairs of maternity pants and lots of sweats that will be stretched to their limit.
     I'm now16 weeks and waiting for the progesterone injections to be delivered to my doctor. Tomorrow I go for my first growth ultrasound and cervical length check. Finger crossed for good growth and a closed cervix- is that too much information?