Pregnancy Revisited: Closed Uterus Edition

This might not be a post for the relatives. But they're gonna read anyway (and hopefully not comment), so here goes nothing.

We're done with growing our family. I've already mentioned this in previous posts, even when I was pregnant with Claire. It's just, I never imagined having three pregnancies, let alone three children. And I especially never could've dreamed (nightmared?) over the thought of having one of those children precede me in death.

My OB told me at my 6-month checkup not to do anything drastic if I wasn't sure we were done having children. By the end of our visit, she was handing me the card for the urologist.

I told her I was ready for the most drastic measure. Because even if something tragic were to happen to my living children, I'm not sure I could personally face another pregnancy again in my life. I can't replace the people they are anyway. There can be no accidents for me. I just spent the last three years fearing the loss of my children in utero and continue to fear loss. Granted, I'm thankful for the conception part being easy for me when I needed it-- we all have our battles and mine was the pregnancy itself. For me, pregnancy stress was slowly taking the life out of me.

We've contemplated this being a job for the husband... since really... haven't I been through enough? Similar to my beautiful friends who have fought infertility, I just feel like this part of our lives (the whole conceiving and birthing children part) was already so invasive. I seriously clocked a ton of hours in doctor waiting rooms, in chairs, triage rooms, the OR, sterile surgical environments... you name it. I was ready for him to have a turn.

But then there's this whole financial side of it all that has me being a disgruntled cheapskate. The lovely Affordable Care Act states that all contraceptives for women are covered. For men? Not at all. Well, unless the deductible and all that jazz, but that's irrelevant right now. Doesn't that bother any other women out there who have birthed babies at all? We have the finances to do whatever we want, but I like to weigh the pros and cons for all options... and the list does include finances. Of course it's our decision on how to handle things, but I feel like the ball is slowly rolling back into my court. Again.

I likely won't be making any drastic decisions for a long time (because honestly, my anxiety level of going back into the doctor's office for anything is through the roof), but really. I feel like delivering three children (one of which never saw daylight), having a D&C, enduring three long and painful pregnancies and having my abdomen cut open unexpectedly and nearly suffering the loss of another baby should have earned me a free pass to no more invasive procedures.

In other news, I said goodbye to all of my maternity wear in a local resale this past week. It felt cathartic to pass them on.

Lest you get the impression that I am ungrateful... I'm not. I cherish my children and would've birthed them all just how it happened in a heartbeat all over again. Of course, I don't wish our history, or the loss of Andrew, were so muddled with grief and fear. Really, I just wish this all worked "naturally" like I expected in my naive, newly-married world. Now I'm 31, sprouting hoards of gray hair and have probably shaved off years of my life to anxiety. I'm spent.

December 14, March 15, February 11

Those were my due dates. And now, all three of them have officially arrived. Claire is at her gestational due date today of 40 weeks. It's crazy that she has been with us for four weeks already. Valentine's Day officially marks one month. She definitely brings our family lots of love.

I wasn't really looking forward to this date or anything, but now that it has arrived, it sort of feels like a relief. No more dates are on the calendar that send my nerves racing. Claire is still very much a newborn-- both her looks and eating/sleeping patterns. I stare at her during our mid-night feedings in awe. This is our last newborn. While exhausting, this is the last time I will be getting up to nurse at odd hours and having a baby at our bedside. It's the last time we'll get to hear these newborn cries in our home. She's it and we're cherishing all that it brings.

She's the size of most newborns still and quite smaller than many. I'm assuming she's nearing or at the 7 lb. mark at this point, which is still smaller than both of her brothers at birth. It would be interesting to wonder what she would be like if born at her due date, or close to it, but the reality is that she very well wouldn't be here. She wouldn't be bigger than she was when she was born. To think of that girl at her due date is assuming she would've thrived, and unfortunately that's unlikely. We're so glad the pint-sized Claire is here and such a fighter. She still eats like a champ and that's proven not only by the amount of time she wants to be attached to me, but by the amount of diapers she is producing. Goodness gracious, this girl has some gusto.

The dates that brought both great excitement and anxiety have come and gone. Just like my fetal doppler and all my maternity clothes, I'm ready to pass on that baton.

During the end of Claire's pregnancy, I was wearing (like all my pregnancies) some of my husband's shirts, especially at night and especially with the itching! He has one shirt that I would wear often that's back from his Air Force Academy lacrosse days. On the back, it says Whatever it Takes. It was sort of my mantra as I was changing my diet and doing all of these obscure things like drinking water/lemon to detox each morning before food. And so true, it is. 

The Final Trimester

Well, this is it. I've entered the final trimester of pregnancy that I'll endure. It both terrifies me and thrills me that we've come this far with two babies after losing our first little love. That's a lot of weeks to cross your fingers and hope for the best.

A few things have been purchased for this baby, but none of which are uniquely hers. We bought another seat protector for our car and a crib sheet. We've been making arrangements that will hopefully become reality if we do have a daughter to bring home with us, but nothing is finalized to the point of certainty. I can just as easily use that crib sheet for Benjamin or chuck it. I even sucked it up yesterday and purchased the second seat for our stroller because I saw a deal that I didn't want to pass up. I sure hope that doesn't end up as a Craigslist ad instead.

The only other two things we'll definitely be purchasing are an air purifier for the nursery (since Benjamin will be using his in the big boy room) and a letter "C" to go in the nursery.

If she comes home with us in February, I'll be changing out the mobile in the nursery (we created after B came home alive) to pink birds and buying her some of her very own Aden & Anais blankets in a girly pattern. B is far too fond of his set to bother sharing.

As for pregnancy this go around... it's different. In general, the carrying part feels different. I can't even describe it. And then there's the part about my day job being different. I guess this is how it would've felt (minus the stress) if Andrew were alive and toddling around during my pregnancy with Benjamin. It's my first time parenting a toddler while gestating another. Let's just say that I'm not cut out to be a Duggar. This bending over, schlepping a toddler, dealing with tantrums business is hard work when there's a baby-a-cookin'.

Not just the physical demands, but the baby itself. She is not nearly as active as my two boys, which is maybe a good thing if she finally makes it home with us, but not so lovely during a high-risk pregnancy. As I have now reached my third trimester, the kick counts have begun, appointments are increasing, ultrasounds start weekly at 32w and NSTs begin at 34 weeks. It's all starting to become real.

Before now, I've lived in surprisingly calm territory using ignorance and busyness to distract. But now we're dealing with knowing that the baby would be alive when born. Yes, with complications and NICU time and all of that, but alive. These next 10+ weeks are going to c-r-a-w-l.

And quite possibly the greatest difference is dealing with my currently alive and well and high-maintenance toddler. He knows something is up and he's none-to-happy about the changes. He's been ultra clingy and mom-obsessed for the last couple weeks (a huge shift from not saying my name at all and choosing Daddy every time. Sort of love it and sort of hate it). Going upstairs for bath with Dad and without mom is equivalent to me abandoning him. At least that's what his shrieks and cries are telling me. It's heartbreaking. If I ask him where the baby is, he touches my belly. But really, he's never been around an infant so I have no idea if he even knows a baby from a bumble bee. Something tells me the transition to two living (gah) is not going to be a walk in the park. Not that anything ever has been. But just thinking that I might get to keep two of my babies would be worth the sleepless nights and endless tantrums.

We press on. Keep hopeful.

A is for Andrew, B is for Benjamin and C is for...

The Wilsons are adding a final child to our clan this winter. Exactly four months from today, I am due with our only daughter and last child. I will never be pregnant again after February 11, 2014 and that couldn't make me more excited for this winter to arrive. Yes, Chicago winter. Bring it.

We've discussed at great length about adding more children to our family. We birthed two beautiful boys and only have one here to raise. He's a dream. A total bad boy at times and definitely mischievous, but such a salve that we needed so desperately. And he's nearly 20 months now if you can believe it! While we're thankful Andrew's little brother is in our lives, we know he loves other children. It's hard having lost our firstborn and having a second son but still being parents with only one child in our home. It just seems like Benjamin should have someone else, of course. Our family will always feel that way about Andrew missing. When Benjamin was born, I wanted him to have a sibling even more knowing we should have two here now. And because of our desire to give him that, we are pregnant once more. Fourth pregnancy, third child and only daughter.

Because this is our last child, I don't have any qualms about discussing names and details, mostly because there's nothing left after this. If this baby comes home with us as we hope (in a carseat, to clarify... ugh), we're 100% done. If something happens, we won't be able to handle the additional grief and still be the parents Benjamin needs, so we will not try again and therefore will be 100% done. The thought of losing two of our children brings me to my knees. Nothing is ever guaranteed and we know that.

Long before Andrew was even found to be a boy back on our second wedding anniversary in 2010, we had chosen a girl name. If Andrew had been a girl, he would've been Claire. If Benjamin had been a girl, he would've been Claire. And now that I'm really pregnant with a girl, she is Claire! I love that this name has been constant in our decision for all three of our babies. Not to mention, we love the A-B-C ritual of naming our children. Right after Benjamin's birth, my friend Brooke sent us a book to commemorate the birth of our new baby boy and also remember our first boy.

Each of the first three pages of this book prints the name of each of our children. The book is A My Name is Andrew and the first page is about a boy named Andrew who lives in Augusta. The second page is a girl named Becca who has a brother, Benjamin. The third page is about a girl named Claire who lives in Connecticut. It's an alliterative book, as you might have gathered, but still awesome that all three of our their names are on the first three pages.

Since this has been one of the least sarcastic posts ever on this blog, I must end with a little extra edge. Compliments of my friend Caroline who is also due with her second rainbow this winter... I wanted to add what we were chatting about during our brainstorming session about when I'd "out" myself on the ol' blog.

"C' is for Claire but also stands for caution --  we are still so scared. Also, be cautious of any silly things you might say regarding the assurance this baby is coming home in that carseat, because "C" also stands for crazy town and I might just go there.

All in good fun, of course, but really, it's another pregnancy and another mixed bag of emotions, exhaustion, and grieving our firstborn who would probably love to know he has two siblings who will also always wonder and grieve the brother he would've been. A great one-- I'm sure.

Here's to another 4 months of anxiety and hope. And burning those maternity clothes.

365 Days Ago

I took a pregnancy test that told me I was pregnant for the 3rd time. This little man is the result of that test. He was the size of a poppyseed then, and now he's growing and laughing and has changed our lives in so many ways.

Benjamin experiments with sublimation. His first science experiment... first of many. When you have a grandpa that's a physics teacher, you'll be subject to such things often. 

We're so thankful for our boys. Andrew who made us parents, and Benjamin who continues to grow and change before our eyes.

Pregnancy Revisited

I'm just now starting to really think back on my pregnancy with B. For these last couple months I've been thankfully distracted and purposefully trying to extricate myself from the mess that it caused me mentally and emotionally. It's really quite damaging.

To think pregnancy would ever be as carefree as society makes it out to be. And the paradox of the whole 9 months it seems is that it is all of those things; wonderful and terrifying all at once. It's magical. And in the same breath, it's frightening. It's amazing to consider that a human life is created within ones body and then goes on to start that whole cycle again. And no more than a breath later will I tell you that the very last sentence I typed also makes the risk so incredibly high that it's almost not worth it. Almost. But wow is the reward rich. If all goes well, of course. Otherwise it could be right up there as the greatest failure of your life.

If those baby showers and nightly prayers and belly creams could just ward off the fear and trepidation that is held within each breath of pregnancy for a baby loss mother. Because we know better.

It's because of this fear that I'm already looking ahead to my next, and hopefully final pregnancy. I already well up with fear just thinking about it, but I know if we wait too long, I'll be as mess, too. I'm not talking about babies anytime this year, but it wouldn't be crazy to assume that we'd jump back on the crazy train of emotion and fear next year at some point. I want B to have another living sibling to grow with. In order for that to occur, I need to accept the fact that pregnancy will be in my somewhat near future. And the longer I wait seems even crazier because that would be stringing myself along in this fear and anxiety of pregnancy and loss and potential further loss if we wait years. I can't imagine going back to this insanity in a few years and digging up those skeletons of emotion to wear on my sleeve (or on this blog).

It's almost like pregnancy itself is like reliving loss or a loss itself. It's that traumatic as you hold your breath and cry, begging and pleading that you won't be chosen for the reaping this go around {Yes, I totally did just use a Hunger Games reference. But it was fitting, no?}.

I'm reveling in the fact that I am for once in these last few years not wishing myself pregnant. It feels bizarre. I'm enjoying parenthood with all its ups and downs and just so extremely thankful we made it past the finish line with only emotional scars that will hopefully fade to absence by the time I'm past my childbearing years. My childloss scars will always be present, but these pregnancy scars may fade away.

Physically, I'm nearly back into my jeans after a month off sweets and eating much healthier than I was during pregnancy. It wasn't crazy to assume that I could dust off 1/2 box of Cheezits because I totally could and did on many occasions. Whatever got me through the day with a live child a growin'. Now that he's here and still sustaining life through me, I feel the need to make up for lost time somehow. Eat better and be more conscious of what is being consumed for his health and my overall mental and physical health as well. Every stretch mark and every inch of wear and tear was worth it. For both of my children. The one I parent for the world to see, and the one I parent in my heart.

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Operation Cut the Crap. Again.

Saw this card in a cute French store in Savannah.

Yeah no, probably just fat. That's what a bebe (or two) will do to a body. Especially a 30-year (almost) old body. So here we go again... trying to slim down so I can fit into my stinking pants. Currently, this is my plan:

Breastfeed. No news there. It's supposed to just "shed those pounds away" and all that jazz. Well, I still don't fit into those Gap jeans, you guys. I know, it's not been that long. Just chill, right? It's been 8 weeks and there's still a very incredible muffin top just waiting to depress me whenever I try to put those bad boys on. Luckily, I can at least zip them up. I'm about pass out, but anyway.

Box up those maternity clothes. I took of my maternity clothes and put them in the guest closet last night. They are no longer being used/worn/seen in my closet. I refuse to wear them. Which means I'm wearing fat jeans, leggings, yoga pants, skirts, cargo pants with stretchy waist, etc. It forces me to face the reality and find something in my wardrobe to wear.

Run 2x/week. I'd really love to get back into Zumba, but we're already pressed for family time as it is and I absolutely refuse to drop my little kidlet off with the random YMCA nursery. I can't even handle the thought of all those germies. Plus, I've done my reading and I surely don't want intense workouts to dry up my milk supply I worked hard to establish. I know 2 runs a week isn't much, but I can only really do so on the weekends when Ray is home. I just hate going when he gets home because by the time we both get a run in and dinner, it's just about shower and bedtime. That leaves very little socialization time and time for us as a family. I'd take B with me, but he's a bit too small for the jogger and I don't have a seat adapter. He's only a couple months away from that possibility, so I'm not investing in one now. Speaking of strollers, here's our lineup. Let me first preface things with the whole thought that I'm a little cheap. I don't want to buy the most expensive strollers for one child when I know we'll need to buy a double at some point. So for now, here's what we've got for just one kid:

Graco Snugrider Snap Stroller - super light, super easy and super convenient. Paid $25 at the local consignment store and I've put tons of miles on this already and traveled to Savannah with it. NOT jogging material. Brisk walks, sure. Jogging, no.

Britax B-Agile. Amazon purchase for $200 and that's about as expensive as I'm willing to go with one kiddo. It's light, folds up compact, but it's not really jogging material. Again, brisk walking. This will come in handy as our everyday stroller when B is sitting with better head control.

Baby Trend Expedition LX. It's the jogger we have right now. We paid about $45 on Craigslist. B is too small for it still and I refuse to invest in a adapter when he'll be big enough before we know it.

Now, when we have another kid, we'll invest in a much better double/jogger and the adapter for the carseat. This is my pick for when that time comes (not necessarily that color):

BOB double -- yes, I know most of you are super cool and already own this. I'm a little jealous but can't bring myself to buy a single BOB and a double BOB. I do want my children to go to college. ;) And truth be told, my dream double is the Bumbleride Indie Double. Now that's lovely... and a freaking down payment on a house. Hah.

Cutting out sugar. I've decided to take a sweet break. Last year I did this in the spring and worked out like a madwoman. It was incredible and I dropped the pregnancy weight stat-- but what wasn't incredible was the reason I wanted to lose it so stinking quick. This time, I'm just cutting out sweets for a month. We'll see if it lasts longer. I'm on day 6. And don't get me started on the Reese's Eggs I picked up on after Easter clearance at Target for $.09. They're stashed away.

Brisk walks for at least 30min/day. I've been walking pretty regularly with B because it gives us something to do, gets us out in fresh air, allows for some exercise, and it's a good 30 minutes of not having to walk around the house rocking him so he won't cry. He's a little sensitive lately and wants to be moving constantly. As long as I'm keeping up my heart rate, I'm pleased. It gives me 30+ minutes of heart rate elevation a day and without exercising any other way each day, it's all I've got. I'd love to use exercise videos or even the Wii to motivate me, but B is seriously clingy right now and cannot be put down for longer than 10 minutes. It's impossible to get a workout in. I went for a nice walk in the forest preserve with a friend yesterday and took B in the Ergo. It's not as easy as stroller walking, but I was walking fast enough to feel it-- shows just how out of shape I am. I wouldn't do anything more than walking (and even then had to hold Ray's hand because I was afraid to trip) with B's pregnancy and I can tell.

And with that, I'll leave you with my final motivation:

 

The Story of a Little Brother

I spent part of this week writing out B's birth story and NICU stay. It's seven pages, y'all. I wasn't sure exactly how to draft it via blog without making you read for hours. That's why it's taken me so long.

So here we go. Here's B's birth story.

The Beginning - Wednesday, February 22nd.

I spent the day at work. I was training my replacement and planned to complete my final day before B’s arrival (induction scheduled for 2/29/12) on Friday the 24^th. Things didn’t quite go as planned. Like they ever do! Lunch at 12:15 consisted of a PBJ, string cheese, and celery sticks. I scooted out to my routine OB appt. after work at 3:15 and my husband came with me. He hadn’t been coming to all of them, but he came this time in case there was any chance we might be getting an earlier induction. I had my last NST on Monday the 20^th and was set to have another NST on Thursday the 23^rd. 

My OB appt. yielded some surprising results. My OB told me that she thought we needed to head right on over to labor and delivery (like right then) and start my induction. I was 36w6d. The reasons in her recommending were the following: our history of unexplained loss, excessive amniotic fluid discovered during a BPP at the Perinatologist’s office during my NSTs (like over the high level) which could cause the cord to come first if I my water were to break and a potential demise, being 3cm dilated, having Braxton Hicks contractions every 3 minutes, and the fact that B hadn’t been moving a ton and scoring 8/10 on his last two NST/BPPs. The concern was that he was scoring 10/10 for weeks and then started scoring 8/10. Considering all we’ve been through, the logical choice was to induce. Of course, we knew that also had risks. For one, he would be barely term and likely have some symptoms of a preterm baby—mainly lung immaturity. They don’t give steroid shots to babies past 34 weeks… so that wasn’t an option. We just had to hope for the best. I was also at risk of an emergency c-section (though not a terrible thing if successful) since my water breaking could mean the cord rushes out. But the likelihood of having a live baby was good… so we decided to induce a week before our scheduled induction date. We were meant to have a leap year baby, but he was coming much sooner. My OB wanted me to head straight to L&D, but I wanted a shower and to pack some things since we had nothing ready. We headed home (3.5 miles from the hospital) and packed things in a fury. I took a shower and we were off. We were home maybe 30 minutes tops. And who was she kidding? I wasn’t about to walk through the doors of that hospital and into Labor and Delivery without my husband. I could not do this alone.

We arrived at the hospital close to 5 p.m. I sent an email at 4:33 p.m. to some BLM friends to let them know. To say that we were terrified was an understatement. There were tears of fear and excitement in the car. Tears about going into labor and delivery where Andrew was born and where we said goodbye. Where we had our 24-week scare with B. Where we had our D&C after the miscarriage in June. We’ve never had good news there… but were hoping this experience would be different. I made sure that the awful doctor who delivered Andrew and dealt with our miscarriage was not the on-call doctor. She wasn’t. Phew. We were checked into the room closest to the OR just in case the cord were to come first after they broke my water. There wasn’t a single other patient in L&D that evening. I was grateful.

It starts.

Our first nurse was also our discharge nurse during our stay with Andrew. It was only fitting that she checked us back in for the birth of our second son. She attends the same church and has mutual friends. She also shared some intimate moments with us about her own grief journey this past year and let us know she was praying for us. She started me on pitocin around 5:30 and my contractions were growing stronger. B’s heartbeat was strong but at times would send us freaking out because he would move or the belt would shift. Ray and I would not take our eyes off the thing for the entire induction process. No joke. One of us had to be watching it the entire time, despite the nurses assuring us that there were two additional nurses monitoring his heartrate.

The delivering doctor came in (who also performed my D&C…lovely) and broke my water. What a weird feeling! With Andrew, I didn’t feel it because it happened as I was pushing. Because I had an abundant amount of fluid, they were literally fishing it out for minutes upon minutes. I asked how much water at one point and my doctor told me that a gallon wouldn’t be unreasonable. No cord came. Phew. Around 9 p.m. I was around 6cm dilated and still feeling pretty great. I didn’t need the epidural quite yet, but I knew that it would only be a matter of time and the nurse kept asking if I wanted it. What I really wanted was to pee… and I knew a catheter would be administered along with the epi. Around 9:20 p.m., the anesthesiologist came on in and made sure to stick me (twice) and finally managed to get that epidural moving.

I started pushing around 12:10 a.m. and had 9 full contractions of pushing before B was born at 12:42 a.m. on February 23, 2012. He was born at just barely 37 weeks. 19 inches long and 7lb. 6oz. Andrew was the exact same weight. <3 We heard him cry and it was quite possibly the best sound I’ve ever heard. Ray was over taking photos while the nurse was handling all of the cleaning, vitals, and measurements.

B had arrived. But all was not well. Again.

About 2 hours later after skin-to-skin time and we were all cleaned up, we were wheeled down to Mother-Baby for the first time. We had never been down this hall. After having Andrew, we stayed in L&D the entire time until we were discharged. The nurse was extremely sensitive to our needs and took us down a back hallway and away from our dreaded delivery room where we said goodbye to Andrew.

Transition to Mother-Baby. But not for long.

Once in Mother-Baby, things were going well… until they weren’t. Again. He had his first bath... Ray took photos and then headed down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

I surrender!

I pity the fool who tries to mess with my mama.

The nurse then wheeled B down to the nursery to take his vitals around 6 a.m. It seemed like a long time, so I sent Ray out to check on him. Right there in the nursery was the neonatologist and a team of nurses surrounding his bassinet. Something was wrong. It turns out B started choking in the nursery and they had to save him. Save his life. They took him down to the NICU for monitoring after because it’s protocol to keep a child for 6 hours after an “episode” occurs. He had his second choking episode in the NICU. He was officially admitted at that point. This is where they asked my permission to give him formula.

And this is where I lost it. 

I was a full-on mess of emotions. My first son died. My second son nearly died. And now they admitted him to the NICU and are giving him formula. Formula is obviously not the devil, but when you envisioned this perfect skin-to-skin and rooming-in time with your baby and they have now taken him away because he is sick and can no longer be in contact with his mom… it’s very emotional. I felt like that was the last straw in having no control.

Once admitted to the NICU, they performed an x-ray on his lungs. Leave it to me to be in the 1% again. Born at just 37 weeks (full term) B was diagnosed with Transient Tachypnea of the Newborn (TTN). Basically, it’s fluid in the lungs that wasn't able to be fully extracted as he exited the birth canal and because he was slightly pre-term. There are no long term effects and it is usually gone within 72 hours, especially with the assistance of forced oxygen via tube. Once diagnosed, they inserted the oxygen tube and hooked him up to 25% forced oxygen (we breathe 21%). They slowly weaned him off the oxygen as time progressed and his breathing began to improve over the course of the next two days.

Does this look comfortable to you? Didn't think so.

Vitals: Heartrate, breaths, oxygen level

Once in the NICU, B needed  to go 24-48 hours under observation without any drop in his blood oxygen level before they would release him after they removed the oxygen. Because B was considered preterm and was not breathing properly at birth, this caused him to struggle with feeding—because the body can only handle one fight at a time. He was given a feeding tube in the NICU that they were feeding formula into—Gerber Good Start Gentle. I had lots of tears over this. They asked my permission to feed him and despite wanting him to be an entirely breastfed baby, I knew he was also fighting for his life and should not be deprived of nutrients that could help his lungs and body heal faster. He only used the feeding tube a handful of times in the NICU, but it still hurt watching them put the tube down through his nose. Seeing your brand new baby fight for his life is simply terrifying. In the meantime, I was seeing a lactation consultant between B’s feedings (of which we were at every single one) to assist with pumping. She even visited the NICU during his feeding a few times to assist with latching (of which didn’t go so well… but I learned quite a few techniques to use with a young baby). He was also fed colostrum in addition to the formula. Our schedule the entire time he was in the NICU consisted of the following:

• Go to B’s feedings—change his diaper, bathe him, hold him, and put him to breast… then feed via bottle or tube with breastmilk and formula.
• After about an hour, leave to go pump back in our room at Mother-Baby.
• Interruptions by various doctors, consultants and nurses.
• Sleep for about 1.5 hours. Rinse. Repeat.

Andrew was never far away.

This of course was only until we were discharged from Mother-Baby. That story to come later. We really envisioned having our son room-in with us. I even wrote countless emails to my fellow babyloss friends during my pregnancy about how terrified I was that they would take him away from me after I delivered. I was induced, so it was partly my fault, but I could very well be typing another demise story had we not induced either. It’s tricky. In addition to not rooming-in with our son as we envisioned, we were forced to walk by the room I delivered Andrew every single time we went to visit B in the NICU. Room 120. On the corner, just down the hall from Mother-Baby. We walked by about 20 times a day, at least. A room I never wanted to go near again. Ever. 

Unfair connections.

On B’s second day in the NICU, we walked by Andrew’s room and then the room next door… and I saw something all too familiar. A falling leaf on the door of a room in Labor and Delivery. That same falling leaf was taped to our door after delivering Andrew stillborn. There was a couple behind those closed doors that lost their baby and I walked by visiting my (living) son in the NICU, knowing the grief journey they were embarking on, just as we did 15 months prior when Andrew died. I wanted so desperately to walk in and tell them I understood. That I have a son in heaven. That this journey is the most excruciating one they’ll ever endure and one that is so incredibly unfair. Instead, I just cried. Because I know that grief in such a raw form. I was thankful this time that I was walking to see my living child, but I knew that his lung issues and episodes could have very well ended in another demise. That I could have another falling leaf on my door.

Inside the NICU doors.

In the NICU, B was undoubtedly the biggest baby among the six others. The others were all super preemies and B was the only one close to term. Ironically, most of them were not on oxygen because they were given the steroid shot to develop their lungs before birth. One of my nurses in Mother-Baby told me that they had three cases of TTN babies in the NICU that week alone, so it’s not uncommon. However, the other babies in the NICU were there mostly for maturity issues. They needed to grow to term before being released. We watched another baby come and go in the NICU after also having an episode. She was stabilized, thankfully and was released. But to hear the panic alarm and the neonatologist and other NICU nurses rushing to get another baby was awful. Since I was not by his bedside when he had his episodes, it scared me to watch the process unfold as if it were my own child.

Friday, February 24th. The next day.

We had a social worker come by our Mother-Baby room to talk with me about PTSD. She said it sounded like I probably had some of it creeping in since we have a history of loss and now a traumatic experience of our second son being born with complications. She wanted to know I had support in place—that I would be okay. How someone with such strength and independence became someone who must struggle and lean on others for emotional support is hard to swallow. To know I’m listed as a person to watch is even worse.

Friday also marked the day of B’s echocardiogram on his heart. They were hearing a slight murmur which is common in newborns, but because he was having lung issues, they wanted to rule out any connection to heart problems as well. Because they only perform these ultrasounds on specific days, we went ahead with it. We held B’s arms and soothed him for the entire process of an hour. It was painful to watch our son being prodded like that, but thankful to hear that the only detection was the normal valve that shuts on its own once the baby is born. Check that off the list of potential problems. Phew. The rest of the day was a blur. 

Saturday, February 25th.

At 2:00 a.m., B was released from oxygen completely. He had been being weaned during the 24^th and was finally oxygen-tube free by our 3 a.m. feeding on the 25^th. It was such a joy to see him not only breathing on his own, but free of that darn oxygen tube. Of course he still had his feeding tube as the NICU nurses insisted he was not eating well—and in fact he was not. He needed to improve his eating and be off oxygen without any episodes for 24-48 hours before they were willing to release him to go home with us.

No more tube! Yay!

But I still have this stupid tube. Get it out. Please.

Discharge day. Fighting to stay.

In the meantime, I was being discharged from Mother-Baby… the place where I was meant to be recovering but seriously felt totally recovered hours after giving birth (no joke, I could’ve gone for a jog). We had nowhere to go and most certainly were not willing to leave our second son at the hospital by himself. I could not show up pregnant for the third time at that hospital and leave for the third time without my child. I just couldn’t. And go home to an empty home again? Not going to happen.

The OB from my practice came in to see me in Mother-Baby and said he would not perform B’s circ until he was out of the NICU. However, when we went in to see B at his next feeding, the circ had been performed (sans drugs—this doc doesn’t use them). Our concern was that now that B was off his oxygen, he had to perform well at feedings before they would release him. But what baby is interested in downing a bottle (especially a preterm one, no less) that just had a circumcision? In addition, he was receiving his Hep B shot that day as well and we felt doomed from the start. We wanted him eating and the NICU required a certain amount in 30 minutes and made it very clear that if he didn’t “pass”, they would not be discharging him.

He fed well without a tube, but after his circ was feeling a little exhausted. The NICU nurse was incredibly rude (though the majority were SO wonderful and there is no doubt to us that they saved his life) and came over yelling at us and telling us that we clearly were not reading his cues and that they would be taking the last 9ml and putting it through the feeding tube. The kid just had a circ and a Hep B shot! I’m not sure I’d be hungry either! We were so frustrated because as we know it, he’ll eat when he feels like it. At this point we felt like we needed to give him an exact amount and no more at feedings—just so we could be discharged. We felt like we had to withhold more food if he wanted it because then he might not feed as well for the next meal (big lunch, small dinner… was our concern). That last 9ml potentially cost us another day in the NICU because he had to wait a full 24 hours and only be bottle fed in order to be discharged. 

So now he's eating. And no longer has TTN. Time to go home?

As of Saturday, he was no longer on oxygen, was eating without a tube, and was stable for over 24 hours… yet he was not being released. We told the NICU that we did not intend on leaving the hospital and placed a complaint with the lead charge nurse of the hospital for the behavior of the NICU nurse who was treating us as though we were inept… despite us being at every single feeding he had and her only being there for a 12-hour shift. We had the patient advocate in our Mother-Baby room and the lead nurse assuring us that although we had to check out of Mother-Baby by midnight, that we would not be kicked out of the hospital. The NICU nurses (though not the grouchy one) pulled together and told us we could stay from 12 a.m.-7 a.m. in the NICU conference room. It had a loveseat, two chairs, a coffee table, and a floor. It was also 5 steps from the NICU doors. We immediately checked out of Mother-Baby and schlepped our stuff into the room. You know, the room where they tell parents their child is terminal. It was awful knowing this, but we simply had nowhere else to go and home just was not an option. We were not missing a feeding and we were not leaving our son behind. We slept restlessly in the room and then moved our things to the hospital lobby and stashed them behind a couch before B’s next feeding. 

Why not just stay in the Ronald McDonald House?

The hospital has a Ronald McDonald House that was set to open in January… but obviously it was still not open despite the statue of Ronald in the lobby, a big sign up, the ribbon cutting being reported (with pictures!) in the paper, and everything. Apparently some bureaucratic document had yet to be signed to officially open its doors. Super. Here we are staring at Ronald in the lobby of the hospital and napping on the lobby couches. 

There's Ronald... now where's the house?

Camping out.

Bye, Bye NICU - Sunday, February 26th.

Our new day nurse was once again, the grouchy nurse! We told the lead nurse that we would not have her around our son anymore, so she had her apprentice taking care of B instead. She was being so incredibly nice to us after we placed our complaint. We still aren’t sure if she knew we complained. Maybe she learned to respect us more for caring so much for B? For advocating for him and taking charge as parents? We were absolutely the most involved parents in the NICU. Either way, we asked the apprentice on Sunday when our son would be allowed to come home. We stated the case that he had been eating off the tube (except that 9 measly ml they insisted he needed of which he immediately vomited up—who isn’t following his cues now?!), had been off oxygen for more than 24 hours and was stable, had no heart condition per his Echo, and was within normal limits of jaundice. What more did he need to pass on their scale and why were we, his parents, being left in the dark? Where was this magical checklist he had to pass that we weren’t familiar with? When asked, the nurse told us that she didn’t think it was likely he would be coming home with us that day.

Cue the anger.

Ray started becoming very vocal at this point. Right in the middle of the NICU with all of the nurses and parents around, Ray started yelling about how they were keeping us out of the loop, how they were forcing B to food that he did not want through a tube, and that the NICU is a business and that they obviously need to fill beds. Yikes. It was definitely a moment of desperation. Surely we know that those nurses and neonatologists saved B’s life. We are thankful they were there and for all the Level III resources they had to care for our son. But at this point, we just wanted to know what else our child needed to do in order to be considered “normal” again. Not feeding well is a newborn issue—not a NICU issue. A potential for jaundice is a newborn issue as well—not a reason to keep a child in the NICU. Another nurse who we didn’t love either (there were 2—the rest were awesome) yelled right back and told him that if we took B home, he’d end up in pediatrics because he was acting like a 36-weeker. We asked to speak with the neonatologist on duty. He was no help. He walked over and stated his jaundice and feeding was keeping him from being discharged and offered no support in his words. He was tested for jaundice every day and was not given the bili blanket or lights because, as they said, they don't treat for something that is not a problem. Well, if it's not a problem, then why isn't he home with us? Most parents whose children develop jaundice can rent a blanket and be on their merry way.

That afternoon, a new neonatologist was there and ready to speak with us. He made sure to explain that as long as B was feeding well for a few feedings, he would release him. He also told us that he’d like to see a less strict feeding schedule (what a concept to eat when you’re hungry and not exactly every 3 hours!) and to allow B to eat as much as he wants, whenever he wants. We were thrilled with this news, as it appeared someone finally understood our concerns and wanted our child to experience a normal schedule. We came in for our 3 p.m. feeding and he fed like a champ. 

Final field trip before B came home to live with us. To Target, of course.

We left the NICU and headed to Target for some baby items, as we were determined he would be coming home with us that evening. It was my first time out of the hospital walls since Wednesday when we were admitted into Labor and Delivery. Once we arrived back, we walked through those doors talking about how we were about to go take the “final exam” to be given rights to take our kid home. It was a huge slap in the face to feel this as we’d been trying to bring a baby home and be somewhat normal for 2 years now. We felt as though others were considering us incompetent as parents, yet every other child with “eating issues” is able to leave Mother-Baby with their parents after having that perfect rooming-in experience without any more than a “congrats, you can do it!” attitude. We wanted to feel a pat on the back from the hospital staff and the encouragement we so desperately deserved. We decided I would be the one to take the “final exam” of feeding B in front of them for the last time. 

Final exam canceled. You're free to go.

We spent that entire day on Sunday just kissing major butt. I was asking nurses their best techniques for this and that, reading ALL of the paperwork I received about newborn care (despite feeling equipped on the majority of it) in the chairs as B slept. Ray was reading The Economist to show he was intelligent and hopefully the NICU nurses would see we weren’t a couple of incapable, young kids. When we walked into those doors at 6 p.m. for his “final exam” feeding, they basically told us we could take him. We aren’t sure whether we passed the test with our behavior or if they just wanted to get rid of us… or if B really did convince them that he was fine to go home. But regardless, we were being discharged and would finally be bringing home our baby. The grouchy nurse took over at this point and could not have been nicer. We don’t understand it, but we just didn’t care at this point. We wanted out. Within an hour, we were on our way home with B strapped in his carseat in the back seat of our car. Coming home. 

The grouchy nurse had parting words for me as Ray pulled up the car:

“Just remember. Your kid is not sick, so you can treat him as normal as possible. All of his cultures, blood tests, and ultrasounds have come back negative and other than eating and being jaundice, he is totally normal."

What a concept. I seriously don’t know when the switch was triggered, but she all of a sudden realized that he was fine and that he needed to be coming home. Confused. As we drove away, we felt like we were making a jailbreak. Like they were following us to monitor or take B away. It was such a terrible experience to feel, once again, like we weren’t capable of handling things with our child. In order to give us the “full experience”, they brought a wheelchair and wheeled me out (despite being totally fine to walk) to the lobby for our final farewell—like they do for all the mothers leaving Mother-Baby. They took us out the same way we left without Andrew—when I was wheeled out with a bag full of mementos and without a baby. It was surely a numbing experience, but thankfully we were occupied with the idea that we were finally leaving the NICU. 

Under one condition.

Of course not without strings attached. The grouchy nurse told me about 5 times that we HAD to take B to the doctor the very next day to have them check him out for jaundice. It was a complete waste of a co-pay as we knew he was within normal levels and not a lot was going to change within 12 hours, but we obliged just to have our kid home. Like we suspected, the doctor told us he was fine and just to make sure he was spending some time in the sun, eating well, and pooping well. Our 2-week appointment is scheduled for Thursday.

He's home, y'all. He's freaking home.

Putting the Cart Before the Horse

Some fellow BLM friends and I used to write very detailed emails about conception and our future children before we were pregnant again with our current babes. We'd include information about ourselves as parents to these babies before they were even conceived. We'd often joke about putting the cart before the horse in already planning for a life that didn't yet exist.

As we near the birth of our second child and still hold to being wildly hopeful about his life standing the test of time and far beyond our years as parents on this Earth, we're experiencing some cart-before-horse scenarios.

For one, I've been receiving lots of unsolicited child rearing advice from a large number of (hopefully well meaning, but not babyloss) people. I'm sure it's just so enticing to want to share with a super pregnant chick all about what you know related to raising kids, but honestly, stop. I am a perfectly capable, intelligent being who even spent years in the professional setting around none other than children. Real, in-the-flesh children. That's not only what I consider putting the cart before the horse (hello, my kid is still gestating), but it's offensive and rude. It tells me that my experience carrying Andrew and spending all of my pregnancies lovingly pouring over safety manuals of the latest baby gear and child-rearing practices and whatnot was in vain. I refuse to believe that my entire time as a mother (started circa March 2010) was in vain and I'd appreciate no one else express that inadvertently either. Lady in the grocery store, people I work with, and people I consider friends, please just think before you open your "helpful" mouths.

Chances are I've heard of all the baby items you want to address in your advice, as I do have a nursery bursting with baby crap. This has been mentioned many times and I even have pictures of the nursery and baby crap on this very blog. I've also likely spent a hell of a lot longer researching than you, as I've had nothing better to do than obsess over baby crap and the prospect of being a parent and using said crap with my own child for over two years straight. I read books and researched as well. I took classes and spent hours and hours on the Internet just to make myself more informed and familiar with what is out there for safety, user-ability and the like. I'm no idiot and I don't take unsolicited advice lightly. I've never really appreciated it, actually. And when I get baby advice, it's just about the worst kind... because it shows evidence that people aren't really attempting to understand my reality as a babyloss mother. In providing advice, it expresses to me that my child either did not have purpose or did not exist. And he did. And I deserve credit. I am a mom and I deserve credit.

Please let me peacefully complete this pregnancy and raise my child as I see fit. Case in point: unless I am conversing with you and include such things as a question mark (implying my interest to learn more about your experiences), I am not asking for them. I bet you're excited to share and it's a natural thing to do-- but not to a babyloss mother. And honestly, even before we lost Andrew, I didn't appreciate the unsolicited approach to sway my opinion. If I write a post on, say, strollers, I have no problem with comments or conversation related to your favorite strollers, etc. But if I am not discussing such things, I don't want the assumption to be made that I'm ignorant on the subject or want to be discussing such things. After all, my son did still die. These things are still triggers for me-- as I think I've made it clear in discussing how hard it has been to "prepare" for Benjamin in the wake of losing Andrew. It's hard. And not the regular kind of hard, either. And just because I'm carrying around this big, fat, loved baby, it doesn't mean I'm not still totally brokenhearted about losing Andrew.

Thanks for allowing the PSA. A bit longer than I expected... but quite necessary as my emotions are through the ceiling. Pregnancy after loss is probably the hardest decision I've ever made. I'm thankful with everything in me, but still so scared and sensitive.

Flip Update & Sunday Mornings

I guess we could call this the home stretch. What a long s-t-r-e-t-c-h it is!

Breathe.

Every morning and evening, I wait for kicks before I can start my day or end my day. I read online recently about this woman's experience on how kick counts saved her son's life. Apparently he was in distress and she was able to detect that since he had not moved after having lunch (when she performed her kick counts). She mentioned that she performed a three solid kick count after every meal she had. It was easy for her as she was on bedrest and not occupied with anything else. She had lunch and... nothing. She was able to set up an NST for that afternoon and delivered her son within an hour via emergency c-section.

Now... I'm not on bedrest. Thankfully, I am not. I've been doing the same quick 3 kick count after every meal, counting kicks informally every morning after breakfast, counting kicks informally before bed at night and after dinner, and performing a formal kick count at 3:30 every afternoon. It's expected that you count 10 kicks within 2 hours and select a time of day when the baby is most active. Also, it's recommended to choose the same time of day, everyday. If I chose an active time, he'd pass his count within a minute! I am already doing informal counts during those times anyway, so I chose 3:30 as the time when he's usually least active to perform the formal count. Even when babies are sleeping, they still poke, nudge or roll just a bit. I lay on my left side for optimal blood/oxygen flow and count. I wake up at least 3-4 times per night (aka the pregnancy curse) and cannot fall back to sleep until I've felt at least one solid kick either. I first documented in my daily journal that I've kept this entire pregnancy (for the formal count only), then I started documenting start/stop and total amount of time to reach 10 kicks in the notes on my iPhone. Just today, I downloaded the pregnancy tracker free iPhone app on my phone. It has a button to press at the start, when each kick is achieved, and records exactly when everything occurs down to the second. I think this is definitely the way to go.

Today I started at 03:30:28 and the duration was 00:07:03 to achieve 10 total kicks. I'm also quite picky. Each kick, roll, punch or poke has to be independent (not trailing or connected to the last) and it has to be relatively strong. If I am not sure, I don't count it. I have my hands on my belly the entire time and try not to distract myself. This is serious business, people. The longest it's taken for him to achieve 10 kicks was 29 minutes (that was painful and scary), and the shortest was about 3 minutes. The average is about 12 minutes, however. I think waiting 2 hours is a little extreme, especially for someone who has already lost a child. If I don't feel 10 in one hour, I will definitely be on the phone with my OB or MFM. That's another reason I wanted to track a formal kick count during business hours-- to try and avoid another trip to L&D.

Phew. This is my brain and I can't stop it.

We had our first NST yesterday and it went quite well. I had about 3 contractions during our visit (though nothing I could feel). He had a nice heart rate and was kicking me like crazy. I'm not sure our little guy likes all those straps constricting him. He's about out of room as it is. My next growth ultrasound is coming up in early February with my MFM and an induction is likely going to be scheduled at the end of February. I'm being vague because nothing is really in stone as we all know. I also feel scared putting definitive dates on anything as if I'll jinx it from actually happening. But to think we could have a baby in our arms at the end of February? No words.

I am even considering going to my first OB appt. by myself this Tuesday. Ray has been to everysingle appointment with me this pregnancy. But, if we can hear the baby on the doppler and feel a few solid kicks, I feel comfortable going by myself since the appointment will be just an hour or so after Ray heads to work. It's unlikely I'll experience anything traumatic within an hour of him being home to feel/hear the baby. Sometimes we have to wait forever at the OB. I hate it. But, I refuse to see anyone but this crazy-awesome doctor and will wait 'til the end of time to see her and only her.

Now onto Sunday Mornings. We lost Andrew on a Sunday. At least, that's when I woke up and went into labor, suspicious about not feeling any kicks that morning as well. Sunday mornings haunt us a bit. We both wake up on Sunday and immediately hold my belly and talk to Flip with hopes that he moves like a maniac baby. Not that we can't lose a child on a Monday or Wednesday... or whatever. It's absolutely true that times, dates, and days haunt you when something so traumatic occurs. For a long time, I counted Sundays. I couldn't even look at the word Sunday for a long time after losing Andrew. You can likely sense our fear in repeating a groundhog day with this baby.

We're surviving. But can I say that I pull out my phone at least three times a day to count how many days we have left? As if the number of days left change multiple times in one day or something. Doesn't work that way. I sure wish it did.

Distraction projects/fun we have planned to get me through the end of January/February:
- Reading two books as part of BlogHer's book club: The Weird Sisters (in progress) and The Rules of Inheritance.
- Attempting to learn our DSLR and starting a 30-day assignment
- Cooking more and baking more bread
- Going away to Michigan to a cute hotel for a night (weather permitting)
- Blackhawks game
- Travel Expo (randomly purchased to pass the time... and we love to travel... why not, right?)
- Dinner with friends
- Working
- Mardi Gras party through House Party (I love them)
- Blogging, journaling, DVRing and watching trash television (oh hello, The Bachelor)
- A million, give or take, OB/MFM appointments

Name reveal to come... not sure why I haven't just up and posted that yet. I don't know. I can't explain my crazy sometimes.

Current List of Worries

Stuff most pregnant women never think about is all I can ...

1. Low grade fevers. This pregnancy I've had this twice and one of those times was last night. Cue the panicking, wet wash cloths, increased water intake, heat turned off, checking my temp every 5 minutes until it broke (over the course of two hours from 1am-3am), and no blankets.

2. Drinking water. We received a letter from our city that in August they tested the drinking water and traces of bacteria were found. Great, I've only increased my water consumption because I've been pregnant the entire time of this testing/realization. Don't panic, they said. Don't boil your water, they said. Don't stop drinking it, they said. Except when you know a good BLM friend of yours lost her perfect son to bacterial meningitis. We'll be purchasing large amounts of bottled water starting today.

3. Cord coiling. Looks like this baby also has an undercoiled umbilical cord. The perinatologist said it is normal and functioning, but definitely less coiled than he's used to seeing. Great. A little too close to home on that one since my first son died from an undercoiled cord being flattened in utero. Hello early induction date!?

4. Falling on ice. Winter is about to hit Chicagoland and we hear that we're going to be taking a beating. Know what that means? More black ice and more chances to fall on it. Looks like I'll be hermit crabbing it up inside my house for the next six months. Don't believe me? Winter really does last that long here.

On the good news front, this baby is developing just as he should and measuring a bit ahead in every category. {No surprise on the gender, btw. We've had a hunch since our 12w u/s that there were boy parts present.} There are no current health concerns or abnormalities to worry about at this time. If only I had the ability to hold that cord in place for the next 4 months, I totally would. Instead, I worry.

Operation Fat Baby

It's probably just going to end up being Operation Fat Brandy, but whatever. Pregnancy is stressful enough under these circumstances and stress might make a certain someone want to eat. A lot.

As I walked out of TCBY this afternoon with my strawberry frozen yogurt, some guy made sure to ask, "Is that for you or the baby?" I honestly looked around me to see if there were other customers he was talking to because I didn't know what he was talking about. Oh, that thing in my belly? Ah, right. Yeah, it's probably just for me. Thanks for asking, inappropriate stranger. Since I often choose to forget there's a little human setting up camp in there, it was weird to hear that out of the mouth of a complete stranger. Then I realized that he doesn't know anything about me and most certainly has no clue that I have such sensitive issues surrounding pregnancy and babymaking. Most people don't-- I'm just the anomaly.

I have a particular affinity toward things made with processed cheese (Cheetos, Cheezits) or anything fried. This could be a very bad situation, especially if strangers feel the need to point out my calorie consumption on the regular.

Hi, my name is Brandy and I consume way too many calories. Oh, and I don't care what anyone has to say about it. If someone could guarantee me a healthy, screaming, fat baby at the end of this whole ordeal, I would literally go buy out the entire potato chip aisle at the nearest market. I have no shame.

Mine will definitely (or we'd have serious issues) not be Asian or this much of a chunker, but it wouldn't be a proper fat baby post without a visual of sorts. Totally necessary, right?

Did I Speak Too Soon?

I read advice somewhere in my early stages of grief that advised couples who lost a child in-utero to only start trying again once they felt their excitement for having another child outweighed their fear of losing said child.

I call bullshit.

While we're excited at being pregnant again, we are terrified at equal levels. Like my friend Keleen pointed out in one of her current pregnancy post-loss posts, we're more familiar with the idea of loss than life. In some ways, I'm more "comfortable" with how to react if this child dies than if it lives. It's the only experience I have. I don't think my fear will ever go away and I don't think that if we waited a year, 2 years, 5 years, that my heart would feel any different. I might actually feel more fear because my biological clock is ticking and complications mount the more time I wait.

I've spent the last 4 months avoiding pregnancy topics, talks, and anything that might "out" me as one of them. I've been desperately hiding my belly so students wouldn't notice. To date, two of them have commented. One said, "You're having another baby?" It's abnormal to see someone pregnant so quickly after their last obvious pregnancy. I get it, kid. I logically responded by looking at him like he was crazy and telling him to get back to reading his story. Another girl commented on how I looked pregnant. I acted offended that she would consider me "fat", though I'm obviously masking a growing munchkin. Another innocent kiddo asked where my son was recently. I responded by saying, "Well, not here!" The child then commented back about him being home with a babysitter. Hah. If only.

The teachers are more keen and concerned for me, often asking questions about well-being. I've got to be honest, though. I have never announced to any of these people, yet they feel the need to ask me point-blank if I am pregnant. I'm a little surprised by this because 1. It's never okay to ask someone if they are pregnant unless they are clearly showing if you aren't at least a close friend or the keeper of their phone number (indicating personal relationship) and 2. Pregnancy is a fragile topic for me. Handle with care. If I'm not talking about it, I probably don't want to. It's also incredibly uncomfortable to feel like I need to validate how myself and my doctors plan to make sure this one doesn't die. They don't outright say it like that, but it usually heads down this road: So... is there anything being done differently this time? Well, yes, but mostly just to protect my fragile heart and reassure me constantly that there's still a heartbeat. The implication is that we didn't do enough last time to save Andrew and therefore were negligent in some way and responsible for his death. No, sometimes it's just an accident. Maybe that's just me being all defensive and presuming too much. I know people are curious and afraid to ask. When they do ask, I make assumptions about their thoughts and become offended. Always a lose-lose. Gah. I can assure you that I wouldn't just get pregnant again to put myself intentionally back in the dead-baby zone. I will move heaven and earth for this child, just as I would for Andrew. There are some wonderful responses like, "We're over the moon for you. Please know that you are in our every thought and prayer for this little one."

Anyway, just babbling my emotions once again. I had a scare on Sunday morning when I thought my stomach looked less bulging and therefore my automatic assumption was that there was a limp, lifeless baby inside my uterus. I asked Ray for the doppler (he keeps it in his car so I don't have freakout sessions without him home) and we found the heartbeat right away along with some movement. I questioned recently if I thought the doppler was a good purchase. I felt it made me crazy trying to figure out if the sounds I was hearing were actually the heartbeat. That one use validated the purchase.

I spent a good portion of the yesterday evening crying. I rarely answer the phone anymore, so the voicemails just pile up.This time there were seven. I know that once I let them play, I'll cry. For that reason, I let them pile up so I can listen when I feel most emotionally stable and get the tears out of the way all at the same time. When I went to listen, I heard such wonderful messages of love and support. What should normally be comforting to most people sent me into a fit of crying. I haven't cried that long and hard for a long time. I was crying because I felt like a terrible friend. Like I've been entirely too antisocial but don't know how to handle things any other way. Crying because people are saying wonderful things to congratulate and offer condolences when I never wanted to be in this position to begin with. I appreciate them but just don't know how to handle things. Crying because I couldn't (still) believe this is the life I'll live forever missing Andrew. It can be really too much to handle sometimes. When tears feel like they're literally pouring out of your heart and could fill up a small bowl with their downpour.

Announcing the pregnancy was a vulnerable experience for me. I hate putting myself out there so much, but I knew it was inevitable. There's so much to talk about that makes this pregnancy a world different than my pregnancy with Andrew. I'm sure I'll get to all those emotions at some point if I can keep my head straight for 5 minutes long enough to blog about them.

Ten months. It stings.

This Time Around

Yep, I'm pregnant. Again. I know, you aren't surprised and I'm sure you had your suspicions. And in case you're wondering, I am scared out of my ever loving mind. My body has now been pregnant 3 times in my nearly 29 years of life and all within about a 6-month timeslot. My body seems to handle the whole conception part pretty swimmingly; it's after that when all hell breaks loose. At least from my track record.

Third time, you ask? I only knew about Andrew. Well, yeah.

See, right around the 6-month mark of Andrew's birth, I was about 7 weeks pregnant with #2 after about three months of trying. It turned out, however, that #2 never developed past the implantation stage and was considered a blighted ovum. I was set to miscarry after ultrasound confirmation #2. And 12 hours later, my body kicked into high gear and expelled the sac and whatever residual "pregnancy matter" that existed. That was the medical term they used. I'm not even sure if I'd consider that a child since it never developed at all, but that's a debate for another time and place. I followed that with a D&C the next day to make sure my ute was all clean and tidy. It was probably totally unnecessary, but after two losses in 6 months, I just wanted to end the battle and press on. I didn't want to bleed for another month like I did after giving birth. I was defeated. Sad. Frustrated. The why-me game started all over again and  I was in pretty rough shape. Four days after my miscarriage, I wrote this. Perhaps you can see the relapse in the words I wrote.

Even better, the same doctor who delivered Andrew (that I thought was cold-hearted and inconsiderate) had to be the one to "tell us" (though obviously we're not idiots) that I was about to miscarry. Her words: "Why do I always have to be the one to deliver you with bad news?" Really, I pitied her. She delivered my stillborn son and exited my life without muttering a condolence until the day she had to tell me I was losing my second pregnancy. I can assure you, seeing her face and hearing her voice again was far too soon. Losing my babies is the most devastating thing in my world and she treated it like the weather. There are words I can use to describe this doctor that I almost never think of when talking about another human being.

My favorite OB and the one who visited me in the hospital twice post-birth is the one I remain loyal to. While in the same practice as the witch doctor, she still came in and cried with me, offered her condolences, offered emotional support and guidance, and didn't waste any time talking about the future and gloating about all her fabulous resources and studies in the field of pregnancy post stillbirth. I just can't believe she shares an office with the woman who is so inconvenienced by having to deal with a couple experiencing the single worst thing of their lives. Make that twice. Because I wasn't "lucky" enough to experience just one loss. Some of you were probably doing the math and figuring out that I got pregnant pretty stinking fast after my miscarriage. That's because, despite what all the medical professionals advise (though mine didn't formally object), I didn't wait for a period. I waited for my hcg levels to drop below 5 and tested for ovulation. It was all methodical and planned. I didn't care if it would be harder for them to "date" the pregnancy. And I surely wasn't waiting around to give myself more time to mourn the loss of another baby. If I'm being ultra honest, I wish I hadn't waited the three months after Andrew's birth to try again either. I'll be an emotional basketcase about Andrew dying for the rest of my life. All I wanted was to get pregnant and I knew that waiting after the miscarriage would just cause me more anxiety. So I didn't. Three weeks later, I was knocked up for the third time. Ultrasound at 6ish weeks determined I was measuring 2 days ahead of my own predictions with a heartbeat. It also revealed a subchorionic hematoma. What are the Vegas odds on my pregnancy issues? Anyone? At the 8-week appt., the hematoma shrunk ever-so-slightly but was still there. But baby had a heartbeat. At my 12-week appt., the hematoma was gone and we still had a heartbeat along with fingers and toes. The little one was also measuring 4 days ahead of schedule. In addition, I also had five OB appointments and one with an MFM who I didn't really fancy all that much. Let's just say there is a plan in place having to do with extra checkups, more monitoring, more ultrasounds, and a swift delivery by induction when deemed safe. This girl isn't taking any chances and she sure isn't holding her breath.

Anyway, I'm 4 months. I waited this long to tell for so many reasons. These same reasons apply for why I decided not to announce my miscarriage formally on the blog.

• I announced my pregnancy at 14.5 weeks on the blog with Andrew. I wasn't planning to share anytime before that.
• I wanted this time to handle my first trimester post loss(es) as a family and as a couple. It's not top-secret information, per se, but it is information that I no longer would consider flippant to blurt out in conversation. It's too sacred.
• I'm constantly surprised by the number of folks who read this blog. This was not started as a baby loss blog and my readers are from a variety of places. The majority of my readers are not baby loss moms. While many are still supportive and kind, there are a good number who are {likely} reading so they can put a happy ending to my story. A couple loses a child and gets pregnant again (and again). Yippee! The world is whole again. I can't wait to call her to ask what she's craving and when she wants to schedule a Babies r' Us date. Hooray for everything. Not-so-fast. I'm not fixed. I'm just as broken but I do know that having Andrew made us want children that much more. When you lose something you love so much, it makes you a fighter. At least that's what losing Andrew has made us. I refuse to accept this idea that I'm fixed. Let's not forget that my pregnancy with Andrew was textbook perfect until the end when it wasn't. So if you think I'll be comfortable at any moment to put my guard down and assume expecting = live baby in the end, I won't listen. I'll be as hopeful as I have to be, but I know reality comes in many shades. Not all of those shades are in happy colors. Anyway, all that babbling to say that if this blog were written solely with a BLM audience, I'd have announced immediately. It's not. I need to keep some of my life private from everyone I've ever met and their mothers, otherwise I'd go insane. And if it weren't for the support of my BLM following, I wouldn't even announce it on the blog. I'd continue on with my journaling offline. But I need you ladies. You have gotten me through the last (nearly) 10 months and I need you now. This pregnancy post-loss business is no joke.
• I don't want to be treated like pregnancy is some new thing for me. I've been there before. Recently. We all know that. I've experienced this all before and would prefer to be treated like I have some expertise in the matter. Most parents don't blog as much about their second/third... pregnancies as they did with their first. Usually they're juggling pregnancy with a toddler. Obviously that's not my situation, but it feels a bit like déjà vu if you ask me. While this pregnancy is proving to be different than my previous two, I'm still pregnant and very aware of what is going on within my body and to my body. I gladly surrender to the little grower.
• I'm scared. Being the bearer of bad news on repeat occasions has to be the most depressing thing. I'm tired of being that poor couple and didn't want to give another reason for my blog to end up as water cooler discussion. Hey, did you hear that the couple who lost their baby in December is pregnant again? Cringe. Most of what is written here is strictly for my own therapy, my family to be updated, and for friends to understand the life of a bereaved mom. And it's helped me connect with an incredible group of moms who will also live their entire lives mourning the loss of their babies. It's a heavy reality but I'm so thankful for this group of ladies.

Also, I apologize if this post sounds defensive-- because I truly am thankful for another chance. I just really don't know how to handle pregnancy under a microscope. When I wrote about my pregnancy with Andrew, I only had about 30 regular readers and I didn't know what it was like to feel the failure of losing a child yet. I'm sure many people I know have been watching every last blog post I write lately just looking for a belly photo or hint that I might be expecting since it has been nearly 10 months. She should be pregnant by now after all... since she has hinted that they've been trying. I won't be posting belly pictures or doing weekly updates like I did with Andrew. I am keeping a side journal of daily feelings/symptoms, but that won't be going public. Reading back on Andrew's pregnancy posts make me both sad and thankful. I am happy that I wrote them out so I'd have a documentation of such a wonderful time in our lives and the growth of our little boy. But this time around is filled with doubt and trepidation... something I'm not dealing with lightly. I'll share information here or there, but don't expect this to be a repeated edition of pregnancy #1. It's not. I acknowledge and firmly believe all life should be celebrated. And I celebrate this one. But it's like celebrating next to the emergency exit. In case something goes awry, I need to find a way to deal. No pregnancy tickers or cute little bouncing babies. For your sake and mine. I'm not interested in the triggers and I'm sure my ttc friends aren't either. I'll mostly blog about my anxieties and such dealing with pregnancy after loss. But in true form, I will also be blogging about what I do best-- missing my son, and all the vacations and fun things we do as a married couple, because that is the reason I started this blog. Because even though I'm still waiting to hold a live baby in my arms, I'm still living and married to a pretty fantastic guy that I will celebrate. This baby is also part of our story. It is good news and I'm just trying to wrap my head around how to react in the midst of it all.

Here's to hoping Andrew will be a "big" brother at some point in 2012.