Gentle...

My nipples are killing me! Why can’t that part wait until there’s a crazy kid latched on, sucking the life out of me? Ugh.  This hasn’t really happened to me before, but I have read and heard it’s a normal part of the ol’ pregnancy hormone cocktail. That means I’m not worried, but why can’t said cocktail just make me feel drunk instead of give me nipple pain? Someone could get really rich working that idea. Alcoholics, hear me out.

My boobs feel fine, and I still am embarrassed to report they are no bigger than usual. I can’t complain about saving money by not having to buy bras and it’s great being able to workout without giant mama-knockers in my way, but it feels like random pinches and a constant subtle electricity current running through. Certain fabrics might start a fire. I could rev a dead car battery with these babies. Ridiculous.

Everything else is going well, however, so life is good. Wyatt’s sibling has begun kicking me and I’m in a good mental place. Can’t worry too much about the random nipple-caused wildfire if everything else is just peachy. 

veins? what veins?

I have certainly complained before about blood draws, and today is no different.  This is not because they particularly bother me; in fact, I kind of like watching it all go down. I complain because I have, basically, negative veins. The blood-drawy person always, always has to check both arms, often multiple times, and play around with the inside of my elbows, push around the stuff in there, ask me to clench and unclench fists about ten times, stand back and observe and think, Atlas-style, and so on and so on. It takes forever. Most people are in there for a minute, tops, the blood probably gushing like Niagara, at will. Hubby is one of these people. That’s good, because he is someone who doesn’t like watching…

Anyway, today the usual shenanigans occurred. Only I went home without giving the sample. That has never happened to me before, and I think to the nurse either!  Failures! Usually they poke around a little, wiggle the needle back and forth, push some things, and then the blood starts flowing. This time, nada. From either arm. In two tries each. After every trick in the book. Ick! It actually does hurt this time, and I have to go back in an hour to “try” again. I don’t know if there is any more room for needle holes, literally. Ow. 

genetic screening

We’re coming up on the time for second-trimester genetic screening. This is when labs check some hormones in the blood to see the risks of the baby having certain disorders. More blood tests, obviously. What am I, a science experiment?  These tests don’t say “yes” or “no” about having the chromosomal or neural issues, but they give you a 1/x chance. Like people at my age have a 1/350 chance of having a baby with chromosomal defects, but the test can show 1/6500 (like Wyatt, who clearly aced it of course) which obviously should make you feel better. If it doesn’t look better than chance, you can get more invasive tests that can tell you more definitively. I’d rather not have a two-foot needle poked through my uterus to actually diagnose problems, but we’ll worry about that later if we have to (knock on wood for me).

I think they can look for a bunch of “markers” on the mid-pregnancy ultrasound too. I can’t wait to see that sucker, but I need to learn more and ask lots of questions, sigh. With Wyatt, I had one screen in the first trimester, but my doctor didn’t talk about that one this time and I guess I forgot to ask. Maybe because we discussed having them around 16-17 weeks I let it go? It’s kind of blurry, looking back. His 1984 ultrasound machine probably doesn’t do the first trimester ones anyway, ha. I kind of wish we had both screens done, now that I’ve actually brushed up on my research, but I suppose I trust this kind of screen just as well. It’s still nerve wracking. I mean, I’d like to know what’s going on in there, but even if I had every diagnostic test known to man there are still so many unknowns, as we know from experience. Additionally, it might show elevated chances and then I’ll have to decide if it’s worth doing the more invasive tests…and have even more stress. Or maybe it will say everything’s fine and then it won’t be, which only postpones the stress, grr.

Some people don’t want these screens. They don’t want to know if their baby has problems because it doesn’t matter to them. I totally get that—your baby is your baby and you love it regardless. It might also be about religion, or morals, or...whatever. But me, I’m eliminating as many secret surprises as I can. I need to be prepared, because last time I sure as hell wasn’t (it wasn't about genetic defects, but still). It will be surprise enough to hear a baby crying after I push it out this time; I’d like to be prepared for everything else that follows. I should have faith that the baby is okay, considering 90-something % are born perfectly, and alive, but I just need to check. I really do. It’s one thing I can control. 

I know it’s a human baby, so I’ve at least got that going for me.

A plug for support groups

Here’s what I recommend, given certain circumstances: support groups. Now I know it’s easy to be skeptical of their supposed voodoo magic and stereotypical AA-meeting feel, but I’ve been convinced and so can you. If you’re like my dad, you think psychology is part BS and part interesting people-science. You might think psychology is neat because it brings you preliminary cancer research and things like teamwork, but maybe you’re not really into the whole people-need-each-other, especially-in-bad-times idea. But I promise you, support groups are a positive thing and I thank psychology for them.

Our support group was recommended by the hospital where I delivered Wyatt. We were lucky in that they have a solace program and some nurses who could come talk to us, explain stuff, and give us a few things too like information, a camera, and a teddy bear for the baby we had no idea was coming. Hubby and I weren’t immediately 100% convinced of joining a support group with a start date less than a month after our baby died, and over 45 minutes’ drive away no less. However, I remember feeling relief, understanding, compassion, and a breath of fresh air when we left the first meeting. The giant weight had started to lessen. Meeting people just like us was a huge turning point, even if we still had plenty to do and miles to go. Hearing their stories was difficult, but being there with open ears and arms gave us purpose again. Sharing our own story was near impossible, but it let us get it out, share our baby with people who wanted to know about him, and feel like parents. It was huge. Entering the room that first day was one of the tougher parts of this whole “ordeal,” but I am so very glad we were brave enough to try it.

Now, we see our support group buddies about every six weeks for dinner and games. There’s starting to be more laughter, more friendship, more happy times. We still share our sad moments and dashed hopes, but we also share stories of new pregnancies, adoption plans, the nursery which was planned and ready to go, and cute things older brothers say about their angel siblings. I get emails asking how the latest appointment went; I share book titles. We’re more “normal” now, and I have to say it’s because we came together. If you have any need to attend any kind of support group and you’re not sure if you should go, I would physically drive you there and push you in the door if I could. It’s that good. Believe me, I wouldn’t be raving about social interaction with random people if it wasn’t beyond well worth your first-day jitters. 

Superbowl meltdown (off-field)

Oh jeez, who would have though Superbowl Sunday could bring me to tears? Well, I’m sure plenty of Pittsburgh Steelers fans maybe cried that evening, but I was happy not to see them win again. That’s not the point though, the point is I came home from the game and cried on the couch for a good hour, desperately upset about a stupid stroller I saw at the party we went to.

We bought Wyatt a stroller. The day, literally, before he was born. We’re lucky it re-sold so damn fast on craigslist once we were brave enough to post it (we made $10—cha-ching!) because I just wanted to throw it in the highway every time I had to step around it in the garage. Our Superbowl party hosts, Hubby’s boss and wife, are about halfway through “their” first pregnancy (it feels weird to say it belongs to both of them, but I guess it does, and it’s easier to write it that way). 

They had a stroller and car seat set-up in their basement, where we watched the game. Luckily, I didn’t see it until our walk out (too many drunken people between my perfect viewing position and the back wall) because it sent shivers down my spine. I immediately panicked for them: what if their baby dies now? By the time we got home I couldn’t stop remembering I was pregnant and I had my own Nugget to worry about. What if my baby dies now that they bought a stroller? Wait, that makes no sense. IT DOESN’T MATTER. It made me cry forever. Finally a Tom Brokaw documentary about the guy who had to rip off his own arm in the Utah canyons distracted me. It was a good show. But it didn’t make me completely forget the first stroller I ever bought for my first baby and how we’ll never get to use it. Sigh. 

Just a funny cartoon

This is just a cute cartoon I came across. Silly girls get it so rough. 

So far I haven't had to cry on the scale. In fact, I'm not sure any pregnant lady should even consider being upset about her weight gain. Maybe that's because I haven't gained any weight yet, and last time it was "right on target," as they said. We'll see what I think after the next visit though. At least my pants still fit...

Sharing my story (with shrieking, jumping college girls)

So far about three of my friends and a minimal amount of close family know about the Nugget. You should feel privileged, no? Telling my parents was easy because I did it over email after we saw the heartbeat for the first time; I couldn’t wait to call them after work and, frankly, it was so much easier than over the phone. Telling Hubby’s parents was a little harder because they were actually here on vacation and there was some too-close hugging and tears and “oh, things will be just great this time” and uncomfortable things like such. Having to disclose this new baby’s life has been a lot more difficult than I thought; it seems so much more personal, like I’d rather keep it to myself for longer this time around. Part of me thinks I need to share in case something happens—then of course I will want people to know. But part of me just finds it too hard to spread the news. It’s confusing. So, I’m procrastinating. Yet somehow I ended up telling my whole lacrosse team already. ..

We had some great weather and therefore some long, awesome outdoor lacrosse practices this past week. After one particularly great indoor team-building activity, the head coach wrapped it up and added “Oh, there’s one more announcement: I’m pregnant.” And the place went buck-wild. I knew 20 girls in a small space could make some noise, but I didn’t know it would be like that. I’m pretty sure there were tears of joy, and I know there was shrieking, jumping, hugging, dancing, and the like. Meanwhile, I was sitting in my chair with my heart pounding, palms instantly sweating, wishing I had a head’s up so I could have at least been prepared to partake in the celebration instead of keep my head down and finish taking notes. Needless to say I divulged my secret to my co-worker as soon as we had some privacy in the office. I found it fun to have someone to share with—and share pregnancies with in person no less. However, I cried the whole drive home thinking about how I would tell the team because I knew I had to share my first baby Wyatt before it would be fair to share my second baby Nugget. Oh dear! I couldn’t sleep that night—it really shook me up that much—so I formulated a plan instead. I practiced some speeches, creating points of emphasis and thinking of just the right wording. For four days this stewed around in my head and finally, half-way through a late practice I went to the bathroom and the silence got me thinking. I should just do it. I should just get it over with. My hands got sweaty and my heart started racing, so I hurried up to get back out the gym and get my mind on something else. As the team did their cool-down lap though, I got extra brave and told the other coach I was going to do it today. Right now. So after they stretched, I did. I told them about Wyatt, how he came too early, how he died, how I’m a mom but they’ll never get to meet my son, etc. I told them they should know because it is a huge part of my life and I want to be a resource for them if they or anyone they know ever need someone who’s “been there.” And then I ended with something along the lines of “And I just had to tell you about my first baby Wyatt before I could tell you about my second baby who’s in here…” and pointed to my stomach, which was moot, because the shrieks of excitement began well before I got to that point. I felt literally 25 pounds lighter and the smile came so easily to my face. Later, in the shower, digesting my courage, I fist-pumped my performance. Go Average Joey!

Starvation Nation

I really can’t believe there isn’t already a post about Starvation Nation, population: me. I recall last time being hungry all the time starting around 3 months and then on and off for the duration. I remember telling someone right before we moved to Colorado that my biggest complaint was insatiable hunger; I must have been just about halfway through the pregnancy and wondering if I would have to get a second job just to feed myself. I would eat a big breakfast and literally be starving one hour later with no warning at all. I know I am not alone in this, but it sure surprised me! Of course I know it takes however-many extra calories to make a baby, but I had no idea how much extra food that meant and nobody told me my body would not deign to leave my brain in charge of finding those calories—it would do it for me, with a roar.

This time is turning out no differently. I just had my three month check-up and promptly noticed the fridge seems to be emptying out quicker than usual. The cupboards, normally stocked, are suddenly turning up bare. The people at Safeway somehow know me by name when I walk in the door. Hubby is complaining about having to go to Costco more often than usual. And, yes, also my stomach is grumbling at all hours of the day and night, particularly after my middle-of-the-night tinkle when I have to debate if getting back up to eat something is better than trying just to fall back asleep and stay cozy. It’s kind of fun and science-experimenty to be on this kind of feeding schedule, and I have to say I welcome signs that this baby is doing okay, but it really is a crazy amount of feeding going on in here. 

Surgery + recycling = please reschedule, Joey

I had my three months check up today and it was fine. I say fine in the exact sense of the word: meh. It was not great, but it was not awful. It was not memorable for good or bad things. It wasn’t really happy and uplifting, but there wasn’t any bad news either. It just kind of was, and this is not the experience I am looking for in my “state.” I had to reschedule from an early morning time to 11:15 because the good doctor was going to be in surgery. I hope said surgery made a crying, pooping, healthy baby. Anyway, after this visit I recommended to myself that I not reschedule for the same day any more if they ask me. Once was enough, and here is why:

We waited the usual time in the waiting room which is a wonderful three minutes, approximately. Then I got weighed and we went into the exam room. So far we have only been in one of the four rooms, the one with the ultrasound machine from 1988, so I suspect it is a kind of segregation for pregnant ladies. Blood pressure was taken, as usual, and I asked if I could do the urine sample now instead of at the end because man did I have to pee. For some reason I always get nervous I won’t “produce” so I chug water on the drive and then really have to go by the time I get there. Anyway, she said no, I had to wait, which made me suspect we would be having an ultrasound because they like your bladder to be full so it pushes on the uterus and makes Baby more visible. This was a good thing. Waiting 20 minutes for the exam to begin while having to pee that much was the negative side. When Doc finally arrived, he asked me if I was “showing” yet. Last visit he told me I would be showing by this visit. Since I am not, I said “no, not really” and he said, “hmm, you should be showing by now” and instantly made me feel nervous and guilty. I swear, I’m trying to show, if that’s good! Then, he had me lie down and blobbed some gel on my belly to find the heartbeat. This was immediate and thunderous, which is good. We listened for about twenty seconds and he didn’t even tell us what the heart rate was, which is bad. Then he switched on the ol’ ultrasound and rubbed the wand over the previously applied gel and we got to see Nugget, which is good. He took a couple measurements which showed perfect growth and Nugget did a few punches before taking a nap, which is also good. This lasted less than, oh, 60 seconds, and we couldn’t get a good picture, which is bad. Then he asked me a couple questions, I asked him a question, and he was out the door. It was unclear if the visit was over, so Hubby and I made some faces at each other, but he came back with a business card for something and was even more rushed and then left for real. I got to give my urine sample, which is good. The more I thought about what just happened (because it felt like it did “just happen” and I didn’t really get to participate) I felt disturbed by the brevity, which is bad. As we got in the car we saw Doctor taking out the office recycling to his car, which is funny.

Hubby assures me it was a good visit because we did not hear any bad news, get lectured, or have extra time spent on anything. I have to agree, but the rest of it combined with the good part makes me really call it just fine.