Posted: Eviction Notice

Dr B. has planned an eviction. Nugget’s getting relocated August 4^th whether he/she likes it or not. The rent is no longer being paid and it’s time to move on. Eek! Eviction—sounds harsh, doesn’t it? Hubby’s boss called it that and I thought it was a) funny, and b) appropriate considering they are non-profit lawyers who deal a lot with people getting screwed out of money and/or housing. So anyway, this babe’s got an expiration date and I am a-ok with that. I am quite curious what “real” labor would feel like, so I am rooting to pop before then, but that’s still a week early so I suppose nature says it’s not very likely. However, I have learned not to rule out things which are not very likely, so I keep hoping.

Perhaps the next post will involve good tidings of great joy? Not to compare this wee one with Jesus or anything, but it sure is going to feel like a miracle. Yippeee!

Observation

Well, I suppose we couldn’t expect to make it all the way without a hiccup. Our hiccup was stressful nonetheless. We went in to the non-stress test, no “non-stress” test, as usual and ended up in an Observation Room at the labor and delivery ward. Yikes! At the doc’s I got my belly hooked up to the monitors and everything regular and normal like that. But when Dr. B came in to take a peek he kind of poked around, fiddled with some extra paper coming off the chart, and when he finally looked at it turned red and said “Well, the baby’s got a low heart rate so let’s just get you over to labor and delivery for some more observation.” He still had the kind smile, but he was definitely in serious mode. We didn’t even get the pink paper to give the receptionist, and I sure didn’t get to tinkle in the cup because we were being ushered out of there so fast. Talk about unsettling!

On the ten minute drive—thank goodness it wasn’t longer—I basically psyched myself up for an emergency c-section. What’s the big deal about surgery when you can get a living baby out of it? (Once I settled on an emergency c-section being okay I started to worry about everything that could possibly be wrong with Baby2…but that’s another tale). The only reason I didn’t think the baby was dead and have complete hallucinogenic flashbacks of Wyatt’s death was because it was kicking the crap out of me the whole ride. So that was nice. Of course when we got to the hospital nothing was wrong. They hooked me up to some more equipment and we watched HGTV for an hour while they monitored the nugget. Since absolutely nothing was wrong, there was no low heart rate at all, they then let me go (after signing some papers—silly lawyers). So, panicking for nothing—phew—and thankful the doctor is on his toes. And maybe Nugget is just practicing it’s resting metabolic heart rate for when it’s a world class athlete?

Boob class

Trust me, the boobs in breastfeeding class are not like a nude beach and not even like porn. If they weren’t so science-experimentily intriguing they would be gross. I don’t have anything against boobs, I just never really thought anything of them before. Breastfeeding nipples are like tea-time saucers, complete with full tea-stains, the breasts like enormous water balloons, the skin like stretchy marbled paper. My size A-Bs have not prepared me for this. Apparently you have to hold and squeeze your breast a little, which makes for awkward naked positions (and does look like porn—aggressive boob-squeezing porn). It is fascinating and scary at the same time. I know that my own breasts have the capacity to become quite large, as was evidenced by the week following Wyatt’s birth, and I trust they will do the job when the time comes, but oh dear do I have to look like that? The videos were helpful, I suppose, and we learned a lot of interesting and intelligent ideas about breastfeeding, but I still wanted to laugh and point at a few things. (I know, I was getting all mature with the wills and estate-planning; so I’m backtracking, kill me). Overall, I am quite grateful for booby class though because what the heck do I know about feeding a baby with lumps on my chest? And Hubby can’t be that mad that he got to look at real and fake boobs for two hours, right? Bring it on, milk ducts!

oh, just more complaining

Have you ever had a bloody nose that just won’t quit? I’m not talking clots and clumps, getting knocked in the face with a basketball, picking some dry, uncomfy flakes only to unleash a torrent, or otherwise knowing the purpose of the nosebleed and thusly that it has an end-point. I’m talking about a steady, thin drippy kind of nosebleed that comes and goes randomly and seems like it’s just not going to stop because where did it come from anyway?  Yeah, well I’ve been having the latter style for well over week now. It’s not exactly ruining the laundry schedule or keeping me from work, but dang it’s annoying. And because this didn’t happen to me in my last pregnancy, I’m still caught off guard every time. (Google images has some weird "nosebleed" stuff: see image on right). 

www.babycenter.com notes that pregnancy brings on expanded blood vessels, more blood, and a greater bodily use of water which equals dehydration and dry noses/membranes.  All these lovely things mean we knocked-up are more likely to get nosebleeds. Luckily they’re manageable, but I’ve just barely avoided dripping on some important stuff (the chair, the computer, my white sweater) quite a few times now. The shower seems to really get things going, so I sometimes have to stand there and wait it out if I don’t want to ruin my towel. What a pain. But again, this baby things’ working if I have so many complaints, so really, I’m not complaining. 

Hello, Klutz

Jesus H, who is this klutzy person taking over my body? Of all Gardner’s intelligences, I am definitely in the “bodily-kinesthetic” genius category, meaning I am über-coordinated and especially dexterous—if I do say so myself. I may not have exceptional “mathematical-spatial” skills (who needs those?) or understand people because I’m so “interpersonally” intelligent (ick, people), but ask me to pick up a random sport or make a craft and I’m your gal. Until now. I’m not sure I can count how many times I have spilled my morning latte this week alone (and there are only 7 lattes in a week, come on!) and I know my feet don’t normally get in the way this much. What is going on?

www.pregnancy.org claims that pregnancy-induced-clumsiness (PIC) is a real phenomenon. This website has got to be kidding me. Except, maybe I have PIC? So I read some more. The combination of relaxin, that pesky hormone loosening my hips (and unfortunately other joints), a shift in my center of gravity, and apparent “psychological stress” (which creates poor decision making and short-term memory loss) stir up nicely to create PIC. I’m not ready to diagnose myself, as that would be admitting weakness, but if things don’t get better I’m afraid I will be a PIC believer and, therefore, sufferer. Maybe I should buy some sippy cups a bit early?

Oy, my back

Complaint: lower back pain. Ick, it is bad. I don’t recall this intensity last time, so maybe that’s why I’m such a baby about it. Haha, baby. But really, it only makes sense. This creature is starting to grow at a staggering rate (it has 19 weeks to get 10 inches taller) and I just read in some baby book that after 20 weeks is when they start to really pack on the pounds.  (I also just read that baby bears are 10 inches tall when they are born, FYI). In turn, I should start really packing on the pounds and my poor lower back will pay the price. The uterus has outgrown its little pelvic home and is apparently throwing off my center of gravity which makes me unwittingly arch my back at all times. Additionally, all that relaxin hormone is making my joints all wiggly which means less support from them. Oh, and the abs are beginning their four month stretch of stretchiness which also puts pressure, literally and figuratively, on the old back muscles. I fear there is no way to win. Sigh. 

Rational Thoughts

So we’re taking the team to North Carolina for spring break. We have three games, some practices, and a general good time ahead. It’s so great to get the team off campus, away from schoolwork, and see how much fun they can have and who really comes out of their shells. Nothing in lacrosse season was more fun for me than that warm, sunny spring break away from everything else “college” just trying to kick some ass and only having teammates and lacrosse games to think about. It’s like being a professional athlete, basically. Except we didn’t have ladies throwing themselves at us and we didn’t get paid. But still. I’m psyched for it.

Except the flying part. I’m not afraid of flying (that’s the other coach, who said she developed this fear after having her first baby-great). I don’t think about crashing, I don’t get motion sickness (well, sometimes on boats), and I don’t get antsy sitting around for a few hours. But I now have this irrational fear of blood clots. I don’t think there’s any reason I am more likely to have a blood clot sitting on an airplane than on my couch (which I do all the time), it’s just that everyone always says “make sure you get up and walk around every hour because of blood clots.” So, naturally, I’m going to be tired 

from waking up at 3am to get my ass in the school van by 4am 

and on the airplane by 6am but I can’t take a nap because what

 if I sleep for more than an hour and immediately get a blood clot? 

What if I can’t get out of my seat because I’m next to some 

snoring fatty who I can’t climb over and the blood pools at my 

waist and clots in my leg and blocks blood to the placenta or goes 

straight to my heart? Or even just one of those things? Eek! 

Again, I sit on my couch for hours on end (I don’t use a desk, 

but same idea) so why should I worry more about planes? 

I shouldn’t. But should I worry more about the couch? Oh dear. 

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.

Reading, reading, and more reading

Sometimes, I have this fascination, obsession really, with getting all the information I can. It hits me at obvious times, but also at completely random times. This time, it’s obvious. My son was stillborn; I am getting all the information I can on that. I imagine most people in my shoes would probably do their fair share of research as well, but man, it’s hitting me hard. It’s comforting, really, and I definitely get to do what I want right now. That’s reading, reading, reading.

Just as when I needed to know everything about how to get pregnant in the first place, and then what the heck to do (and even more not to do) when I was pregnant, I want to know what people have to say about stillborn babies. And their sad families and friends. And grief, and recovery, and so on and so on. Since I am sneaky, I have a library card for the county I live in and the county next door. This means I get double the books. While I have found that this isn’t exactly a popular subject, and some of the “suggested readings” are only available if I feel like buying them from some obscure bookstore, the libraries have kept me busy for over a month now. I would say that’s pretty good.

Here is what is not good: the internet. While it allows me to vent, share, and muse to you in anonymity, it also allows for the passage of way too much information. Information that may or may not be true. Someone in my support group said “I should not be allowed on Google when I’m home alone,” and you know what, sometimes I agree. How can I believe half the stuff I see on here, even if I really want to believe something? I can’t. So I get me some books. Lesson to you all: become friends with your library.

Support Group

I never pictured myself attending any kind of help group. I never pictured a lot of things that are now a part of my reality, so, here we are. I’m certainly not against groups, and as someone who’s been around psychology and education a lot I think they’re legit. Just, personally, talking exhausts me. Especially to strangers. Yikes! If the definition of an introvert is someone who needs alone time to recharge from others then that’s me in a nutshell. But when the hospital solace person mentioned a support group for parents of pregnancy or infant loss and suggested we give it a try, I didn’t even think twice. And now that we’ve been, I’ve even got Hubby thinking it’s a good idea.

The real problem is that everyone’s story is so sad! All these sad parents talking about their sweet little babies. Babies who kicked them and kept them up at night, babies who made them sick for three months and tired and cranky for more. Babies they gave birth to and held, babies who lived for two weeks or no weeks. Babies who were perfectly fine and babies who had severe health problems. Really, what can be sadder than sick and dead babies? Boy, it is exhausting. But it’s also liberating. I couldn’t even introduce myself without bursting into tears and using two tissues. It felt great!

While I can’t say every day is getting better, I can say longer stretches of time are getting better. This group is going to help with that. And I have found myself being sarcastic again…so maybe I’ll start sharing some of those stupid things again.

A Baby Story

Have you seen this show? It follows a family through the birth of their new addition. Sometimes they already have kids and are worried about that, sometimes they don’t have kids yet so they’re all nervous about being first timers. Sometimes the woman is obsessed with how much pain labor is going to be, and some women push out the baby like it’s just another day in the office. Sometimes the man is a jerk, and sometimes he is amazing and I want him for my husband. Oh dear. Is some of it disgusting? Yes. Is some of it sappy and tear-inducing? Yes. Maybe it’s my hormones, but I get pretty misty eyed anytime this show is on. And it’s one of those things you can’t look away from, so even though I don’t really want to be watching television and there’s actually nothing on I want to watch-at all- I still keep this on “in the background” and then stare at it leaning half way off the couch in suspense while ignoring whatever else I’m supposed to be doing.

Here’s what this show has taught me: I will never allow a video camera near me giving birth. I’m pretty sure I knew that anyway, but really, now I know know.

Time for some more learning!

Since I am in love with public libraries, I have access to lots of information and I use that privilege often. I can take out books on “The Fertility Diet” for example, and I could also take out “Diary of a Wimpy Kid” (which is going to be a movie that looks awesome) if I was in the mood. At my library, one can borrow 6 copies of LoveGuru, which is almost the worst movie I’ve ever seen, almost, but there isn’t a single Mighty Ducks to take out. Hmm.

So I’m still just browsing around the information, learning about my uterus and Hubby’s sperm and weird things that have to occur to make a baby. I have to say it’s pretty ingenious, what goes on in there. When I actually have all that nonsense happening in my body I’m going to be pretty impressed with myself.

TMI?

I’m trying to learn a thing or two, so I’m reading all these books about conception, pregnancy, childbirth, and all things related. Well, mostly I read a few pages, gag, and throw the book back in my library bag, but I’m trying. The one problem is: there seem to be more books in the library about adoption, infertility, and child behavior issues than any of the happy, rosy things I’m picturing. It’s gotten to the point where I know exactly which shelves I should stick to if I don’t want to leave depressed.

So far I’ve read contradicting information on several things, including when a woman is most likely to ovulate and how long semen can live in the vagina (eww, squirm-literally!). These seem like basic scientific facts to me but I guess they’re up for debate. And let me tell you how much I learned about hemorrhoids: a lot. Can one take back the baby-making one already tried? I’m not sure I’m ready for Preperation-H and donut-shaped seat cushions.