We got one!

And she's comin' home!!

My water broke at home, right after writing that last post. So "Eviction Day" ended up being our second day at home from the hospital. Wyatt's sister Eloise is alive and well. Yippeee!

Happy birthday!

Happy birthday to my angel baby Wyatt! I can’t believe he would be one year old today! We’re having cake tonight, let me tell you.

So far he has received a donation to the Children’s Hospital, a donation to the Family Crisis Center in Hubby’s hometown, a donation to the Walk to Remember “goody” bags service that helps local families like us when they have sad times for their babies, and a donation to the Denver Children’s Advocacy Center. I sure wish we were buying lots of dumb toys and cute clothes instead, but it makes me appreciate what we can really do to help. We don’t need more stuff, we need love.

More to follow as I see how the day goes. 

conquering newborns!

I did it—not only did I meet and hold the newest baby on the block, but also I babysat her for the first time her mom left her. Not too shabby, right? We were pretty proud of ourselves when we realized mama hadn’t been away from her babe yet. But it was her birthday, and she needed a fun drink, dammit.

Anyway, my newborn anxiety was gone by the time I met her. I think I psyched myself up so much last time that it just went smoothly this time. Even though we never made it over to see her after all that psyching up, it still was effective: it got my jitters out I guess, despite the time lapse. She was just this tiny little girl. She had those newborn white bumps on her face and sounded like a puppy when she slept. She was her own little semi-person and didn’t remind me of Wyatt at all. I guess I just thought it was going to be worse, like I was going to feel guilty and sad and think about all the things Wyatt would have done when he was 9 days old. But I didn’t. Maybe because I’ll never know what he would have done when he was 9 days old, maybe because every little baby is different.  I just sort of held her and let her sleep on my lap, did some homework while Hubby took over, and kind of waited around for our brother and sister-in-law, the original babysitters, to come over. We gave them crap about being terrible godparents, the boys had beer, we read some book about baby poop, and came home after about an hour and a half. I felt so triumphant, so proud of myself. I played it cool though, no fist pumping or anything embarrassing. It was fist-pump-worthy though. And the best part is, now I’ve done it!

newborn anxiety...

New babies are obviously good, but it some ways they are also bad. Hubby’s boss had his baby—they went in to get things going at 8 days late and finally she came out 36 hours after that. Guess she wasn’t really ready! She got to go home 12 days after her due date. Sheesh! Boss-man and his wife are also friends (if you remember, Hubby and Boss are the only two working together and do things like “work” at the ping-pong table, stop for bike-breaks, and visit the beer garden during business hours), so naturally they have invited us over 700 times to meet the baby. Well, I was able to get out of going to visit in the hospital because I was at work (and they would have understood if I was sitting on my couch at home, just boycotting, but still I felt badly), but there’s kind of no excuse anymore now that they’re home and the baby’s staying  there too. Hmm. I got all worked up about it this morning, just thinking about how I haven’t seen a newborn since Wyatt was born. How can I expect myself to go see this little nugget when it’s just going to remind me of all the great stuff I never go to do with my first son? For example: wipe pee off the walls, clean up spit-up from all my clothes, worry about his breathing, curse him for keeping me up, have extreme nipple pain…etc., etc.
But we set a time to go over, and I psyched myself up (it helps to know you can run bawling out of the house and the people inside will totally understand). Then, they cancelled. So now I just hope my jitters are out, even if I haven’t met her yet, or I’ll have to re-psych myself up. It’s like a boxing match for cripe’s sake: I’m sweating, agitated, wide-eyed, rarin’ to go. I hope I don’t get punched in the face too badly. But I’ve gotta start somewhere!

New Goal: Beer

Non-alcoholic beer is not the same, but it tasted pretty damn good the other night. I got the Guinness kind, so I could go around saying “Guinness is good for you” in an Irish accent (and because I figured it would taste at least somewhat decent). I had it ice cold, which is pretty much the point of beer in my mind, and I felt great sipping from a beer bottle again, like any normal summer evening by the grill. Last summer, probably a week before Wyatt died, I bought a six-pack of non-alcoholic beer. I had one before he was born; the rest I only recently cleaned out of the fridge and dumped down the drain with a sad face. I thusly decided it would be courageous and important for me to buy a six-pack and get through it this time. A triumph over beer, if you will. Tomorrow, when it’s 100 degrees, I’m going to sit at my patio furniture in the shade and enjoy another cold beer. For the sake of my goal, of course. 

Crib strength

We did it: we bought a crib! Baby Nugget will have a sleepy-time home other than at its mama’s breast or in some sling or something. And it’s not even some stupidly expensive, enormous, ridiculous looking contraption that also turns into a toddler bed, big kid bed, marital bed, Cuisinart, and wipes the baby’s butt for you (although that would be a nice perk). It’s simple and normal (and safe). Hooray!

This actually wasn’t as difficult a purchase as I expected. I still think “well, crap, what if we set up this crib and no baby gets to use it…” but I didn’t have a panic attic or start crying when forking over the credit card. I really thought this would be a bigger step for us—making a pretty big purchase for a baby we haven’t met yet—but I played it totally cool. I’m not sure what that means, but it feels good to look back and think my behavior was unexpected in a good way. We’ll see what happens when it’s time to set up said crib, but for now I am the victor!

More testing!

So I’ve started a weekly regimen of non-stress tests(NSTs). As far as tests go, I suppose they aren’t that stressful. However, I still  dread the day when, for whatever reason, they become stressful. But there’s nothing I can do about that day until it happens, so in the mean time I will tell you about my new friend the NST. My high-risk doctor friend recommended we start NST-time “at the time of your last loss,” and since I am now the most pregnant I have ever been we commence.

Basically, you lie down in an exam room and you get a giant elastic belt strapped around your ever-expanding belly. Then someone lubes up a big paddle which looks for the baby’s heartbeat. Said paddle is strapped underneath the aforementioned elastic. Baby’s heartbeat hopefully fills the room like a wild stallion stampede. You can zone out or listen, whatever you like. But you do have to push a button when you feel Baby move. If you see a doctor who has updated his equipment in the past 20 years then you a) probably have more high tech gadgets than I do and b) might even have an ultrasound do the button-pushing for you by visualizing the actual movements. A chart is automatically filled out which shows Baby’s movements and heartrate (it should go up as the nugget moves, naturally). If you are lucky, like me, Hubby comes and plays on his smartphone in the corner so you are not alone with the stallions and computer that reminds you of playing “Chopper” on a floppy-disk in 1^st grade. The doctor will check the chart after 10 minutes or so, and hopefully you can be on your way because all is well. Since Nugget passed its first test, this was our experience. I hope we can keep it up for 11 more weeks. At least this baby will get some practice and be able to own other babies at NSTs by then. 

Super Doctor

She’s not really a super doctor, like some super hero or something, but her office is pretty super compared to our regular one. And she gives tons and tons of information, citing “the literature” and such. The ultrasound machine is pretty super too, but in the end that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that we went back to the high-risk doc (she had the same old, brown, ski racing, hooded sweatshirt on) and all was well. Nugget was measuring exactly, to the day, as it should be. Nugget was moving all around. Nugget still had four heart chambers, two brain hemispheres, a full spine, all the necessary limbs and appendages, and even got the hiccups for us. Good job Nugget! I was told my heartburn medicine is acceptable, I can play golf if I want, and that there’s still no reason to think what happened “last time,” as they tend to say, should occur again.

Since I wanted to throw up on the drive over there, it was an extra good appointment. (Minus the 45 minute wait in the lobby with literally three copies of old Popular Mechanics issues and one pamphlet on menopause to read. And no windows.  But who’s complaining?). 

The Big Nursery Purchase

When you think of a baby nursery, I can guarantee you don’t think of what we have in store for this little Joey. Currently, this second bedroom is Hubby’s office and ski storage area as well as a place for my photo albums, arts and crafts supplies, and a bulletin board where I hang random things I need to remember but never look at. Stuff sits precariously on a too-skinny bookshelf which, I just noticed, is propped up on the uneven carpet with a folded piece of paper. There’s also a crappy old, stained, sea-foam colored swivel chair from approximately 1983; I’m not sure how this got from New England to Colorado but I vaguely remember my father refusing to deal with it otherwise when helping us pack the U-Haul. We do have a small red-painted dresser salvaged from my parents’ flooded basement and passed on to us as cute little baby furniture. It’s been collecting cloth diapers and dust, but not much else as we cautiously navigate Baby #2’s potential imminence. Hub’s clothes, ski passes, important legal documents, coffee mugs, and other detritus litter the floor. About once a week I walk by and notice the mayhem, so I ask dear old Hubby if he is going to clean up “his room.” Sometimes he does. I suppose he’s saving a good cleaning for “some day” when we might actually get to use this second bedroom as, well, a second bedroom.

Exhibit A
(except ours has a baby-saving rim
around the edge because it's awesome)

I am starting to believe, a little, that that day will come. Exhibit A: the changing table I bought on craigslist. Yes, it is used, yes, it was only $50, yes, it is a combination dresser so if we don’t actually get to change poopy messes on it it won’t be so glaringly obvious and sad and lonely and can still be used as something…but a changing table it is. First, I wavered on going to check it out. Then, I wavered on buying it. When I finally bit the bullet, handing over the cash, I felt unexpectedly elated. I was making future plans! I even made the couple selling it load it into my car because I’m pregnant and pregnant ladies don’t have to lift stuff and get to make other people do it. Sure, it then sat in the corner of the room, facing the wrong way for a week and a half before we did anything with it, but yesterday, when we moved it and unloaded diaper-stockpile-madness onto it, we loved it. And even today I love it still. It’s scratched, and needs a pad and all kinds of accoutrements, but it’s there. That has to count for something, right?

The growth scan

Does Nugget look something like this?

Well, Nugget is growing on track. Maybe a little small, but not small enough for the doctor to freak me out and not enough to change anything I’m doing. I suppose I could eat more, even though I already feel like I eat every time I’m hungry and then some, but I suppose I don’t need to be making my own prenatal advice. Doc took a bunch of ultrasound measurements (and recorded it on DVD for us—how modern!) and came up with a 23 week 2 day “gestational age.” According to the first “dating” ultrasound, Nugget’s supposed to be 24 weeks old. So it’s not that big of a difference…but every little thing can make me wonder, especially this time around. Anyway, it was cool to check in again on the bones and organs and little profile growing in there.

Apparently, it has Hubby’s head shape, which is long and skinny rather than circular like most babies’. This made that measurement hard to get, and the doctor kind of laughed when Hubby asked “what does that mean?” “Well, it looks like one of you” said the doctor, giving Hubby’s head the once over and not feeding into Hub’s insecurity about his alien-head. Apparently Nugget is an active baby too, so that’s super. The wiggling made it so we didn’t see any private parts and therefore learn about them by accident. Of course we took home the DVD and watched it to see if we had any ideas. Which we don’t. I can’t even tell when we’re looking at a stomach or a placenta, let alone miniature genitalia, really. Doc said he “didn’t really look but has a good idea” so we can’t tell if we think that means there was a penis which is easy to spot, or a lack of penis which is also easy to spot. That’s okay because even if the suspense is difficult to manage it’s fun to have no clue! Everything looks good is really a good enough report. 

I had to...

I drank some wine. Man, I had to. Don’t judge me. Peeps drink all the time when they’re pregnant. I’m not saying I condone it, considering all the damn warnings against it, but I know plenty of kids who came out okay after enduring a daily margarita habit in utero. Again, I am way too scared to believe that’s okay, even if I’ve seen proof, but I couldn’t help myself. It’s been too long, and it was too tempting. I think maybe it could have been a little bit of a triumph too--daring to do something wrong on purpose! Just let me explain.

Hubby’s aunt is straight up French. We’re talking “oh la la” multiple times an hour, making potatoes gratin to the letter, so many kisses on either cheek, and well, just so French, from France. Her sister lives nearby, and Aunt is visiting over her son’s spring vacation. So of course we went to visit them, and of course they had bottles and bottles and bottles of wine. Normally this isn’t a problem in my I’m-a-good-pregnant-lady-even-better-than-last-time state because it’s not worth it to me to feel sad about it. But they started going off about the wine from their village. They weren’t pressuring anyone to have some, but how can anyone say no to that? Their own little village in the Pyrenees! I caved about ten minutes into the drink service. But it’s not like I had a whole glass to myself, as I wish I could have, I just had a sip of each of the white and the red. Unfortunately, it only made me sad I couldn’t have more. Hot dang, it was so good. I hope Nugget liked it. And maybe got a little bit of a buzz because I sure miss that part of drinking wine too. 

It likes to move it, move it...

Baby kicks are ridiculously weird and incredible awesome. Wyatt wasn’t a big kicker, but I guess that’s because his placenta was in the front. Instead of kicking, elbowing, and otherwise prodding me, he was railing on the placenta I guess. Suck it placenta! This little one, however, has been making its presence known for the past several weeks—maybe a month. I love it. It is magical. It is like an alien is in there pushing against my skin “toward the light”. It is like a muscle spasm is just about to happen, you know that tightening feeling, but instead it is a baby saying hi. It is like a sign that things are working! Because Wyatt couldn’t get through to me that much, I really appreciate this one that much more. I mean, I know pregnant ladies ooh and ahh about how crazy-cool it is to feel their baby moving…but really, this is awesome. I get to be special in this case. It’s more awesomer for me bitches!

There’s not much I can do with this baby movement except appreciate it. In a while, when the baby is “viable” and they could actually do something to save it if it was born early or had problems, I am supposed to start taking note of what “normal” movement is. Oh, the pressures we put our children under—in the womb and already being judged about normalcy. Ridiculous. 

Kidneys? Check.

We went in for the “anatomy scan” which most people consider the “what kind of pee-pee? scan” but really is used for much more important things, such as making sure the baby is growing right and that it has fused it’s little spinal pieces together, has a brain, etc., etc. If you’re like me, you don’t want to know about the privates anyway so the whole thing is just a crazy, unbelievable science experiment. Really, it’s all x-ray vision and skeletal-outline and intense-close-up on stuff like the four (hopefully) heart chambers, two (hopefully) brain hemispheres, ten fingers, ten toes, and anything else structural you might need to know about. They look up the baby’s nostrils for cripe’s sake. How do they do it? Half the time I found myself getting emotional and excited about something cute only to hear it was the…placenta. Seriously. They check for the major organs and look for “markers” of genetic and chromosomal abnormalities. Naturally they can’t check for everything that could possibly go wrong, but I’m feeling pretty good after they said everything looked normal and on target. Whatever happened to Wyatt sure wasn’t visible on any ultrasound, so it doesn’t make me feel totally secure, but for now it’s all I have and I’ll take it.

This is not the Nugget but shows how
 intense the ribs look!

I definitely had to squeeze Hubby’s hand a few times when I got nervous. For example, the tech lady would say “Ok, now we’re going to check the baby’s spine is complete” and I would instantly panic and have flashbacks about that time I was just barely pregnant and went in a hot tub which of course I have read can possibly raise my temperature high enough to maybe cause spina bifida which causes defects of the spine. Or “now we’re measuring the size of some body parts which will give us some ratios that tell us about potential chromosomal defects” so I imagine the head being twelve times larger than the stomach which probably means the baby will die tomorrow or turn into a hippo or something ridiculous. But Hubby’s hand withstood my crunching and our dear new Nugget passed the tests for now. 

As a bonus, the tech and doctor said that the baby was very modest and was not about to show its private parts even if we had wanted to know. So somehow I got someone who cares about being naked, hmm. 

And it’s a whopping 9 inches tall. You go, baby. 

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!

High fives, round two

Hubby has been walking around like a peacock in heat. I don’t know zoology, but I imagine that is when they get all cocky and big and fluff up their feathers and think they are amazing like some annoying high school quarterback who just won the game in a young adult-type movie. This—Hubby’s hubris, not the movie—is because I’m up the duff. I like that saying. It sounds British, but I may have heard Juno say it. Not sure. Either way, Hubby is peacocking around because he believes it is his incredibleness that has made this embryo. I tried to convince him it was partly my doing but he’s pretty convinced he has super sperm. Yeah, we’ll see if something comes out healthy in several months. At that point I will lay praise on dear old Hubs. For now, a second round of high fives to my womb please.
And lots of happy thoughts and positive energy for Wyatt's sibling to get all the way out here!

dare I say, an upward swing?

I’m not sure if admitting this will immediately backfire (I’m not necessarily superstitious…but I’d rather be safe than sorry), so I’ll knock on wood before telling you that things have been looking up lately. I’m not sure if it was Wyatt’s due date passing; I wouldn’t be pregnant anymore anyway (well, hopefully). Or maybe it’s just the passing of time; my grandfather always says “Father Time marches on” and boy does he. Maybe it’s that other things are beginning to have appeal again, so I can focus on them instead of how pissed I am that I have to job hunt rather than change diapers or that I still have five pounds to lose but I can’t figure out where it went since my “normal” clothes all fit again and I feel fine (that I even know I weigh more than before is due to Hubby’s interest in the scale at the gym because he wants to see if he is “getting huge” so obviously I like to play that game too—digression). Maybe it’s that I finally have health insurance after all that hassle. Maybe it’s that I’m not as desperate to have a new baby as I was in the beginning. Maybe it’s that I visited my friend with the newborn boy and it was fine (he was just another wrinkly, crying baby—not mine). Whatever it is, I’ll take it. It feels nice to think about other things, worry about other things, and feel like, at least some of the time, things will be okay.

I’m not saying I don’t continually do research (and then worry about the new things I find that could go wrong “next time”) or get excited about the possibility that I could make another baby soon. I’m not saying I don’t miss him every single day. But I am saying, at the risk of jinxing myself, that things are getting better. And for me, that’s a big admission.

Skeletor!

Hubby and I went to another ultrasound. This one, I guess, was just to check on growth and development and all things that should be happening to the Creature. From what I’ve read, ultrasounds aren’t particularly necessary but obviously hospitals want you to have them (cha-ching!)—and why wouldn’t you use modern technology to check on things? I’m glad they are recommended and possible because they are frickin’ incredible.

Last time Hub and I went to check out what was going on in there, it looked like the black abyss with a microscopic white human/alien floating in space; obvious body profile, but nothing else. It was kind of cute because it looked like an old-fashioned black and white profile cut out of paper (you know, the one of your grandfather, where the artist shined a light on his face and traced the outline on black paper behind him).This time it was like a super-x-ray from a crazy sci-fi movie complete with close up of kidneys. Kidneys! The baby is like five inches long and you can see it’s kidneys through my body and its body. What the?! I’m all for modern science but I really don’t understand it. The downside is x-ray science-freak baby isn’t as cute as old-fashioned profile baby. It was all nasal bones and spine. Again, very cool, just not too snuggly looking. At least it has five months to get some skin and muscles on there.

I think it's time to celebrate...with a nap

Now that my crazy season is over, I can come home at a reasonable hour. For example, today, Friday, I left work at 2:45. I also showed up around 10am. I find that quite reasonable, agreeable even. With two weeks left of work I think this is a good schedule and will do my best to stay on it no matter how hard that task may be.

The best part of said schedule is the allotted lie-down time it allows for. I’m not a great napper, but I am good at lying down in the afternoon and reading, which sometimes leads to sleeping, but not always. Recently, sleep has been coming more than usual, now that I am expending precious energy on incubating. Well, today, I got my dog, got my book, got Hubby’s Temperpedic pillow and went to town around 4pm. When I woke up it was still light out and it’s a beautiful spring day and I got to leave work early and lie down in my bed. Not too shabby.

But now I’m hungry.