Nine more weeks and we'll call it quits on nine long months. I may schedule surgery as soon as this Thursday. My baby shower will happen in about three weeks and my best friend of the last fifteen years, the fantastic Miss Teague, will fly in for the occasion. VERY excited about this. Appropriate since I wouldn’t be pregnant right now if weren’t for her. She introduced me to my husband.
But a little over four weeks ago I woke up and didn’t want to be pregnant anymore. Neither did I want be to married anymore. And I sure as hell didn’t want to live in Arizona anymore. A minor panic attack, which slid downward into something of a depression. And my, did I feel guilty about being depressed. I have NOTHING to be sad about! But I was.
I searched “depression during pregnancy” on-line and found very little help or comfort. One article read “For most women this is the happiest time of their lives…………but for YOU…..” But for you……the aberration. That’s how I read it. Because that’s how I felt.
Every time a friend told me “Oh I just looooove being pregnant” or “Aw….I wish I were having a baby!” or “You look sooooo cute, you and your baby tummy!” I just truly thought one of us had to be insane, and I didn’t think it was me. I felt guilty, so guilty, for not being in looooooove with my pregnancy.
I passed a few weeks like this, went to Disney Land and got over it. So I guess it really is the happiest place on earth.
I still feel as though this whole experience is slipping by without any discernible significance. That I’m taking it for granted somehow. That I’m not enjoying this, my last pregnancy. It’s rushing by and I’m merely along for the ride, shifted into zombie gear.
But then.....
Last weekend while preparing for a bath I stood sideways in front of the mirror, naked, to really take in the new temporarily extended outline of me. The changes in my face, my arms, my new "HELLO D-CUP" breasts, my hips, my tush. While I was at this examining my husband walked in, smiled at me, stood behind me, wrapped his arms around me, resting his hands on my swollen stomach, leaned his cheek atop my head, met my gaze in the mirror and said “It really is beautiful”.
I could have cried. I closed my eyes and soaked up the moment instead.
It really is beautiful.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Rosemary's Baby
Did I say the next two months?
10 more weeks to be exact.
Wowza.
Last night, while lying in bed, the baby moved in such a way that you could see her turning in my abdomen. If you’ve ever seen the ground rolling wave-like during an earthquake it looks similar to that. I tapped B.D. on the shoulder, got his attention and pointed toward the action. Upon watching the skin of my tummy slowly undulate up and down his eyes, already big and brown, grew wider and wider as he slowly slid backward and hid behind a pillow…..one crazy cartoon eye peeking over it.
I laughed so hard I almost fell out of bed.
I suspect my darling hubby is starting to panic…..quietly of course.
He plays it cool for the most part but whenever we see a tiny baby at the market, at a restaurant, in a friend’s arms I can see the fear in him. “They’re so LITTLE” He says, “So helpless…..for so long”. He’s never been around babies really. My daughter was three years old when he came into her life. She was potty-trained, well mannered, disciplined and durable. And though he is most definitely an experienced dad by now (and deserves a hundred million accolades for being such a fantastic one) he has no skills with the wee babies….. this totally freaks him out.
Me? How am I absorbing it? I’m a little rusty with babies, myself. It’s been almost 7 years. But I know how it just comes to you. I remember I didn’t want to leave the hospital. I wanted a nursing staff on-call, at my finger tips, just in case I f*cked up somehow. I remember being so scared to diaper her, so scared of her first bath, so utterly “I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL I’M DOING HERE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!” But it passed. I know that the act of caring for this baby won’t be so scary this time.
What frightens me are any and all gruesome possibilities. I worry about everything else. All the many ways it can go horribly wrong. All the awful stories you hear, they haunt me day and night. I’m even too suspicious to elaborate……I just pray.
And my six year old Doo Doo Monkey? How is she dealing?
She’s just excited.
Purely and simply.
She is the only worry-free, panic-free, hang-up free entity in this house.
I mean, we’re ALL excited in our way. It’s only that B.D. and I have the “enormous responsibility” part of the equation. Doo Doo Monkey just gets to hang out and watch sister grow. I haven’t had to address any signs of jealousy from her yet and if or when I do I have a feeling it will be minimal. She’s so mature for her age, so kind-hearted, so considerate of others, such a sweetie ……….not like an only child at ALL. Trust me, I know.
And precisely because my Doo Doo is so good, and always has been, is why I joke with every one that my next child will surely be Rosemary’s Baby. That I’m working with an unknown set of genetics here and anything can happen. There’s just no way I’ll luck out twice, right? And that’s okay. As long as Baby Lily is healthy and relatively happy I’ll care not if she’s a little turd.
10 more weeks to be exact.
Wowza.
Last night, while lying in bed, the baby moved in such a way that you could see her turning in my abdomen. If you’ve ever seen the ground rolling wave-like during an earthquake it looks similar to that. I tapped B.D. on the shoulder, got his attention and pointed toward the action. Upon watching the skin of my tummy slowly undulate up and down his eyes, already big and brown, grew wider and wider as he slowly slid backward and hid behind a pillow…..one crazy cartoon eye peeking over it.
I laughed so hard I almost fell out of bed.
I suspect my darling hubby is starting to panic…..quietly of course.
He plays it cool for the most part but whenever we see a tiny baby at the market, at a restaurant, in a friend’s arms I can see the fear in him. “They’re so LITTLE” He says, “So helpless…..for so long”. He’s never been around babies really. My daughter was three years old when he came into her life. She was potty-trained, well mannered, disciplined and durable. And though he is most definitely an experienced dad by now (and deserves a hundred million accolades for being such a fantastic one) he has no skills with the wee babies….. this totally freaks him out.
Me? How am I absorbing it? I’m a little rusty with babies, myself. It’s been almost 7 years. But I know how it just comes to you. I remember I didn’t want to leave the hospital. I wanted a nursing staff on-call, at my finger tips, just in case I f*cked up somehow. I remember being so scared to diaper her, so scared of her first bath, so utterly “I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL I’M DOING HERE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!” But it passed. I know that the act of caring for this baby won’t be so scary this time.
What frightens me are any and all gruesome possibilities. I worry about everything else. All the many ways it can go horribly wrong. All the awful stories you hear, they haunt me day and night. I’m even too suspicious to elaborate……I just pray.
And my six year old Doo Doo Monkey? How is she dealing?
She’s just excited.
Purely and simply.
She is the only worry-free, panic-free, hang-up free entity in this house.
I mean, we’re ALL excited in our way. It’s only that B.D. and I have the “enormous responsibility” part of the equation. Doo Doo Monkey just gets to hang out and watch sister grow. I haven’t had to address any signs of jealousy from her yet and if or when I do I have a feeling it will be minimal. She’s so mature for her age, so kind-hearted, so considerate of others, such a sweetie ……….not like an only child at ALL. Trust me, I know.
And precisely because my Doo Doo is so good, and always has been, is why I joke with every one that my next child will surely be Rosemary’s Baby. That I’m working with an unknown set of genetics here and anything can happen. There’s just no way I’ll luck out twice, right? And that’s okay. As long as Baby Lily is healthy and relatively happy I’ll care not if she’s a little turd.
Holes
They stuck me full of holes this week. They tell me this is the last time, until surgery that is.
My doctor insisted I be injected with a dead virus. I normally shy away from the flu shot and usually manage not to contract it, but I trust my doc so……*shudder*.
They took a few more vials of blood. One antibodies test related to the above, one glucose test (again) and….something else? I don’t remember. And I don’t have to. There’s an entire chapter in every pregnancy book on absent mindedness. So for the next two remaining months I have an excuse for how I regularly am.
Then there’s this, I’m Rh Negative. As are 15% of all women. I could go into a lengthy explanation but…..ugh, that’s too hard (everything is hard now, if you hadn't guessed). Very basically my negative blood factor would respond to the baby’s positive blood factor (and baby daddy is a positive blood type) as a foreign entity and my immune system would react by attacking it. Nice, huh? So for this there's a little somethin'-somethin' called RhoGAM.
I got a shot in the ass and called it a day.
My doctor insisted I be injected with a dead virus. I normally shy away from the flu shot and usually manage not to contract it, but I trust my doc so……*shudder*.
They took a few more vials of blood. One antibodies test related to the above, one glucose test (again) and….something else? I don’t remember. And I don’t have to. There’s an entire chapter in every pregnancy book on absent mindedness. So for the next two remaining months I have an excuse for how I regularly am.
Then there’s this, I’m Rh Negative. As are 15% of all women. I could go into a lengthy explanation but…..ugh, that’s too hard (everything is hard now, if you hadn't guessed). Very basically my negative blood factor would respond to the baby’s positive blood factor (and baby daddy is a positive blood type) as a foreign entity and my immune system would react by attacking it. Nice, huh? So for this there's a little somethin'-somethin' called RhoGAM.
I got a shot in the ass and called it a day.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Week 28: "It's the Fiiiiiinaaaaal Countdown...."
My body now resembles that of a gummy bear.
And I don't know that I care anymore.
-"Sunning in Oceanside, CA - Sept. 2008"-
And I don't know that I care anymore.
-"Sunning in Oceanside, CA - Sept. 2008"-
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
A Not-So-Secret Secret
It’s a girl.
Uh oh. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
And I was able to keep this secret from Baby Daddy (who wanted to be surprised at the birth) for exactly two whole days.
We were falling asleep around 2 AM and the baby was especially active. She often kicks the snot out of me in the wee hours, very strong little bun in my not so little oven. So as I was drifting off to sleep I said “This baby is going to be a night owl like her parents.”
Prompting Baby Daddy to snap awake, “Did you just say HER?”
We’re already calling her Lily, short for Lilian, but we were considering Bianca…….the reactions I’ve collected on those two names (via a myspace blog) are high-larious. One friend actually wrote “my husband says Bianca sounds like a black girl’s name”, meanwhile my black cousin, named Bianca, commented not at all.
The feelings are many and mixed about another little girl. For a moment there my husband wanted me to forgo the tube tying I’m having done at delivery and instead “keep our options open”. As gently as I could I let him know that he could keep HIS options open all he wanted, but my uterus is retiring after this. OUT OF BABY-MAKING BUSINESS. I can’t keep trying until we get a boy, that’s insanity.…we’ll just end up with eight girls.
Two kids are plenty.
Two girls is God's way of punishing me.
Two college tuitions are out of control expensive.
Seven years between siblings is enough of an age gap.
Thirty One years of maternal age is nearing the end of the healthy reproductive line and eventually heading into mandatory amnio, high-risk territory.
Whatever happens, this is my last baby.
Uh oh. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
And I was able to keep this secret from Baby Daddy (who wanted to be surprised at the birth) for exactly two whole days.
We were falling asleep around 2 AM and the baby was especially active. She often kicks the snot out of me in the wee hours, very strong little bun in my not so little oven. So as I was drifting off to sleep I said “This baby is going to be a night owl like her parents.”
Prompting Baby Daddy to snap awake, “Did you just say HER?”
We’re already calling her Lily, short for Lilian, but we were considering Bianca…….the reactions I’ve collected on those two names (via a myspace blog) are high-larious. One friend actually wrote “my husband says Bianca sounds like a black girl’s name”, meanwhile my black cousin, named Bianca, commented not at all.
The feelings are many and mixed about another little girl. For a moment there my husband wanted me to forgo the tube tying I’m having done at delivery and instead “keep our options open”. As gently as I could I let him know that he could keep HIS options open all he wanted, but my uterus is retiring after this. OUT OF BABY-MAKING BUSINESS. I can’t keep trying until we get a boy, that’s insanity.…we’ll just end up with eight girls.
Two kids are plenty.
Two girls is God's way of punishing me.
Two college tuitions are out of control expensive.
Seven years between siblings is enough of an age gap.
Thirty One years of maternal age is nearing the end of the healthy reproductive line and eventually heading into mandatory amnio, high-risk territory.
Whatever happens, this is my last baby.
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