I'm not going to ask "what next?" ever again.

I figured we needed some lightweight banter from Gracie before I jumped into what fresh hell has broken forth here in the wintery southern hemisphere this past week. Grace is a breath of fresh air, no?

Let's see, where to begin? First, a shout out to my good friend Little Miss Sunshine State. She and I are currently competing in a "who's on the worse run of bad luck" contest. If you'd like to enter, you'd better come up with something more exciting than what we've got. She's so much better than I am, though; she actually knows how to serve up fresh hot hell and make it sound pleasant and serene.

Roseola. That's what Stella's three-day fever of 103-104 was. It was followed by a nice, good, two days of rash. And then she was fine. My husband was just about over his week-long cold at that point, when it became clear that Grace and I had caught it. He went to the pharmacy and bought extra tissues and cold medicine. Then it got a little nutty.

Sunday was Stella's baptism. It was lots of fun, very nice. Hours of preparation and hours at the church. Lots of picture taking. Lots of smiles. Stella looked marvelous. But somewhere in the midst of my adrenalin, I knew something was not right. I felt tired, weak. By the afternoon, every time I ate or drank something, I felt nauseous.

(I know what you're thinking: she's pregnant again. Well, no, no such luck. That explanation would be oh, so simple.)

By Monday, I was thinking I should fast. Clearly something was up and I just needed to give my body a chance to purge itself and then start over. By Monday night, my body started involuntarily purging my digestive tract. On Tuesday morning, I decided not to eat anything and stuck with a few glasses of warm water. Some apple tea. Then about mid afternoon, a banana and cinnamon tea. Still, something was not quite right. I fell asleep.

Fast forward to that evening. I know something is very wrong. I'm having very bad abdominal cramping. No one is home with me and Stella, so I nurse her at 7p, lay her down in her crib, and pray she falls asleep. And she did. And then I lay on the couch, moaning, trying to visualize a focal object as I breathe through pain. Trying to imagine myself wrapped in a protective cocoon and relax my muscles. Trying to stop whatever is happening.

At 9p, Grace came home. I told her to be quiet so Stella wouldn't wake up. I couldn't stand up for more than a few seconds without feeling faint. My brother-in-law (who gave Grace a ride home) asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital. I said, no, there's no need. And really, at that point, I believed that.

Really.

The truth of the situation is, I have been trying to stay out of the hospital for twelve months straight. It's a modest goal, don't you think? It's been at least five years since I was able to do that. Every time I think things are wrapped up nicely and that I'm healthy and can go about my merry way, WHAM! Something hits me upside the head and there I am again.

This week, on Tuesday night, it was that around 10p I broke out in tiny little red bumps all over the top of my thighs. I took benadryl. It kept spreading, up my torso and around to my back. My sister-in-law came home (an RN no less), took one look at my legs and asked, "what is that?!?!" I guessed maybe allergies. My husband came home a few minutes later. The look on his face said it all. I took a second dose of benadryl and a shower. Then I laid down to rest. Still, stomach cramps, body rejecting everything in my GI tract, and hives spreading everywhere, from the tip of my head to the bottom of my feet.

By midnight, I told my husband to take me to emergency. By the time we got there, I couldn't walk anymore. By the time I had been triaged, I couldn't sit up anymore. It's the only time in my life I can remember thinking, 'Don't let me die right now.'

Three hours later, and lots of injections and blood tests later, the news came: I've got some infection.

The last time this happened to me was November 2009, while I was on antibiotics because there was some uterine infection of leftover placenta. After I saw my allergist, I was left with the same thing I had before: this isn't something from the outside that's causing this reaction, it's on the inside. My body has some infection and it doesn't know what to do, so it does everything it can to get rid of it. The problem is, it's killing me while it's trying to get rid of the infection.

But, what's the infection?

The last piece of evidence came by Wednesday morning. Those horrible stomach cramps? Period. Way too early. WAY too early. By this point I realized, I gotta call my reproductive endocrinologist and find out what's going on inside my body. The office scheduled an appointment for me the morning after we return home.

I'm hoping for the best. Next week Grace is having her wisdom teeth removed. I have to sort things out with the insurance adjuster as per our car accident of exactly four weeks ago. I need to plan Stella's first birthday party, taking place less than two weeks from today. I'd like to take some time to go to the pool with the girls, maybe trim boxwoods in the back and transplant some to the front yard.

But I've got a sick sinking feeling, somehow I've got to be ready to accept that I may have to schedule a surgery for myself in there.

Sorting out the symptoms

I called our US pediatrician on Thursday afternoon. They told me the following: we don't worry about a fever in an infant unless (a) it goes over 105 degrees F and/or (b) it lasts for over 24 hours and is not accompanied with other symptoms. If it goes over 105, go to emergency; if it lasts over 24 hours without breaking at all and there are no other symptoms, go see a doctor.

The fever started Wednesday night. After taking tylenol and ibuprofen nonstop, Stella still had not broken a fever under 103 by Saturday morning. We decided to take the baby to see a pediatrician at a local private hospital through their emergency services. After seeing that doctor, there were blood and urine tests ordered, an adjustment of dosing of medicine due to her weight, and a conclusion that she was fighting some infection, most likely roseola or a South American strain of rotavirus. Within 12 hours, she broke her fever and now she is mostly herself again.

Here's the part that made me unexpectedly reflective and calm.

Remember, exactly three years ago our family was in the same city and I was pregnant. Or not. Well, that I was miscarrying was confirmed during our visit. The visit was a whirlwind of doctor visits, exams, international phone calls to my ob/gyn, and a tragic loss of the pregnancy, and me feeling like I had left a dead child behind when we returned to the US. In the end, our little family had a common experience that brought us together; it gave us a way to understand each other differently...and better.

Yesterday as we were driving to the private hospital, I remembered that this was exactly the same place my husband and I went to when a doctor showed us clearly on a sonogram image that I was hemorrhaging. Before my husband could the bill, I quickly walked out of the office and spontaneously burst into tears in the hallway.

Yesterday, after our visit with the pediatrician, we went to the public hospital to have lab work done. I knew this hospital. It is where my sister-in-law works as a nurse. As we parked and walked in, my mind was flooded with the memories of the images of being there three years ago. I had an exam with a doctor who wanted to do a D&C immediately. I was numb. I came to Brazil with good news of a coming child and the three short weeks later, I was facing a surgical procedure due to a spontaneous abortion. Again, I left holding my husband's hand, filled with sadness.

And yet...

Where was Grace during all this?

At home, with her aunts and cousins, mostly being sheltered from the impending bad news. I don't have any idea what it would be like to be her in that situation. I would be remiss to not say that Grace is remarkably mature and flexible in unusual situations. Once she understands what is going on, she often surprises me in her ability to adjust and cope with difficulty. When she finally did find out what had happened that summer three years ago, she responded with sensitivity and empathy. And with her own way of coping with things.

Yesterday as we were all in the car driving to the hospital, when my husband and I were discussing whether or not this was the hospital we had visited when I was miscarrying, Grace was in the back seat talking with Stella in her car seat. I overheard her saying something like, we were all here this summer but it wasn't time yet for you to be born. We had to wait for you. And now you're here.

My heart melted with love. For both of my daughters. Instead of continuing my downward spiral of worry about how much more could go bad with Stella, I became grateful that I had her. And that I had Grace. And that we were all there. And that no one was dying. Because that's what happened the last time we were all there together.

Back in the saddle again

Well, hm. Here I am. It's been awhile, hasn't it? My lengthy absence requires a few cursory notes and then I'll be on to the business at hand: blogging for the day.

Grace's foray into the world of blogging has been a trip for me, as it has been for all of you, I see! She is an honest and forthright person, with me and with the blogging community, so I think that makes her an exceptional writer within the venue. For instance, I told her she needed to moderate her comments and she did so by checking the site throughout the day. Then I asked her if she wanted to have comments forwarded to her email address so she wouldn't have to check the site so often. Her response? "Oh God, NO! I don't want all that mail in my inbox!" I'm guessing she doesn't want to friend any of you on facebook either. But you can always try....

And another thing about Grace. Try as I may, I cannot bring myself to call her Gracie outside of the context of our home. Yes, everyone calls her Gracie. EVERYONE. It's rather classy, I think. But I just can't call her Gracie in written form. So, she is Gracie, yes, but I as her mom will continue to call her Grace. You all out there can call her whatever you like.

Sunday is the second blogoversary of Comparative Childhood. That's something cool. I'm finding it kind of hard to believe that I've been doing this so long already. (Maybe that explains the almost 2 month leave of absence I'm just now coming off. Just an idea...) I'm going to have to talk to Grace about what we should do now that this is "OUR" blog.

Sunday is also the day we will be celebrating our family Christmas. Grace is leaving on Monday evening to visit with her father for the holidays. She's currently trying to negotiate an early return on December 30th so that she can host a New Year's Eve party at our house on the 31st. But that requires a bunch of teenagers to be at my house on New Year's Eve. And of course since it's New Year's Eve, they'll be around until midnight. And then later too, of course. And then there's the question: will their parents be willing to pick them up at 1 or 2a New Year's Day? Of course not. So we'll be having a sleepover? Oh lordy, yes, it seems like we may. However, neither Grace nor I have run this by her stepdad yet and gotten a green light...

But back to the point: family Christmas on Sunday. We'll be having honey glazed ham, because I'll be damned if I'm going to make ANOTHER turkey, and for three people, no less. Grace is convinced this will make our Christmas less than traditional. I feel like telling her to go get rifle, go out to the woods and shoot us a wild goose with some shot. Traditional, my foot. YOU'LL HAVE HAM AND YOU'LL LIKE IT.

More importantly, I'll be scheduling posts for the next couple days and probably relying upon Grace to moderate comments. Because (get ready)...

I'm having surgery tomorrow.

No really, I am.

I was in denial for awhile, there. I still am, actually. I'm still not fully grasping that I really am going back to the hospital to have my fourth surgery in 18 months. No matter, it will happen whether I'm accepting it or not. Something is going awry in my uterus. It looks like it's most likely "retained product of conception," as my doctor put it. And just so I can head you all off at the pass, no, "retained product of conception" does NOT refer to Stella. I've had some infection going on since she was born and after three rounds of antibiotics, it was clear that a little more investigation was in order. Whatever it is they can see on a scope doesn't appear to have any "depth" to it, so they assume it's a piece of membrane or placenta left over. Strange, I thought, since I had a cesarean (they usually do a pretty thorough job of 'getting it all out') and since the site of the muck is not anywhere close to the site of the placenta. But still, my surgeon hopes it comes out easily.

So there you go. I'll be at the hospital most of the day tomorrow. I'm having a spinal rather than general anesthesia, so hopefully this will lead to a shorter time in recovery before we come home. I've been pumping milk for Stella just in case I have get something in me during surgery that she can't have. And one more hopefully...hopefully I'll feel good enough to enjoy pizza and movie tomorrow night because did you hear that Domino's Pizza reworked their recipe and they are testing out the new kind in our region exclusively before launching it nationally?

Alright, then, now I seem to have gotten back on track. I'll put up some more lovely musings shortly. I have missed you all sorely. It's good to be back.

The beginning of Stella

Yesterday Stella turned one month old. I haven't said much about her. So here's a tidbit. As usual, it's really about me.

Lately I've been telling stories to Stella as she is nursing or is falling asleep. I started with telling her about the day she was born. That was when she was two weeks old. It was inspired by my neighbor who came over to visit a few days earlier with her two kids, 8 and 6. As we visited, she asked how I was and how Stella was at birth. Her kids chimed in and asked their mother, 'how much did I weigh, momma?" and "what was it you said the first time you heard me cry, momma?" It was clear that each one of them had heard the story of their birth over and over.

Then I moved to telling Stella how much her daddy loved her. I told her about how much we wanted to have a baby and how long we waited and how, the entire time I was pregnant, we were careful, and a little nervous that something would go wrong, and a tad scared that she would have a problem or not be healthy and that we worked so hard to make sure she was healthy and happy and safe.

And then I realized, part of the story goes back to when my husband and I first started seeing each other. He told me he wanted to have children. Like, in week two of dating. And I said something like, I don't believe you, or, you needed to explain what it is exactly about children that you want. It was only after much time had passed that he told me how much my response revealed about me. He told me I was seeing him as just a typical man and that I assigned all the stereotypical values and perspectives to him without ever even probing to see if those were valid assumptions.

See, I had accidentally gotten pregnant with Grace by my first long-term boyfriend. I thought he was great. I was in love, as they say. I thought, nothing can stop us now. We'll get married and be together forever. We can survive. It was like that country song by Trisha Yearwood, "She's in Love With The Boy."



God, when I hear that song on the radio it makes me sick to my stomach. I wish I could grab every young girl who's fantasizing while listening to that song and shake her up and say, 'for the LOVE OF GOD and all things holy, LISTEN to your father for half a second and don't even THINK about marrying that boy some day!" As you all know, things did not work out with my boyfriend in the way I envisioned. Yeah, once Grace was born, he thought she was cute and all. And he played with her. On some days he got inspired and planned a whole day of fun with her. But...

Parenting is hard work. It's not all fun and games. He didn't like the hard parts. So he got to do all the fun stuff and I ended up with the rotten stuff like changing diapers and giving time outs and staying home while he went out (with who?) and working on homework. At the tail end of our relationship, he would want to have fun with me alone and would get angry if I didn't find a sitter at short notice, saying it was like I didn't even like being with him (well, truth be told...). I haven't even touched whether my job or career was as important as his; suffice it to say, mine was a needed source of income, his was the one that mattered. When push came to shove, I needed to work, and I was the one who needed to figure out childcare and everything else. After we divorced, it was clear who was the "fun" parent and who was the "disciplinarian." I made up my mind then and there, I'm never having kids with anyone again.

I admit, it was a completely sexist decision. I actually always wanted to have a big family with lots of kids. Four sounded perfect to me. Sure, a lot of work, but if there's two people who love each other, two people who are really invested in a family and committed to making it work, then a big family can be joyful even though it is a bit hectic. But through the course of my first marriage, I decided that men are not prepared as people to take on the commitment of parenting in the way that I envisioned they could. They wanted to have a healthy sized progeny in order to ensure that they passed on their genes and their name. I wanted my kids to have a father who was involved in their lives, one who would love being with them as much as I did. One who felt like they were a part of him, not just an extension of his life. By the time I was separating from Grace's father, I had had enough of it. I wanted Grace to have an awesome dad and she didn't. I had tried to make a family work, it didn't work, and now I was 30 and didn't want to try and fail again. And so I let the dream that I wanted, the dream of the big, happy family, die.

Enter my husband-to-be and his comment during our nascent romance. He wanted to have children. I had been divorced long enough to know it wasn't easy to rebuild a family, that is, to create a stepfamily. In fact, it was a hard thing to do. And I already had a daughter who was nine and I was starting a 5-year PhD program within months. There would be a big age gap between my only child and her next sibling. Was it possible to build a family?

After two years of feeling each other out and making sure this was the 'real thing,' we got married. See, along the way to marriage, my husband convinced me through the ways he treated me and cared for me that he valued me as an equal in our relationship. I also saw how he cared for Grace, Grace, who wasn't making forming a parent-child relationship between the two of them easy. Once we made the decision to get married, we immediately started thinking about another child. But within two months of our wedding, we were seeing a reproductive endocrinologist at the infertility clinic because me, I had some bad symptoms and some bad family medical history. It took a little more than four years and a whole lot of medical treatment for me until we held our baby Stella in our arms.

I tried to tell Stella the abbreviated version of the story a few days ago. It wasn't easy. I don't think it ever will be. But I did manage to tell her that we were very, very happy to finally have her in our lives. I hope that I can explain the story to her in a way that she can understand while she is young so that she can grow up knowing that her parents longed for her more than she can imagine.

An honest post about depression during pregnancy

As I've mentioned in passing in the last few months, while I was pregnant with Stella I was diagnosed with clinical depression. This was a big step for me, the going through with seeing someone for diagnosis and treatment. The story of my depression does not begin with pregnancy, though; it begins way, way back long ago in my life.

Very few people who know me would believe I suffer from depression. I have a public persona that is chatty and accommodating. Things have to get very, very bad for me before my public self starts deteriorating and my somber side shows up. That's one of the issues I deal with: how to be "the real me" in public. I also have a quirky problem in that I know what depression looks like and how it gets diagnosed. If I had to sum up the major hindrance to my getting help for my psychological health, it would be to say that I am too metacognitive regarding my own psyche. I usually have a pretty good handle on how I'm doing psychologically, even when I'm not doing so well. Unfortunately, if there's one way to make people believe you are healthy enough not to need help, it's having the ability to accurately describe your own condition and its severity.

Anyways, about halfway through my pregnancy, it became clear that I was having a more difficult time dealing with my own depression in public and in private. And suddenly it became relevant that crying a lot and feeling a lot of anxiety and being unsure of who I really was undoubtedly was not helping Stella in utero. Thus it came to pass that I sought out professional help.

The whole thing was and is a little strange for me. Experiencing depression during pregnancy put me at a 60-80% chance of experiencing postpartum depression. That information was a bit sobering. For the first time in my life I took everything off the table except for my health. That was a VERY strange. I feel better able to cope with things, but wow, suddenly I had time and space to feel some things that otherwise were routinely scooted to the side.

Yesterday I came across this article about depression during pregnancy and some discussion of the effects of various treatments. I emailed the link to my husband. After he got a chance to look at it, he asked me if I really wanted to consider going through a pregnancy ever again. Unbelievably, I have no doubt that it was all worth it. Stella is an amazing gift and she makes my heart melt every time I spy her. The possibility of getting to do it again is almost too wonderful for me to imagine. But you can imagine that from my husband's perspective, he's trying to make sure I'm ok. He's protective like that.

What the source of my depression is I still don't know. Yeah, there's the current trend that depression is largely biological. And then there's my own opinion that one's genetic predisposition to any psychological disorder is exacerbated by past and present stress. I have a BA in psychology, which is enough to know that I don't know much and that I should refrain from any speculation on the mental health of myself or anyone else around me.

FYI, postpartum depression seems not to be my problem. In what seems to me to be some kind of a strange blessing, I know that I feel no worse now than I have at any other point in my life. So it feels like pinning the source on being postpartum would be misguided. I haven't yet checked with my therapist on that conclusion, however.

I figure that at this point in my life, coping with depression is part of who I am. Sure, I'm a lot of other things. But I am finding that if I conceptualize of myself in a more integrated way, it helps me understand myself better and approach problems I face in a more effective way.

So there you go. Journey on...

Another update in pictures

Remember what my toes looked like two weeks ago? When they were swollen? And I had just had a pedicure? Apparently I didn't know what swollen was. Here's what they looked like then:


This is what they looked like Wednesday night:


I knew you could bloat after a cesarean, but this was off the charts. They pumped a lot of fluid into me via IV during the surgery and from Friday noon until about Wednesday morning, every single bit of tissue in my body from my diaphragm down was completely bloated with fluid. My joints were useless, no contour of my muscles could be detected, and my bones couldn't be found anywhere. Since I'm not supposed to be moving around much (and frankly there was no way I can move around much given the pain level I'm experiencing), it makes getting the fluid out of my body more difficult. And then I came up with an idea: use heat to get my blood circulating, and then the fluid will get carried out of my tissue. Pleased with my new idea, I put the heating pad on high and left it on my thighs overnight. Sure enough, blood circulation increased rapidly and I started getting on my feet to the restroom every hour. It also had the nice effect of making me sweat. Within 24 hours, I had lost 15 pounds. I have never seen such a fast and dramatic change. I also have never been so eager to be uncomfortably hot ;-)

OK, on to better things. Since we came home from the hospital Sunday evening, I've mostly been sitting in my bedroom like a Victorian aristocrat, getting every meal in bed and moving only when absolutely necessary. I have the home phone, my cell phone, my lap top, the tv remote, the iDock remote, the camera along with all its cords, note pads, my wallet, medicine, candy and chapstick, everything all within arm's length. So I can make shopping lists, order stuff online, blog, play online games, check facebook, watch cable reality shows, pig out and get a sugar high, and sedate myself all without getting out of bed. I feel incredible. Here's a sampling of a typical breakfast I receive here in Chez Postpartum:


Raspberry danish, marble and cheddar cheese cubes, hard boiled egg, raisin bran and sweet cherries and blueberries on the side, all with orange juice and milk. Yesterday morning I got French toast with sour cream and maple syrup, berries on the side and wheat toast. Yes, I'm a spoiled Victorian aristocrat. Duchess Heather, we'll call me. Duchess Heather and Lady Stella.

And now for a update on how things went medically and on our general health. This is what I looked like at 7a, when we arrived at the hospital.


The part about this whole birth story that I'm keeping very quiet about is this: I actually got the chance to have contractions. Really. It started Wednesday night. I noticed I was having trouble breathing and used my inhaler. I called my allergist first thing Thursday morning, asking if it was wise for me to use my inhaler so close to surgery and after steroid injections the previous two days. He said there was no way it was asthma; the steroid injections would have prevented any onset of asthma. Then again, Thursday night, breathing trouble. It went on for a good hour before I realized, I'm having trouble breathing because I'm having contractions. I decided to not alarm my husband, take a warm bath and go to bed. I mean, what's the difference at that point? They stopped overnight. But I will hold onto that brief experience as a taste of what the natural onset of labor would have felt like had circumstances been different. A small gift.

My surgery involved some unexpected twists and I lost more blood than normal. During standard pre-op monitoring of vitals, Stella was showing some signs of distress without an apparent explanation. Though she was healthy and fine when she finally was delivered, the vitals caused my doctor to jump start the surgery. (I applaud him for not alarming me or my husband by sharing this information until after the surgery was completed.) Consequently, I don't have a cute tiny c-section scar. It's low and it is wide. Which came in handy when, after delivery, my doctor had to lift my uterus out to ensure I could have more children later. The myomectomy site from my surgery a year ago was pretty thin and the doctor expressed his happiness that we scheduled the c-section for 36 weeks. He chose to stitch the site so that the uterine wall would be reinforced for future pregnancies. My husband watched the whole surgery, except for times when he was kissing Stella and I and taking in her awesomeness. He even filmed a good bit of the surgery and took pictures, though I haven't been brave enough to see those shots and clips yet. When my surgeon had closed and all things surgical were almost over, he came over and congratulated me, and I gave him a hug.


Stella was 6 lbs, 7.4 oz at birth. Like most late preterm infants, she lost some weight and she's having a hard time getting it back. As of Wednesday, she is still under 6 lbs. Not a huge deal, but the pediatrician wants us to reduce her activity as much as possible and have her eating a lot. So...the Victorian aristocratic lifestyle it is. She and I stay together in our pristine tower and eat and rest, eat and rest, eat and rest all day and night long.

But she is cute. And sweet. And lovely. And I am completely euphoric, even in my present state of complete sleep deprivation.


So much for "our daughter will never wear pink." We are guilty as charged.

The Weekly Slug: 24 weeks

I'm officially in over my head. I had no idea pregnancy and childbirth and parenting and family-making had become such a fuss. Perhaps it's always been this way and I have just been terribly naive the first time around. Regardless, I am feeling a little overwhelmed.

It seems like you are required to have an opinion on every single little thing that could possibly ever happen to a child. And not just any 'ole opinion, a STRONG opinion. For instance, am I going to use cloth diapers or disposables? Or, am I going to have my child vaccinated on a recommended schedule or should I be conservative and slow down that pace? Or refuse vaccinations altogether? Breast or bottle, work or stay home, child sleeps in bed with parents or in a bassinette in the same room or in a separate nursery in a bassinette or in a crib...

Note that I haven't event touched the mother* of all topics: childbirth.

Before we go much further, I'm having a cesarean section. It will probably be done at or about 37 weeks. That being said, let's go on.

This week I saw this video at Momversation:



Before I saw this, I didn't even know there was such a thing as a birth plan. What the hell is a birth plan? Clearly the women on the forum think the idea of a written document is a bit over the top, with the exception of Heather Armstrong. Do I need a birth plan? Shouldn't someone who is caring for my pregnancy tell me about a birth plan? I'm almost through my second trimester and I don't even know what a birth plan is!!!!!!!

Listening to the dialogue got me thinking about how I used to talk about pregnancy and childbirth, long, long ago, way back when I was a budding young mother...

Grace was a healthy 7 lb, 15 oz baby born after 14 hours of labor by way of an induced labor, an epidural, an episiotomy, and a forceps delivery. The labor was induced because my doctor was concerned she would be very big and force me into c-section. Her Apgar scores were 8 and 9 and she left the hospital roughly 36 hours after delivery with a slight case of jaundice which resolved itself within the next 48 hours. Prior to childbirth, I had attended childbirth classes and hoped for a delivery in a birthing room in the hospital without the need for an epidural. That was the extent of my "birth plan."

After my daughter was born, I started learning about all the other options I could have chosen. If I hadn't had my labor induced, could I have averted so many other consequential negatives? What about breaking my water artificially, was that bad? Or the epidural that they gave me after 8 solid hours of intense contractions, while I progressed to only 5 cm dilation? My mind went wild. That doctor was a medical menace. He didn't take my feelings into account. He didn't ask my opinion of anything (did I have an opinion?). I got mad at my (now ex-)husband because he never considered anything other than a hospital birth, saying that he wasn't going to have his kid born in "some kind of a half-way house where pregnant women walk around naked and moaning." I learned all about how doctors don't care about women and just want to make money, never even considering whether the recommendations they give women are the best options for their health.

Well. That was many years ago. I still think there is not enough done in research about women's health issues. But after being treated for years for uterine fibroid tumors and endometriosis and resulting infertility, I've come to a different view of gynecology and obstetrics. The medical team who has treated me the last few years has not only tried everything in their power to make my reproductive options as healthy and natural as they possibly could be, they are also active researchers in the exact areas they treat me for.

Back to my scheduled c-section and a birth plan. I plan on having a healthy baby and doing whatever it takes to optimize my reproductive health to hopefully do this again. Though it might not apply to most women out there, choosing to deliver vaginally would put those goals at too high a risk for my husband and I to consider. So we're going to deliver this baby as late as we possibly can, while maintaining that there be as little chance as possible that labor contractions could begin on their own. That will probably be in week 37.

I don't see my doctor as pushing me into anything. My reproductive endocrinology surgical team tried everything they could to avoid cutting my uterus, thus allowing any (hopeful) future pregnancies to progress as naturally as possible. When we got to the point that there were no other options but surgery and making an incision across my uterus to remove a large fibroid out of a mass of adenomyosis, the lead surgeon talked with my husband and I as long as we liked about what this would realistically mean for any future pregnancy and childbirth.

For me, cesarean or vaginal birth is not a determination of whether I am empowered as a women. For me, the whole process of being empowered about my health is working with physicians who always communicate with me and work together with me. This applies not only to obstetrics and gynecology, but also to every kind of medical care I received.

I'm fortunate to have a great set of doctors, both at the infertility clinic and at obstetrics. They work together seamlessly, so seamlessly that I hardly even noticed a shift in my care from one need to the other. I know this isn't the case for most people out there. I hope that we as a society can work towards it.

As for the other things I MUST have an opinion on:

• breast only, hopefully at least for the entire first year
  
• bassinette, in our bedroom, until she's big enough for a crib, and then she'll probably still stay in the bedroom a bit longer
• cloth diapers
• NO PHOTOGRAPHS of me during delivery or anytime closely thereafter. And none of my dear daughter that make her look like a wet rat or something else disgusting.
• I don't want to see any of the delivery when it happens, nor do I want to have it filmed or photographed. Been there, done that, know myself, wish to stay conscious and not become faint at the sight of my own gore.
  
• Thinking about getting a Tummy Tub, but I can't imagine the expense is worth it. People will make fun of me for putting my baby in a bucket, I know it.
  

Ok, that's it. I can't even begin to deal with all the rest of the things that I should have something to say something about. Can you imagine if I were having a boy and needing to explain to all of you why I would never have him circumcised?

* Get it? Mother of all topics? Childbirth? A-ha! I made a joke, did you guys see that?
You're not laughing, I can tell.
Damn, I'm still not funny.

The Weekly Slug: 22 or 23 weeks, depending on how you count it

No, I won't tell you her name. But everyone in our family refers to her by her name now, not Slug. I feel like I should rename the segment "The Weekly INSERT-BABY'S-FIRST-NAME-HERE." It wouldn't be so bad because her first name starts with an S. OK, that's all I'm telling you. We're back to debating a middle name anyway, two different possibilities now. There's a third alternative that I've soundly rejected. My husband is stuck on wanting to give the child my mother's maiden name as a middle name. My mom comes from deep German American roots. You know, where there's a Meyer on every corner and people cook meat and potatoes and carrots and peas frequently and put radishes in salads and everyone is very outspoken? So her maiden name, like all surnames in her family before she married my Scotch-Irish Dad, is very recognizably German. If we gave the Slug this middle name, her full name would go first name, German-name, English-name, Latin-name. I think that's too much to do to any kid. Another thing we've rejected in the baby-naming category is my middle name Lee. It comes from my grandaddy who died three years ago. He was Robert Lee. Yes, he is named after the general. In fact, I would be the last of many generations in my family who is named after Robert E. Lee. I would like to give a child one of the names, either Robert or Lee, but it just doesn't seem right just now. I guess you could say this makes me optimistic that there will be a third child to give the name to.

Now, on to me. I won't complain, really. Most of what I could tell you is so damn typical of the kinds of things women complain about when they are pregnant. Back pain, tiredness, feeling heavy, constant physical adjustment, having trouble getting comfortable in bed...you get the idea. One thing that has reared its ugly head is fibroids. If you've been following this blog for a bit, you know I had two surgeries last summer to remove a few biggies. When I had my first ultrasound to confirm this pregnancy in January, three more could be seen. They were bigger 10 weeks later. And now? Now I can tell you where they are. I don't need an ultrasound, I can feel them. There's nothing that can be done about them right now. But here's the very short narrative a fun scare I had a week ago. I realized last Saturday that I was having contractions. They had been going on for three days, but by Saturday I was having them every time I wasn't laying down, and I was having to breathe through them. I called labor and delivery triage at the hospital. They said to lay down and drink lots of fluid and juice. I did, and the contractions slowed. And then I started thinking, what's causing this? The only red hot source would be the fibroids. I read somewhere online that 8% of women without fibroids have real-live preterm labor and 20% of those with fibroids do. Regardless of the odds, real-live labor at any point in my pregnancy would be bad due to my surgeries last summer and other factors. And I find myself realizing, the odds really don't matter at all unless it's you. So we hope I beat the odds and that the Slug does too.

On a very wonderful note, I am loving this pregnancy. The contrast between my emotions 15 years ago and now are stark. When I was pregnant with Grace, it was completely unplanned and the entire pregnancy was surrounded with shame and I-told-you-sos from people who thought I was too young and shouldn't have been having sex while not married. That definitely had an effect on my view of the pregnancy. Worse? I think it had an effect on my parenting all along the way. I have a feeling I'm going to write more about this in the coming weeks. I don't think I would have ever realized any of this had I not had the experience of this pregnancy.

The day after the contractions-that-wouldn't-stop episode, I sat on my bedroom floor and went through the contents of five or six big boxes that had been in storage for over a decade. They were filled with everything from a lock from Grace's first haircut and the cards of congratulations we received when she was born to a schnazzy light blue coat I bought for her in Berlin on a trip to visit her godparents when she was seven-years-old. In between were scores of tailor-made outfits my mother had stitched together for Grace, baby clothing from my own infancy, blankets, cloth diapers, and other baby linens. I felt the crash of emotions. I was excited for the possibility of having another girl to use these items, while simultaneously realizing that I didn't have such joy and anticipation when I was expecting Grace.

This pregnancy is completely different than when I was expecting Grace. It is amazing to watch the every day growth and development of this baby within my body. I love looking at my body. I love feeling this little girl kick and kick, and I can't wait to see her. Last night, for the first time, my husband felt her kick. She was really active and was giving one good kick after another. So as we were laying in bed, I just laid his hand over my belly. Sure enough, within a few seconds, he felt it. His eyes flew open and a huge grin came across his face. There were three more episodes like this during the evening and overnight. The bottom line is, I am loving every minute of her life, anticipating her arrival with joy. The apprehension of being the mother of a baby again has almost completely dissipated. I'm doing things like eagerly thinking about what kind of diapers would be the best choice for our family and what color curtains I'd like in our nursery (Mom's coming next week and maybe I can go to the fabric store with her and get some custom-made ones :-) ).

All these feelings are good, but they bring up so much in me that I didn't know was there. I don't think these are things you share with children. That you were apprehensive about them being born. That you cried the day your milk came in because your body looked so, well, motherly. That you didn't know how to cope and balance your youthful wants and desires with her youth. I'll think on that a bit more.

Some things I am craving

Nova salmon with cream cheese loaded up on an everything bagel with fresh, crisp, cool red onion and tomato slices.

Sushi. Crunchy sushi with crab filling, wrapped in seaweed and sprinkled with caviar.

Brie. Lots and lots of brie.

Red table wine at dinner. And mudslides. Actually, anything made with Kahlua.

Seared tuna, just barely, in a salad with lots of wonderful vegetables to complement the flavor and a fabulous light dressing.

Spring just ain't feelin' like spring without these indulgences, you know?

The Weekly Slug: 18 weeks

We have a saying at our house when someone gets a little fussy: "Don't be such a whainer compliner!" In other words, stop being such a baby and complaining so much. I think I'm being too much of a wainer compliner.

I have spent years trying to get pregnant and stay pregnant. During those years, I experienced what most women who have been there experience: the constant frustrating reminder that pregnancy is often arrived at without much forethought or concern. People just get pregnant. If they've never dealt personally with any serious measure of infertility, they tend to be insensitive, saying the wrong thing without even knowing it. I've been on both sides of the fence. My first pregnancy more than 15 years ago was a complete accident. Though most of my peers were much too young to have faced infertility, there were a few women around me who had. The hard feelings over my blatant oblivion regarding my fertile self still hold to this day. Now that I'm on the other side of the fence, I realize that my current pregnancy and any others that may come along are nothing short of miracles.

One of my friends gave birth to her first child a few years ago. No troubles conceiving, no troubles with pregnancy, no troubles with childbirth, healthy baby. I got pregnant a few months after her child's birth, a pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. But backing up a bit, when I got a positive pregnancy test and told her, she went straight ahead to "healthy baby" and sent me her personal pregnancy journal. The journal was humorous, yes, but centered along the theme of what a pain and inconvenience the whole thing was. Whining and complaining. She started by saying that this wasn't the right timing. She wanted to wait another year until her husband had a permanent position, not a postdoc. Things just weren't perfect. Then the complaining about every little detail ensued. Sure, it was humorous, and sure, it had its value in just writing about things as they are. Still, at the moment of realization that my pregnancy was ending, I wished I had never read it.

With my current pregnancy, in less than four months, I have forgotten so much of how desperately I have been trying to get to this point, the point where I have a healthy pregnancy, and a healthy baby inside. In some dark corner of my mind, I still believe something will go wrong. I've read way too many stories of the 21-week pregnancy with no signs of problems that ended in fetal death. Or the unexpected 24-week delivery that resulted in months of day-by-day uncertainty in the NICU. And if I'm there in the future, I get the feeling that I'll look back at some of the things I've written wished I had never thought them.

Don't get me wrong; I know that griping and complaining has its value at times. However, when I reflect on my experience as a mother, I realize that sometimes I do a bit too much of this. Mothers tend to bond on the griping. It starts early, with the pregnancy, and I don't think it ever stops. But let's be honest about it: the griping and complaining seems perfectly fine until something goes wrong. Once something goes wrong, you long for the time in which the biggest problem you had was sleep deprivation or the details of typical potty-training or noisy kids or fill-in-the-blank here with whatever else is a normal part of parenthood that feels better once you gripe about it.

It's a balance, right? You need to speak out and speak your mind and just let all your emotions hang loose once in awhile. But sooner or later, you have to count your blessings and realize that despite the trials, what you have is good. A year ago I was having horrid hot flashes as a result of having injections of Lupron Depot. Now, don't get me wrong, given everything I knew at that time, if I had to do it all over again, I would do it. But still. I would wake up in the middle of the night in pools on my own sweat, unable to sleep, hoping that these injections really would have some positive effect on the fibroid tumors that were causing so much trouble. By the start of May we knew that it had had little effect. After my second surgery in August we found out that this was because the largest tumor was actually a fibroid tumor embedded within a rich mass of adenomyosis. And then I was put on four weeks of strict bed rest in order to promote the smoothest healing possible (read: reduce internal uterine scarring). After all that, I didn't know whether to think optimistically about the possibility of a successful pregnancy or not. I had had so many maybes, sort of positives and early miscarriages (before 5 weeks), not to mention one late first trimester miscarriage, I didn't know what to think about getting pregnant. I wanted to have a baby, there was no question about that, but the hoping and trying seemed like an unbearable roller coaster ride that I wanted to get off of. Given all this, it seems like now is a time to count my blessings, right? But in reflection, I haven't been. Though there is still a lot that could go wrong, I sort of put myself into a comfort zone where I felt like I should gripe and complain and go on and on about how inconvenient the whole pregnancy is.

So this week is about counting blessings. On Monday we had our second trimester ultrasound screening. She's a girl. She's growing well. For the most part everything looks good. Since I'm over 35, they look and search and inspect every little part of her anatomy trying to find any signs of genetic disorders. Due to some atypical growth in this girl's brain, this caused the doctor to explain to us that though this growth falls within normal range, this brings the likelihood of Trisomy 18 to a 1 in 6,000 chance. Or something like that. But other than that, she looks like a healthy baby. She sucks her thumb. When it wasn't in her mouth, she had her left hand curled into the shape of Fonzie's and close to her face. And I've started noticing that she likes to sleep in the mornings. During the whole 45 minute sonogram, she slept and slept. Maybe we'll be lucky and she'll keep up this schedule after birth.

There you go.

Is it a baby or isn't it?

A week ago I was in ER all day. I woke up in the morning on Thursday with the migraine I had had since midday the day before. I had been taking the prescription pain reliever approved by my obstetrician for 16 hours, but still, no relief. It was getting worse. It was clear I was in a "pain-on-pain" situation with the migraine and something more radical needed to be done. After consulting with obstetrics over the phone, they told me to go to the ER, that they were waiting for me. I was there until 1 or 2a on Friday morning.

I hate going to the ER. I have a goal to go 12 months consecutively without needing to make a visit for myself. Yet in 5 years running I haven't been able to achieve this. While I was there last week, I was reminded that when you are pregnant and at the hospital, people jump through hoops for you. They are careful. They consult with every specialty they need to. The resident who was primarily dealing with my care asked lots of questions. She listened to my heart and the baby's heartbeat. And then she asked casually, "is this your first baby?"

The farther along I get in this pregnancy, the more and more I find myself having to confront my miscarriage two years ago. By the calendar, I was roughly 10 weeks pregnant. And there was an embryo inside, make no mistake about that. But somewhere around 7 or 8 weeks, it stopped developing normally. At least, that was when the doctors detected that it was no longer developing normally. In retrospect, I should have realized things were really wrong early. But it wasn't until I actually started the spotting and having pain that I was convinced, this is over.

If that pain and loss wasn't enough, the aftermath of the pregnancy worse. I was taken to the hospital by ambulance with Grace accompanying me two weeks after the miscarriage with severe abdominal pains. The ER staff couldn't figure out what was causing the pain. My gynecologist got all the records and saw me the next morning. Before the pregnancy, my periods were bad with all sorts of abnormal symptoms. When they resumed afterward, the symptoms were much worse. I was having breakthrough bleeding almost constantly and severe pain. For three months, I was in the process of transferring my medical records from one doctor on the East coast to one in Michigan, deciding it would be best to follow up on the miscarriage with the current doctor, then move everything in a clean way to the new doctor. By the time I saw the doctor in Michigan, it was clear I needed surgery for fibroids and most likely endometriosis. The fibroids were undeniable and eventually required two surgeries to treat satisfactorily. There was a small bit of endometriosis which they were able to remove laparoscopically, but the big bad news other than the fibroids was andenomyosis, a condition that roughly corresponds to the weakening and deterioration of the uterine wall. I won't go further than that. I'm not a medical professional and I ask my doctors a lot of questions. If you have concerns about your health, go see your doctor.

But back to my miscarriage. I mourned this miscarriage for well over a year. I didn't realize it at the time, but looking back I am astounded at how many signs were there that indicated I was not myself. I was unmotivated, lethargic, over-emotional, and sad. Granted, during this same time I was taking a heapload of hormones and narcotics to deal with my other issues, but even after all the medicine stopped, I had recovered from my surgeries, and I had a clear head, I realized I hadn't really gotten over the miscarriage.

Back to the resident. "Is this your first baby?" It wasn't the first time I've heard the question in the last few weeks. Someone casually asked me the same question just yesterday. My answer to the question is no, this is my second; I have a daughter who is 15 years old and this is the second baby of mine. But that feels wrong. It's not my second. Two years ago, there was a baby there, one that many photographs were taken of, one who came out of me and one that I saw. That one was the second, right? I know that's not what people are asking. They want to know do I know about having children or is my body behaving like this for the first time. So really the answer to the question doesn't change at all whether or not I say this is the second or third baby. Still, it seems like I'm leaving something out to just say that this is my second baby.

If the one I miscarried two years ago wasn't a baby, what makes this one count as a baby yet? If I miscarried today, it wouldn't survive. So in that event it's not a baby and it never was?

This is why I get so frustrated when I talk to people about what counts as human life or not. In the context that people are asking whether this is my first baby, very few people would say that this is my third baby. They want to know, provided that this pregnancy continues and this fetus survives, will this be your first experience with a live baby outside of the womb? Quite a different question.

Last November, just a few weeks before I got pregnant this time, I had an idea about what happened in the last pregnancy I miscarried. I don't consider that baby to have lived its mortal life. It didn't even get a chance. The biology was screwed up and whatever potential it had to be a person was botched. So does that baby just miss out? No, I thought. That baby just didn't get a chance at it yet. I don't know what it was before or where it hung out for a few years, but that baby exists as a person. When it was possible to give that person a body that worked, then it would get a chance at mortal life. So it was a matter of waiting.

I know there are women who think that every miscarriage they have is a person who was lost and is now an angel in heaven. So when you ask them how many children they have, they say something like "2 girls, one boy, and 3 precious angels in heaven that I can't wait to be reunited with when I meet my Lord." I can't even begin to say that. I cannot accept that I have children who I will contribute nothing to. That miscarriage was a person who not only was taken from me, but deprived of the very experience that it is to be human? To breathe and to be touched? To move? To have eyes? No, if this was a person, then this person didn't get anything. Not even the experience of a mom and dad.

So does this mean the baby I am carrying now has the personhood of the child I was pregnant with two years ago? Maybe. I hope so. It's what I'm holding to. But I can't say this for a fact because it would be arrogant to suggest that I hold this ultimate knowledge and truth.

I can't tie up the whole thing neatly with a ribbon and pretend like I know the ultimate truth of life and death and existence and personhood and all the rest. Such is the fodder of philosophers and theologians alike. I am neither. I'm just a woman who's trying to cope with a loss and not just accept what someone else says because it worked for them in coping with their loss or something else. I realize that the way I've conceptualized of this would imply all sorts of other things, things I also don't know the truth about. But insomuch as none of it can be proven, I see no point in arguing over it with anyone.

When dealing with life and death and loss, there is no right or wrong. There is the way each person can successfully walk through the experience and deal with it.

Feminists opposing abortion rights

I came across this recently:

http://www.feministsforlife.org/

I've read through a great bit of what this movement has to say. I only know one person who is really invested in this ideology. It catches my attention because it doesn't strike me as endorsing the same brainless banter that usually encircles anti-abortion movements. Yet I can't wrap my head around it.

You know where I stand on this stuff. But I'm curious on your take. Did you know about this stance? What would you say if someone you really believed was a thoughtful person said that this best characterized their stance on feminism and on reproductive rights? Is this threatening? Naive? Creative? Empowered? And yes, I am AM interested in differing views. I'm truly trying to understand this movement and if it can be embraced outside of a religious framework.

The Weekly Slug: 13w and some days

I'm somewhere in my 13th week of pregnancy and, much like when your child hits two years old and you get sick of telling people her age in months, I've tired of saying how many weeks and days I'm pregnant. We all know that there is no way I'm going to term with this pregnancy anyway because of my myomectomy for fibroids last summer and the three new fibroids that are growing in my uterine wall every day. So this week we'll just call this 13 weeks and that I've started the second trimester. From here on out, it's just weeks. Done.

I'm looking more and more pregnant by the day. If I was a pregnant teen, I could mask the whole thing by wearing baggy jeans and oversized sweatshirts. Of my boyfriend. Who would have been the one who knocked me up. And I'd slump a lot. Then no one would be able to tell I was pregnant for another two months at least.

But as it is, I'm not a teenager. I'm 20 years past that. I go out every day in my town where you're almost certainly bound to run into someone you know.

As far as wearing comfortable clothing, that problem is taken care of. The weather is warming up, so I've mostly solved the problem I had of a few weeks ago where I was feeling uncomfortable wearing tights or long underwear. I went to wearing maternity clothing exclusively last week, which feels great too.

But sooner or later people are going to start noticing that my bustline above the empire waistline is indeed smaller than what's protruding below my waistline.

It's not that I mind telling family or close friends. We've told my husband's family already and I've told two of my closest friends. I'm waiting to tell my family because one of my sisters just bought her first house and I don't want to steal her thunder. But in another week or so I'm sure we'll share the news.

It's not that I'm ashamed of being pregnant. I could go on and on about how ridiculous it is that in the United States everything surrounding pregnancy and childbirth are relegated to the closet because it's clear evidence that women have sex (gasp! no! the horror!). When I was nursing Grace, I just told everyone to get over it. I wasn't going to go to some dirty closet somewhere or suffocate my baby under a blanket and watch her break out in sweaty hives just because people couldn't accept that she was a baby that needed to eat. I nursed for almost a year. As far as my being pregnant with Grace, well, there was the issue with my shotgun wedding and conservative religion and how most people around me treated my pregnancy as something shameful. But I gotta tell you, once I found out I was pregnant, it never occurred to me that I should hide it. I'm pregnant, for God's sake. Why should anyone have an issue with that?

So....what's up now? Why don't I just want to say, hey, I'm pregnant! I think it has to do with my maturity. When I was young, my life was an open book. I told everyone everything. Nothing was a secret. What we had for dinner last night, how much sleep I got, how many times I went to the ER as a kid, what my relationship with my parents was like, how much I paid in rent...I was like one big walking meme. My list of 25 random things about yourself that you're supposed to make, the one that's been running around the web the last month or so? In those days, my list would have been more like 50 and as detailed as I could possibly make them.

I'm more private now. I don't tell people very much at all. I like to be a bit private about my personal life. I mean, sure, I have confidants and people who are close to me. They know a lot. But the people in my every day life are really just acquaintances. They could be my facebook friends, but not my friend friends, you know? Even if they were my friends on facebook, I'd put them in a special group that doesn't get to see stuff about my family and personal life.

Being pregnant is like broadcasting your private life to everyone who sees you. You are expecting a baby. It's about your health and your past and your future and everything. Worse, when you're pregnant, people feel like they have permission to ask you about it, comment on it. But if it were up to me, I'd just keep it to me. Like if I were adopting, I probably wouldn't tell anyone except close friends. I know the same would be true if I were trying to conceive with a little help from fertility treatment. When I was having treatment and surgeries the last few years, we told very few people what was up. When I had surgery, people that had to know were told that I was having surgery. But even then I didn't tell them what the surgeries were all about.

So suddenly I'm facing sacrificing that privacy. I don't really like the idea of it. My impulse is to just go about my days and at some point when something about my pregnancy becomes relevant to the conversation, I'll just mention it. Is there any reason why I should just make some announcement at work or in other social circles like I'm coming out of the closet or something? It just seems like it shouldn't be that big of a deal. Yet it is. It's a huge deal to me.

I'm scratching the surface of something bigger here, I just haven't figured out what it is yet.

From my mother-in-law

She is a wonderful person. She is dear. She is someone who keeps on keeping on, no matter what life throws at her. She is eternally accepting and loving. She wants only good health, wealth, joy, and happiness to come to all those she loves. What more could a daughter-in-law ask for?

When she traveled to the United States to attend to the wedding between her son and I, she brought with her in her luggage saints medals and pieces of paper on which she had written prayers and bible verses. My mother, who made my wedding dress, sewed them into the hem. In her written prayers, my mother-in-law asked for a husband for two of her daughters, and a child for one of them. She also asked for a child for me. This ain't just voodoo, friends. She earnestly prayed to God about what blessings her family would have. After she prayed and heard God, she wrote down what she heard and got the medals of the accompanying saints. She went to her priest and asked him if it was ok what she was doing, had she heard God right and all. Then he blessed the medals and the pieces of paper, which she brought all the way to the United States to be sewn into my wedding dress.

Since then one daughter has had a baby. That baby will be two-years-old in a few months. About two and a half weeks ago she got the news that another grandchild was on the way. This will be grandchild number four for her. Of course she is happy, as happy as she could be. She is effusive in her joy. She sends good wishes, good health, prayers, love, kisses and hugs to me, my husband, and to Grace.

But make no mistake: she takes these sentiments seriously. She's not fooling around and saying these things in insincerity. She means business when she sends her blessings thousands of miles away. So along with her blessings, she told me to read the following passage. Get out your Catholic bibles, friends and neighbors, because this ain't included in the protestant canon. Today's reading comes from Ecclesiasticus, the fifteenth chapter.

1 Whoever fears the Lord will act like this, and whoever grasps the Law will obtain wisdom.
2 She will come to meet him like a mother, and receive him like a virgin bride.
3 She will give him the bread of understanding to eat, and the water of wisdom to drink.
4 He will lean on her and will not fall, he will rely on her and not be put to shame.
5 She will raise him high above his neighbours, and in full assembly she will open his mouth.
6 He will find happiness and a crown of joy, he will inherit an everlasting name.
7 Fools will not gain possession of her, nor will sinners set eyes on her.
8 She stands remote from pride, and liars cannot call her to mind.
9 Praise is unseemly in a sinner's mouth, since it has not been put there by the Lord.
10 For praise should be uttered only in wisdom, and the Lord himself then prompts it.
11 Do not say, 'The Lord was responsible for my sinning,' for he does not do what he hates.
12 Do not say, 'It was he who led me astray,' for he has no use for a sinner.
13 The Lord hates all that is foul, and no one who fears him will love it either.
14 He himself made human beings in the beginning, and then left them free to make their own decisions.
15 If you choose, you will keep the commandments and so be faithful to his will.
16 He has set fire and water before you; put out your hand to whichever you prefer.
17 A human being has life and death before him; whichever he prefers will be given him.
18 For vast is the wisdom of the Lord; he is almighty and all-seeing.
19 His eyes are on those who fear him, he notes every human action.
20 He never commanded anyone to be godless, he has given no one permission to sin.

Now, I'm the kind of person who takes this all in stride. I'm not even going to start trying to figure out exactly who "she" and "he" are, nor deciding what is included in "all that is foul" or what "fire and water" refer to. But nonetheless, this is what my mother-in-law sent to me as a blessing when she first found out about my current pregnancy. I put it here for posterity of the record, and we'll see if we can make heads or tails of it as the days and weeks and years go on.

The Weekly Slug: 12w and growing too fast to know how many days

The slug got a very cute face this past week. I saw it twice. On Monday, that baby was asleep, sound asleep. Just holding so still, heart just pumping away. When I got to my office after the appointment, I told my husband via email that his nene had a cute nose. I couldn't get the exact tone of his voice over email, but the reply contained a lot of exclamation points, something about how he didn't know I was going to get to see the baby that morning. But how was I to know?!? You show up to the appointment, they've got an ultrasound machine ready to go in the exam room, and they say, hey, let's take a look at the booger, why not? The nurse practitioner said that I image well. I said maybe practice made perfect.

I'll give it my slug, that kid is consistent. Since my first ultrasound right after new years, that baby has measured in at precisely the right size for a due date of September 2, 2009. No variation. It's like the growth is just perfectly along the mean. How average.

Fortunately, the omission of my husband's presence at the ultrasound Monday was remediable. The big first trimester genetic screening imaging was already scheduled for Friday. I'm 37 years old, so they gotta tell you all about your risk for Down's Syndrome and other genetic abnormalities due to your aging eggs. You know, I think my eggs are ok; I don't know why we have to go and insult them just because they're getting on in years. But the people over at obstetrics and genetic counseling don't feel the same way I do. They feel they have to tell you about how your eggs are probably freaking out because they're over the hill. Well, ok then. Screening it is. On to the perk -- the screening includes an ultrasound image, and they look carefully at a lot of stuff inside, so I knew we'd get another chance to see my slug's cute little face. The husband was very happy. Despite the 8a scheduled appointment, we rolled out of bed on time, got over to the hospital, and got ourselves prepared to see that kid. (With, of course, the downer that we had to get a whole counseling session on what could look bad in the image beforehand.)

That slug is healthy in every way measurable at this point in its brief three-month existence. What's more, in four days, that slug grew a whole half a centimeter. It was 5.5 centimeters long on Monday and exactly 6 cm long on Friday. Now I know that doesn't seem like much, but that means it grew 7 days of growth in 4 days! So much for being average; I guess the slug wants to be an overachiever now. But the best part? That slug put on quite a show for us during the ultrasound! It wiggled, it waved, it rolled over completely four times. It turned itself completely around, head on the entirely opposite side of my uterus by the end of the 15 minute scan. It kicked like mad. I think the slug just really wanted to stop getting poked around. But it was cute as hell, I tell you. We got pictures of hands and feet and arms and face. We heard the heartbeat and got to see its little heart beating just like four days earlier.

I have one totally technical question about ultrasounds if anyone out there knows the answer. How do I get digital images of ultrasound pictures? On Friday, I finally got my hands on printouts of the ultrasound that were interesting, but I don't know how to do anything with a piece of paper. Do you have to bring a flash drive to the appointment with you or something?

Now that you know that the slug is fine, on to me. I pulled out the maternity clothing this week. God, I feel so much better. Stockings and leggings and pants and dresses and tops and all. One big oops on my part was that I was way too practical when buying maternity clothing. Everything is black, grey, or white. Granted, now I could add any new piece to the wardrobe with no problem, but it would be nice if I had diversified a little bit beforehand.

And a piece of discouraging news. That last ultrasound revealed three new and healthy fibroid tumors. My REE found them 5 weeks ago for the first time, but they were pretty small. Now? Oh, they are loving the bath of hormones this pregnancy is giving them, just loving it. The doctor I saw on Friday for genetic screening said not to worry too much about the effect of the fibroids on the pregnancy. But I'm not so worried about the pregnancy as I am about what happens to them after the pregnancy. My reaction to this is, in a word, "fuck."

But hey, as of right now I'm getting a healthy, lively, energetic baby out of this whole thing. So I won't worry about the afterwards just yet. Let's move forward to the SECOND TRIMESTER!!

A timely post of reflection

A friend of mine posted this questionnaire on facebook a few days ago - "Share about your firstborn." I've seen versions of it and at first it turned me off. It's being a youngest child; I just hate that whole thing of mothers going on and on and on about "the child who made me a mother." At least for me in my family I didn't like it.

However, I only have one child. So far. The other one is still growing, not quite ready to give me the story of birth #2 yet. So I give you...

Share about your firstborn

To play along, all you have to do is to copy the questions and fill in your own answers. I won't tag anyone, but let me know if you decide to do it and I link to your blog in an upcoming post.

1. WAS YOUR FIRST PREGNANCY PLANNED? No

2. WERE YOU MARRIED AT THE TIME? No

3. WHAT WERE YOUR REACTIONS? "No Way."

4. WAS ABORTION AN OPTION FOR YOU? No

5. HOW OLD WERE YOU? 21

6. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT YOU WERE PREGNANT? One pregnancy test. That's all it took.

7. WHO DID YOU TELL FIRST? My then-boyfriend, the baby's father.

8. DID YOU WANT TO FIND OUT THE SEX? I didn't really worry about it that much. There seemed to be a lot of things like this that I hadn't really thought about. Like, have you thought about whether you'll use cloth or plastic diapers? (I hadn't really thought about it.) Will you keep your dog in the house after the baby is born? (I hadn't really thought about it.) Do you want to have more children? (I hadn't really thought about it.)

9. DUE DATE? February 16, 1994

10. DID YOU HAVE MORNING SICKNESS? I don't think in the classic sense, but I recall avoiding lunch and eating tootsie pops.

11. WHAT DID YOU CRAVE? Nothing worse than what I always crave. Hamburgers, Coca-Cola, fried food, milkshakes, chinese food...yeah, there was really no change in my diet when I was pregnant.

12. WHO/WHAT IRRITATED YOU THE MOST? Not having clothes to wear that I liked. Not having any money to buy clothes. I wore the same 2 or 3 outfits over and over and over.

13. WHAT WAS THE GENDER OF YOUR FIRST CHILD? Girl

14. DID YOU WISH YOU HAD THE OPPOSITE GENDER OF WHAT YOU WERE GETTING? No

15. HOW MANY POUNDS DID YOU GAIN THROUGHOUT THE PREGNANCY? 42. Went home from the hospital 25 pounds lighter (LOTS of fluid retention in the uterus and in my body).

16. DID YOU HAVE A BABY SHOWER? yes, two.

17. WAS IT A SURPRISE OR DID YOU KNOW? No, I knew about both of them. I think the first one was thrown by my ex-sister-in-law, but I can't remember for sure. I know it was at her college apartment after church on a Sunday. It was a bizarre experience. A bunch of college friends coming by and I was married and about to have a baby. All I remember was that I was tired and way too pregnant and my ankles were swelling and my best friend said she wanted to spend time with me without all the other people there.

The second one wasn't a surprise either. Some ladies at the church I was attending realized I was gone a couple weeks (because I had given birth to the baby) and when they realized what had happened, they thought it would be nice to throw me a shower. When asked what I needed, I felt like saying 'money for groceries.' Instead I asked for clothes for the baby that were larger than newborn size.

18. DID YOU HAVE ANY COMPLICATIONS DURING YOUR PREGNANCY? Not a one. But the delivery, whoa. The ob thought the baby was going to be huge up until the seconds before delivery. Right before the last push, the attending nurse said "9-8" and the ob said, "I say 10!" Since they had guessed this all along in the last weeks, they induced my labor to avoid a cesarean. I will NEVER let a doctor induce my labor using oxytocin again. That was the worst ending to a completely problem-free pregnancy.

But hey, who's complaining? Medicaid paid for my bills.

19. WHERE DID YOU GIVE BIRTH? Baylor Medical Center, Dallas, Texas

20. HOW MANY HOURS WERE YOU IN LABOR? 14 hours

21. WHO DROVE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL? My ex-husband (then my husband)

22. WHO WATCHED YOU GIVE BIRTH? My ex-husband (then my husband), and a delivery room full of 15 medical professionals

23. WAS IT NATURAL OR C-SECTION? Natural

24. DID YOU TAKE MEDICINE TO EASE THE PAIN? Epidural, after 8 awful hours of intense labor and no progress -- still at 3 cm. By the time I got to the latter stages of labor, the nurse was letting me skip pushing through contractions because I was so exhausted and I was falling asleep.

27. HOW MUCH DID YOUR CHILD WEIGH? 7 lbs. 15 ounces

28. WHEN WAS YOUR CHILD ACTUALLY BORN? February 18, 1994, 10:08p

30. WHAT DID YOU NAME HIM/HER? Grace

31. HOW OLD IS YOUR FIRST BORN TODAY? 15

I love that baby so much.

an update on those frivolous but annoying things in my life that keep coming up

My furnace:
The furnace needed a repair. When the technician first looked at it yesterday at 11:45a, he told me that in its current state NO heated air would be circulating throughout the house unless the repair was done. He said he had to get a part. I said, I have to teach at 1p, and you were supposed to be here an hour ago. He said he had other jobs to do in the afternoon. Then he asked me how cold it was supposed to get overnight. I realized that I had to do whatever was necessary to get that guy back to my house with the right part and fix it no matter how much it cost. So I needed to call my husband to come home so I could go to work.

My hair:
I still have done nothing with my hair since I pleaded here for help. I found my hairbrush, but now it is lost again. Worse, a couple weeks ago I plugged my hairdryer into the same outlet as the space heater while they were both in use. It blew out a circuit in the room and left my hairdryer useless. I tried everything, but I broke my hair dryer. So now I don't even have a hair dryer to dry my hair. I'm getting out of the shower, towel-drying my hair, and then just going out with it in whatever state it looks.

My wardrobe:
I am running out of outfits to wear. I look a bit dilapidated. I feel dilapidated. I ordered some maternity pants online that were on sale because I've got nothing else to go to. Now I need to find some tops that are long and roomy, but not so obviously made for a woman who needs an expanding panel in the front.



There are also some less frivolous things that will get more attention in an upcoming post in the near future:

• Grace's birthday party
• My conflicted relationship with God as we enter the Lenten season

And to top it all off...

...the furnace is acting up. If a good furnace sounds like a clear throat, mine sounds like it has emphysema. I'm waiting for the technician to come and diagnose the situation. And tell me how many thousands of dollars we'll have to spend in order to avoid hypothermia.

I'm breathing deeply and rubbing my belly. And I'm buying Grace an ice cream cake for her party on Friday.

This week in preview

This week is going to be a doozie. I'm a little overwhelmed by the schedule.

This morning I have an appointment with the obstetrician. Regularly scheduled monthly appointment. Maybe I'll get some information about weight loss/gain. More than likely I'll get information I already have that doesn't seem to be helpful (i.e., eat in small quantities regularly, make sure you when you eat you are getting the right kinds of food, and get plenty of rest and don't be stressed out).

Then Grace's birthday is Wednesday. As usual, I waited until the last minute to go shopping for any gift for her. So last Saturday (yes, on Valentine's Day) I finally went out and bought her a new case for her viola and some tall brown boots. I also bought her a birthday card. I should probably try and come up with some kind of a cake and a special dinner that night that she will like. I don't want to make a big cake though, because there's still leftover Coca-Cola cake and because she's having a party for friends later this week (see below).

On Thursday night, there is a huge concert where all the city middle school and high school orchestras perform on one night. HUGE deal. Grace's orchestra is rehearsing after school at the high school on Wednesday, early Thursday morning at the auditorium, and then the concert begins Thursday night at 7p. I, of course, volunteered to help transport cellos from the high school to the auditorium on Thursday morning.

Friday is the big finale, with more going on than I can keep track of. At 8a, I have an appointment at perinatal assessment for counseling and for an ultrasound. This is for them to assess my risk of giving birth to a child with a genetic disorder (like Down's Syndrome) and then to counsel me after I get the results. This will take at least two hours. (Yes, I'm nervous about this, and in fact I'm putting off telling anyone in my family I am pregnant until after this appointment.) Then, I have a meeting at Grace's school with her, her assistant principal, her guidance counselor, and whoever else seems like a good person to have attend, to talk about her progress in the last four weeks. The meeting is scheduled at 10a, but clearly that will need to be pushed back. Hopefully they can accommodate my schedule. THEN, at 5:30p, three of Grace's girlfriends are coming over for a birthday sleepover. Grace agreed to a scaled down party where we have pizza and pop and cake at the house, then they get to watch movie or something on tv and do other good sleepover stuff. But that means I have to plan for it.

So sometime this week I need to get myself over to Sam's Club to buy some of those huge pizzas that are good tasting while also cheap. And I need to figure out when I have time to make a birthday cake for Grace's party. And for her birthday on Wednesday night for our family.

Did I mention that I work fulltime?

I am not looking forward to this week.

The Weekly Slug: 11w, 4d

I find myself doing weird things.

Googling "likelihood of miscarriage after heartbeat" and "11 weeks good heartbeat pregnancy chances of miscarriage." I'm showing no signs of miscarriage, but still. I want to get out of the woods. I know that the likelihood of a successful pregnancy increases with every passing day. I know that I've seen nothing but good signs so far.

Still, I'm skeptical and feeling nervous about getting so attached to our "nene" (colloquial Portuguese for "baby").

I thought about taking a prenatal yoga class to help with my breathing. But the classes aren't cheap and we, like everyone else in the world it seems, are tightening our belts. With the upcoming addition to our family, we're trying to save as much money as we can. So now I'm trying to decide if a relative yoga novice like myself can possibly learn yoga techniques from a book and practice them at home.

I tried taking my migraine prevention meds every other day. The result is living in a cloud of sort of a migraine most of the time. It's not exactly a migraine because it doesn't leave me incapacitated, but it's like the constant feeling of a migraine onset. Very weird. I guess I should keep taking the meds every day from now on and stop trying to taper off of them.

My baby is getting bigger. The estimates for 11 weeks are somewhere between an inch and a half to 2 inches long, head to tail so they say. I guess you only start counting your height in terms of your limbs once you're born into the world. The size of a plum, I read somewhere. How big of a plum, though? I'm still losing weight. I'm four pounds lighter now than I was at any point during the fall. A plum has been transplanted into my belly, along with its entire support system, and I've lost four pounds of weight. Do you think I'll get lucky enough to maintain the weight loss after this pregnancy comes to an end? (heh, heh, heh, no way.)

On to more personal things. Deep inside of my thoughts, I still cannot believe this thing is happening. I was so oblivious when I was pregnant with Grace, and now that I've had to deal with infertility, I am paying attention to every little thing I sense physically. And yet, the idea that a small person is inside of me is still far too wild for me to conceptualize. That person is with me every second of every day. Beginning to realize that life is. I am the first person this little person is exposed to, so to speak. What is that like for this new person?

When Grace was first born, I had a wild thought. I realized that she is the one person that I would know from the earliest moments of her life. I would watch her every moment of her life, watch her every move. But more than just being present, the relationship I had with this person would be unlike the relationship I had with anyone else. From the moment of her awareness, I was there, and our relationship has been building since she had that first awareness. Now I'm doing it all over again. But I'm remembering that this is a strange thing to do with someone you don't know yet. The process of getting to know this person coincides perfectly with that person becoming a person. It's completely unlike any other person I know.