Hiiiiiiiii YA!

Pinchy’s been quiet for the last few days.  It freaked me out a bit at first. 

A bit?

Possibly an understatement. 

I *may* have freaked out a lot.  It’s hard to say for sure in retrospect.  Ray would know better than I.  Now, in reality, I know that there is no reason that I should go crazy over this.  I know that at 22 weeks movement is inconsistent.  I understand that.  I’m not stupid or foolish.  But still…

I can’t look in there and just check on things.  Poke the kid to see if he wakes up.  Put my ear close to his mouth so I can hear him breathing.  Instead I resort to drinking HFCS laced, ice cold carbonated, caffeinated drinks, playing loud music, begging and praying.  It seems to work eventually, but the moments of quiet cause my breath to catch in my throat.  I know that every mother fears a loss, but I know how long and how rocky and how arduous the road to this magical point has been and precisely what it is I have at stake here.  It’s just a different experience.  I can’t say I fear it more than my friends with normal fertility.  I have no idea what it’s like to be them and to go through this without the lens I have, but all those years of struggle and desperation have mounded up inside of me and they don’t just go away.  The uncertainty is hard.  Someday in the near future, I’m sure a company will rent out personal ultrasound machines so as to make a buck from this universal panic.  I don’t know that I’d use one if I had access to it.  There is part of me that knows that just trusting it will be OK is the lesson I’m supposed to learn.    

I’ve determined that what really has happened is that the little guy has grown enough that he can’t quite nestle in the little crook he was in.  I had been feeling him low in my tummy, right above my pubic bone.  Sometimes to the left or right, but always down low.  Now I’m feeling him everywhere but down there.  In fact, I think he’s practicing his Karate right…NOW.

Baby Boom

Last night I had the opportunity to meet one of my very favorite people in the world just after her first 24 hours.

My brother and sister in law welcomed Halle into the world on Monday night.  We offered to come then, but they (very exhaustedly and happily, I think) took us up on our offer to wait until Tuesday for a visit.  She was born at 38 weeks, but was a healthy and robust 7+ lbs.  It was wonderful visiting with her parents.  Kelly looked like she was doing AMAZING.  I hope I look as good and alert after Pinchy shows up.  I know she’ll continue to be a great mom.  She’s already done a fantastic job with Emma (who, by the way, LOVED her Spirograph big sister gift) and I could tell that she already adored the little one.  Matt may have been the proudest papa of all times.  I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see them all together and all so happy.  Perfect picture of a nice little family.  I’m excited that our kids will be so close in age, that they live so close to us and that we’ll be able to spend some more time with them as the kids grow up together.  We are incredibly lucky to have them so close.

My new friend, Clara, was born a month or so ago.  I held her on the day she arrived and a hundred times since then.  Still…I can never seem to remember quite how a newborn feels from the time I hold one to the next time I have a chance to.  These little lumps of people are so incredibly light, yet so incredibly solid.  They already show bits of their personality from the first minute they open their little eyes to size up whoever is holding them this time…and likely wondering if this person is a food bearer.  They squirm and squiggle as they start to wake up, but mostly, they are just content in those first few hours to be held by someone warm, eat when they can and get used to being on solid ground and not just floating along inside a balloon. 

Little Halle was content to sleep in my arms for a good long time as I stood and swayed with her.  Kelly says she looks completely like Matt, but I see traits of both in them.  She has a thick crop of dark hair that may or may not stick around.  Perfect little eyelashes, perfect little nails.  Perfect, perfect, perfect.  Regardless of how the mix of genetics turns out, she is a beautiful baby and will grow into a beautiful child. 

Luckiest. Aunt. Ever.   

Boop!

22 weeks

I was in the tub this morning (It was a dress wearing day, so legs had to be shaved.  Not sure how that particular adventure will progress in future weeks.  There was some contorting going on that I have not seen outside of a Cirque du Soliel act…but I digress…) and noticed the oddest thing…my bellybutton had changed.

Now, I lurk on a couple of message boards and I’ve read all of the “Nobody ever told me…” threads, but I’d never heard this one.  Sure, I know it pops out like a turkey timer, but it never occurred to me that the fundimental SHAPE would change.  It used to be a line like this “I”, but in the tub this morning, I noticed it had morphed into an “O” shape.  It makes sense.  I shouldn’t be surprised.  Had I given it just the slightest bit of thought I would have known this would occur. 

I think the thing that is sticking with me is that I hadn’t given it *any* thought.  I’ve paid close attention to my growing belly and other assetts, mostly because they need to be attended to with new clothing that actually covers them.  I’ve paid attention to my increasingly unruly hair and oddly changed skin.  I’ve noticed all sorts of other things…just not the belly button.  Ah well, it makes the whole situation more real, more surprising.

 

Once infertile…

A pregnancy pact.  The new Spears offspring, .  The NYT article on infertility where the comments ranged from “you’re selfish not to adopt” to “you’re pathetic for not moving on”.  Baby Borrowers. Bad few days for the infertiles.

Even though I’m pregnant right now, I’m still infertile and I always will be. 

I know that’s a difficult concept to wrap your mind around if you haven’t been there.  It’s like being a survivor of anything traumatic.  I’ve heard comparisons to cancer and alcoholism, but those are so much bigger in the grand scheme.  But at the same time, when you are in the midst of all the treatments, decisions, disappointments, devistations, losses and hopelessness, it feels like the biggest thing in the world. 

The insidious part is that it just never lets up.  Every month offers hope of a miracle this time, every month the rug is pulled out from under you.  And on the months where hope begins to soar, reality crashes in and the fall is greater and greater.  The internal part of you that holds your soul gets chipped away at with each of these disappointments and they roll into each other and grow like a Vegas Jackpot that you never seem to win.  The scars don’t make you any stronger, except that they remind you that things heal eventually.  Most of the time.  And those who think that choosing adoption or a child-free life are easier options are just mistaken.  Every path in this journey has it’s own series of pitfalls, falling boulders, chance cards that send you back 5 places.  You just don’t realize it until you’re looking down each one of the roads that snake out like Medusa’s hair, wondering which way your path lies.

Seeing all these stories in the news of young’uns taking maternity so lightly just burns me.  Jealous? Hell, yeah, I am.  I wish that the ease in my life had come attached to my ability to conceive, but it hasn’t.  I know I’m lucky in a thousand other ways, but it’s difficult to give those things the weight they deserve in comparison to the 500 lb. hungry, constipated Gorilla of wanting a child and not being able to have one. 

We had set our life up as though baby would arrive at any day.  We were responsible and old before our time.  Our whole life centered on a reality that wasn’t ours, a lie.  How we worked through that and came to the decisions we did will be a long post another day.  I’m so very thankful for what I have, but the end result is that the resentment never seems to quite go away. 

I’ve asked other women who are infertiles with children if it ever does and the answer is an almost unanimous, slightly regretful “No.  The resentment never totally goes away.”  They still feel the pang, no matter how much they don’t want to and how much they want to deny it and how much they want to choose a different reaction.  It’s an imperfect, very human reaction.  And it’s ok.  It is what it is.

 

Commercial that drove me to tears

This is the saddest commercial in the whole wide world.  It should be banned, especially from any shows on TLC, the Discovery Channel, Food Network…or anything else I watch.

 

Look both ways before crossing the street

Last night Ray and I got caught caught up in a discussion about whether we’ll stay in our current house or if we’ll move when kidlet gets older.  We live on a busy-ish street, but have a big yard and are a short walking distance to several resaurants, the library, the grade school, a children’s museum, two movie theatres and the rail trail.  We’ve got some work to do on it, but nothing too daunting.  Overall, we couldn’t think of an area of town we’d rather live, so we’ll likely stay for a while. 

Where it spiraled was into a discussion about when the right age was to walk to school by himself.  And then what were the rules for curfew.  How do we feel about video games.  Allowance or not?  And then how do we get Pinchy to eat his vegetables.  We talked about how things had been for us as children, what worked, what didn’t, what we’d change, what we’d keep.  And what it came down to in several of the instances was figuring out who the kid actually IS and what will work with him.  

And that hit me like a ton of bricks.  One of those major revelations.  They seem to come fast and furious lately.  These bubbly feelings in my stomach are a person.  Not just some parasite, but an actual living person who will be a blend of our DNAs with a personality all his own.  And while we have guesses about what he’ll enjoy and who he’ll be like, we have no idea who this person growing inside me is.  That freaks me out almost more than thinking about how this pineapple sized being will have to come out of me at some point. 

I have a stranger in my abdomen and so far all I can determine is that he’s currently a morning person who either loves or hates banjo music.   That’s about it.  I can think about how Ray and I interact with one another and how I manage students at work and how Ray was as a kid and what each of our personalities contains, but what combination will emerge after biology and environment collide is a complete mystery.    

Deluge

It’s a bit of a surreal start to the day when you are greeted by Al Roker standing on a bridge in your home town telling you about how high the water is getting.

My family is fine.  Most of Quincy is up on a bluff, so it’s really only the bottomlands that flood out.  But that makes it an ideal place for reporters to roost.  They can have their comfy stay at a local hotel, swing by the mall, grab some lunch at one of the many chain places that has opened up and then head down to the water’s edge for some excellent photo ops.  So it sounds as though the whole of the town is about to go under, when really the water supply is the biggest concern. I know other towns aren’t so fortunate, but it amuses me how they use the media funhouse mirror to make it look as though they are putting themselves in mortal peril, when really they are snug as bugs.

In the summer of 93, I was there, sandbagging.  We were nowhere near the water; we were at the college filling the bags, but I remember the experience pretty clearly.  Water was brought in to us from a brewery in St. Louis–they had taken beer production offline and just canned water for the volunteers.  It was hot. I got blisters.  But I worked for several hours along side of hundreds of other people, all working toward the same goal. 

So this 100 year flood in 93 comes close to this flood in 2008.  I expect we’ll start hearing about St. Louis and Anna once the water crests in Q-Town.  And then in another 10-20 years we’ll have another 100 year flood.  Hyperbole is the stuff of reporters dreams.

 

CuddleMonster

21 weeks, 1 day

Last night I lost my temper with Max.  I was laying on my side on the couch watching Oprah talk about plural marriage.  I was JUST about to doze off when he jumped on me.  It wasn’t intentional. He wanted to see something out the window SOOOOO bad that he jumped up on the couch.  Since I was already there, it made the most sense to just place his talon clawed back legs right on my hip rather than trying to find another foothold.  I yelped, shoved him off, threw my pillow at him and gave him a stern talking to. 

For the rest of the evening, he wouldn’t leave my side.  If he could possibly wedge himself between me and anything he would.  If he could find my hand, he’d just rest against it, hoping I’d pet him.  He very delicately climbed back on the couch, found an empty spot and proceeded to lean on me, putting all his doggie body weight into the hug.  When Ray got home, he came to the door looking humble and forlorn.  I always, always hate losing my temper.  Last night the guilt was particularly bad. 

Part of the reason for my grumpification was the overwhelming allergy attack I was in the midst of.  The grass count around here was TREMENDOUS (10 on a 10 point scale.)  It’s too cool to really have the air on, so I just suffered through the night, finally breaking down and taking some Benedryl to be able to breathe enough for sleeping purposes.  Gah.  I’m complaining too much about how I feel.  Overall, I feel great.  My sinus infection that morphed into allergies (that I’m hoping does not morph back into another sinus infection), neither of which I’m not terribly fond of and could happily do without.

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My friend, Stephanie, (Hi Steph!) sent me a link to www.rookiemoms.com.  Very cool website with lots of neat ideas.  One of which was a page of new Mama Milestones.  Rather than tracking what baby does, it tracks what you do.  First walk with baby.  First alcoholic drink after baby comes (I can almost guerantee  that this will be a Manhattan made with Sazarac 18 year old Rye and two cherries. Not that I’ve been wanting one or anything.) First public breastfeeding experience. First movie with baby.  I *love* this idea and plan to use it for blogwriting prompts here.  The other thing it got me thinking about was the traditional baby milestones and if they’re really relavent or not.

All the cutesy, gingham and lace covered monstrosities talk about walking and talking and sleeping through the night.  Those are lovely, sentimental things to know, but what good will that do me upon reflection?  I’ll want to keep a list of the things that will put me back into the moment.  Don’t get me wrong, I understand what a huge deal those things are, but I think I’ll want memory sparkers. 

The first blow out diaper.  The first time Pinchy uses a swear word in public (no doubt mimicing his father’s tone after dropping a screw–which means he’ll likely adopt the trait of cursing like a sailor when something small goes wrong, but turning into Marcel Marceau when he’s actually hurt.  Infuriating.).  The first time we’re ready to leave the house and he pukes all over me, forcing a rapid change of clothes and reevaluation of plans.  The first time he looks like a little grown up instead of like a little kid.   

I want the traditions that crop up out of nowhere.  The spoonerisms.  The first knock-knock jokes.  The misheard lyrics.  Whatever it is that makes him laugh that wild and uninhibited little kid laugh.  The method and madness of bedtime routines. The first wholely inappropriate toy he gets and what we decide to do about it.  If he likes or hates the swing.  What scares him and how we manage.  Foods he claims he doesn’t like, but secretly he does.  The book that I hate most that gets worn out from reading it over and over and over again.

Being an older mom-to-be has distinct advantages, but retaining my elephant like memory is not one of them.  I want to record and recall the stuff that makes it all real again, not just a prescribed checklist that indicates little more than “Yep. Check. Kid crawled.  Now when will he get around to walking??”  I want the stuff of it.  The realness of it.  The things that in the moment make me want to weep in exhaustion and frustration.  The ones that end up being the things that will get laughingly told to college girlfriends over dessert and coffee. Much to Pinchy’s chagrin…

Weekend Recap

This weekend was something of a bust.  Previously described sickness, subsequent grumpiness and cough and such.  But there were some bright spots.  Battlestar Galactica!  Chocolate Croissant from Medici! Steamy baths!

Big bright spot?  Ray being daddy-to-be.  He came home from a visit with his parents with fishing poles because he only had one and he needed two more (one for Pinchy, one for me in case I want to go, too.) I had to laugh a little to myself at his forethought. Then I got to watch him put together our stroller, a gift from his parents (THANK YOU!!!! IT’S AWESOME).  I didn’t even know they had found our registry on Amazon.  He kept marveling over the construction and the details (“See these wheels?  They’re Kelty Wheels.  Know what Kelty makes? MOUNTAIN BIKE TIRES. *eyes shine with wonder and admiration*”) 

While he was gone, I spent much time in the tub reading “The Yummy Mummy Manifesto.”  When I bought it, it seemed to be a run of the mill kind of pregnancy and early parenting book for the fabulous mother to be, but it has turned out to be MUCH MUCH more.  Lots of good hints and tips.  A very straightforward discussion of what it’s like to go through the transformation to motherhood.  Great fashion advice.  But it’s really about making the experience what you want it to be and yourself into who you want to be.  It’s one of the better books I’ve seen on the subject.  So many of the new ones coming out have to do with not looking matronly, but have nothing to do with how you feel about you. 

It’s great to be back at work.  I’ve had a chance to talk to my students and I got a call from a former employee who is working at Disneyworld and had lunch with friends.  All in all it’s turning out to be a great day.  Lots accomplished, lots of focus, lots of chatter.  Everything I could hope in a day back after being stuck on the (to the??) couch.

Just keep swimming

Yesterday I woke up to take Max out at 6am.  I had barely slept.  My head and throat burned, I couldn’t breathe and every bit of energy I had in me was gone.  I kenneled up the dog and headed back to bed to doze.  I slept a bit more and then woke up, so hungry I couldn’t believe it, but so tired I could barely do anything about it.  I didn’t have it in me to make a thing, and even less energy for something like the 4 block drive to Micky Ds.  Nothing in the house that didn’t require what seemed like hours of intense labor.  I burst into tears in a mix of sickness, hormones, hunger and fatigue.  After a couple of hours, I finally got up the gumption to get up and go to the store and to pick up some other food for immediate consumption.  Not my best day.

Today seems to be looking up a bit.  There was breakfast out, a long steamy bath and something close to a full night’s sleep.  

OK.  Can’t muster much more than this.  Head is swimmy.