Clothes

Faded, barely readable, five strips of papers with purplish writing. Stock number, item description, price. Dug out from the back of a mixed up junk drawer, they were receipts from clothing purchased two years ago, dated June to September of '06. Before everything went to shit.

I remember telling myself not to go overboard buying those maternity clothes. Had I gone to term I would have spent more than the $249.10 that I calculated a few minutes ago, just before throwing the receipts away. I was able to use some of those clothes early on in my pregnancy with July, but given the s p r e a d of my hips from the twins even those didn't last very long.

Luckily my girlfriend came to the rescue with a huge plastic bin of clothes, hers and her sister's, both declaring their doneness with childbearing, and although they are both 3" shorter than me, crop pants were great for the summer and there were lots of t-shirts and many cute dresses. I also had lots of maternity tanks left over, and skirts that were helpful even after the baby was born.

Maternity clothes for babylost mamas are not just clothes with baggy bellies. They are a symbol of a past life or lives, never to be realized, of hope gone forever, of firsts that will happen only in our minds. I didn't have the financial luxury of dumping all of my old clothes and starting fresh, which is why I am so grateful for the donation, more than my girlfriend will ever know.

I did wear many of the clothes that I bought previously, but each and every time I put something on I remembered the girls and sighed that lost sigh. I was actually happy to stuff myself into clothes that I didn't choose. I wasn't attached to them and won't be sad should I have to return them or pass them on. 

The clothes I did buy, well, that's another story. I could possibly hold on to them for a very long time.

Give

I have the following twin-related items available for a free giveaway (sorry, shipping in the US only 'cuz I'm pretty darn broke after paying for that cerclage): 

1. Book entitled "Twins! Pregnancy, Birth, and the First Year of Life"

2. Maternity shirt, size M, that says "Babies Happen" (*shudder* I can't even look at it)

I doubt we'll be having twins anytime soon, so these have to leave my house. I'll update this post if/when these items are spoken for.

Changed

As wannabe dad said in the post below, it was a busy day, the two year anniversary since the twins died. I know he thought of them all day, and I was glad that we went to the cemetery the day before and sat with them, gourmet coffees in hand to ward off the chill, baby asleep in his carseat, cheeks rosy. But the actual day was like any other Monday: meetings, deadlines, copywriting, phone calls, consultations, bookkeeping, and add on baby's four month shots and a follow up dermatology appointment for his rashy cheeks. The day ended without even a nice dinner, no special meal prepared to remember them, just the early evening nursing tank filling before baby's bedtime.

We did light "their" candle before turning in, a small pumpkin-scented candle that wannabe dad picked up at Whole Foods two years ago, to thwart the hospital scent during those 10 days of extreme bedrest (hmm a new reality show?). It sat in the bathroom of all places after we got home, never getting lit, but occasionally getting picked up and sniffed and slamming the smeller back to the dread, the fear, the uncertainty, the darkness.

Wannabe dad composed his post on his pda, for me to post the next day since the keyboard wasn't showing up on blogger for some reason. The candle scent filled the room, it was past our bedtime, we shared a quiet moment before dozing off. I jumped up and forced myself to blow the candle out before really getting on that sleep train.

And that was it. Certainly a change from last year's little shindig. Most have moved on, we are in the process, thankfully not in such the deep hell that we were in the first year. My babies died. You could see it carved on my face that first year. I would venture to say that having our baby doesn't erase our hurt and sadness and longing for our twins. He helps, but having a baby is not a fix. I wish more people got that.

***

I should probably give him a name besides baby on this blog. That won't fly after he's done being one. For lack of any creativity here I'll call him July, the month of his birth, though I reserve the right to change it should inspiration strike, ever. I've always thought of July as a masculine month, maybe because my brother's birthday is in July (one day after July's. Oh goodness, is this going to be confusing?).

***

Oh my gosh, it was my birthday a few months ago. Completely slipped my mind to write about it, although it was a happier event than last year's. I missed my girls, but July filled some part of that hole in my heart.

Papa

How do I feel? I feel old. When I was young I could read a street sign a half a block away. When I was young I could hear footsteps outside my house. When I was young I could jump off my parents' rooftop and not feel a thing. When I was young I could remember the words of a song. 

Now it's hard to see, hear and remember the important things. I feel like a horrible father and husband when I have to look at my baby girls' bracelet to remember their birthday. I do miss them. Some things I do remember: walking with them to the NICU when they were born and how scared and helpless I felt. Having the worst turkey at the Marriott the day before we took our girls off the ventilators. The pain I felt calling my family to give them the bad news. The doctor coming into our small room and looking in our eyes and giving us the sad news. Designing our girls' gravemarker. I feel sad when I have a quiet moment alone with my girls in my head. 

Today was one of those days that it was too busy to think and remember until now. I love you my twin angels, Papa will always love you and remember your tiny hands and how you touched us two years ago and how you still touch us today. God bless you both.

Efforts

The night before their 2nd birthday was spent slaving away on a boxed cake mix.* Make that two boxes. Baby was put to sleep, and normally I try to jump in bed before he wakes up again. Not that night. In fact, the first box of mix went to hell in a handbasket, they were angel food cupcakes (how appropriate) and although it mixed up nicely with my handheld mixer, still with that new mixer smell, I blame the uneven heat of the gas oven and the cupcake pans and the weather and the economy for burning half of the batch, rendering it rough to the roofs of mouths and chewy like beef jerky.

Not good enough for my girls, even with the crackly orange glaze brought to life from the pages of Joy.

So the next box was opened, a devil's food. How can one go wrong with chocolate? Whirr went the mixer. Scrape went the spatula. Bake went the oven. It looked ok, then I felt satisfied with it so I went to bed.

The next morning, we prepped to go to the cemetery. I made a chocolate frosting, with soy milk (hubby can't do lactose), and since this house doesn't have an offset spatula the cake was frosted with the best looking rice paddle we have.

Cake was packed, what do I know about plastic wrap and frosting? Obviously nothing, because patches of cake and frosting stuck. No worries, the patches were carefully hidden behind the cards with their names. It was a nice day, uncrowded for a Tuesday morning. I desperately wanted to share the cake with someone, to let them know we had twins and that it was their birthday.

In the supermarket I was pissed that there weren't two potted plants that were the same size, with the same number of flowers. I didn't want the girls to think I was playing favorites.

We took pictures, first of the marker with their picture and with the cake. Then with their baby brother. As I continued snapping away I realized I was taking pictures of the baby, focusing on him and not on the girls. Couldn't I give them a few moments for their birthday? How the heck do you mother babies on both ends of the heaven and the earth?

***

This time two years ago, they were alive. Alive! I can hardly believe it. Cerina was breathing on her own by the third day. They were both hooked up to ventilators, IVs in their heels, their tiny tiny heels. Little glimmers of hope with each passing minute, hour, that they might be able to come home, that we would have to rent an apartment in that city for a few months to be close to them, until that final ultrasound of their brains that told us they weren't coming home, that there was no nursery to organize, no registry to scramble together, no breast pump to rent, no sleepless nights due to feeding rather than crying and asking why.

*I've always admired how Monica celebrates her Sam & Jack's birthdays. Her efforts for her boys inspired me to do a little more this year, better than last year's store bought piece of cake piled high with too sweet frosting. And though I'll never be the awesome baker that she is (I was probably 15 before I found out that you could make a cake not from a box!), the least I could do for the girls was make them a birthday cake from a box. If they were alive, I would do that for them, and for years we'd laugh about how awful a baker their mommy was.

Approaching

It's been a whirlwind four months since our son was born. Those first weeks, months were a blur. I frequently look at his pictures from just a few months ago and I can't believe we are at the four month mark. Every parent I've come across says the same thing: it goes by so fast. And it has.

Yet, I remember when it went so slow, this time thing. And still, so fast since it is once again November. Slammed back into two years ago, god the feelings just overtook me as I remembered the exact words of my doctor: your bag is bulging. My naïveté of the moment, carried over to the day they were born, even at 24w5d, to not wanting to hear their doctor utter the words of their condition, having to plan a fucking funeral instead of figuring how to fit two cribs in the room designated as the nursery.

For us, each year is marked not by one day of despair, but seemingly a season. Our season is the beginning of the holidays, starting with November 8. Specifically, the 8th to the 18th for 10 days of strict bedrest with my feet above my head, then the 18th to the 24th, their 6 days of life. Then December 2, the date of their funeral, then the rest of the season without them.

So the next 2 1/2 weeks plus, not so fun.

We have done so much to honor their memories. From our matching rubber bracelets (ala live.strong but black), to attending group memorial events, to telling our story in a local magazine. So much reminds us of that dark time, like Wh.ole Fo.ods of all places, because that's what wannabe dad subsisted on while we were at the hospital. We are occasionally at that particular store and we get the same feeling. Coincidentally, the support group meeting place is across the street. What else...oh yes, that empty bottle of gourmet shampoo purchased down the street from the hospital, still in our bathroom, that we take the occasional whiff of, that reminds me of the cramped shower stall in the post delivery wing where I cried and cried and cried, sore from the surgery, trying to wash off all the damn adhesive left on my skin in every nook and cranny it seemed, asking why us, why it didn't work out for us as it had always done in the past.

Sometimes I feel like, Hey, I haven't cried in a while so I must be doing ok, then it turned into November.

And a momma cat found her way into our attic, again. Don't know if it's the same one.

Them

Sundays were usually reserved for visits to the girls at the cemetery. It was a day that we looked forward to, and we were religious about going for I can honestly say one year. Every Sunday (or Saturday) was a visit to the cemetery. We felt awful if we didn't go.

Then I got pregnant, and we went as often as I was able to. As I got bigger it was more difficult for me to bend over to do the ritualistic cleaning of the grave marker. Dump the old rotted flowers. Pour some water on the marker. Clean the engraving with a toothbrush. Wipe dry. Spray a granite countertop cleaner. Polish. The marker got more and more worn due to the hard water and the sun.

This past Sunday we didn't go. In fact, we haven't gone in a while, probably three times since the baby was born. Instead, we went to the pumpkin patch in town, a well-organized place where parents have taken children since pumpkins were invented.

We met up with friends -- parents for a longer while than we -- and we've seen them be parents and dote and dress and decorate. At this patch, there were farm animals, the corn maze, the haystack maze, the hayride, the barn where children's songs are sung and children participate and parents take photos and videotape and cheer their children along.

We walked in to the barn after the show had started, everyone already seated on their bales of hay. I refused to look at anyone else as I carried the baby in, a proud mama. I became one of them, a parent, and I was freaked out. So this is what parents do. Now we are in their boat, we are to dote and dress and decorate and record and videotape and cheer. And we did, our 3-month old plopped on pumpkins, bounced to the music, face stuck in a cutout of plywood painted with a farm motif, many many pictures of him taken to show to anyone with eyes.

And we were happy.

This is how one parent of dead babies and a living one thinks of a seemingly innocent pumpkin patch. I never thought my life would ever be so complicated.

Belong

Quick update while he naps.

He finally fell asleep once I put him in the sling, after being awake for 4 hours. I haven't started the sleep scheduling yet. Goodness. He is a few days over 12 weeks old. He's getting more talkative, is extremely smiley, and has taken to sucking his hands even after a feeding session. I resist the urge to give him a bottle but instead re-hook him up to the tap, even though them nipples are sucked raw.

Easing

Slowly but ever surely, we're getting the hang of breastfeeding. I got him hooked on a nipple shield, a marvelous invention but definitely a setback. See, I have the good fortune of having an inverted nipple -- yes TMI -- on my right side. That, and the nipple shield, makes it impossible to nurse in public, a feat I have not yet attempted. As it is at home, the milk machines just hang there, exposed and willing, oftentimes dripping, and there's no shame in it, er, them. Sometimes when I'm cradling him, he maneuvers his head inch by inch down toward my breast, finally finding the front of my shirt to suck on, resulting in a round wet spot. It is so cute and I can't help but laugh.

But I've find it hard to laugh lately, with this serious lack of sleep.

And in three weeks I will be royally screwed. My mom goes back home, and I have to make the transition back to work. I'll do a couple of practice runs before she leaves, where I'll work a few half days a week, and bring the baby with me. I have been poking my head in the office for a few hours at a time, 2x a week.

I would love some suggestions on a sleep/nurse/work schedule. Does this even exist? I am really freaking out trying to figure out how wannabe dad and I are going to be able to function. If I hear him say one more time, we'll figure it out, I will scream. Baby is sleeping maybe 2 hour intervals during the night. He is 8 weeks tomorrow and is going on week 2 of a growth spurt where during the day he'll want to nurse every 1-1.5 hours. Right now I nurse baby all night, wannabe dad takes over from 6-8:30, when Mom takes over till about 11 when I get up. I also get up maybe 2x during that time to pump. But when she leaves, all hell will break loose, me included.

Banana

Arrgh. The internet is all abuzz with news of my 20th high school reunion. Gulp. Ack. Classmates from near and far are contacting each other, signing up on a web developer's social networking baby specifically targeting high school alums, uploading pictures of them and their nearest and dearest from the last 20 years, hoping to get a glimpse of their first crush, their arch enemy, their circle of friends now defunct.

For some, high school was the worst time of their lives. For others, it was nothing but glory -- the football star, the track star, the cheerleader, the homecoming queen, the courts of the various proms. I did my best to fit in, balancing the fine line of asking my parents to buy me the latest trendy clothes (Chic jeans with the tulip legs, which I later cropped and stuck in bleach) and fashioning combinations of my own with what I had (an especially memorable number was a bright yellow sweater skirt and black mock sleeveless turtleneck with yellow and purple flowers). With the humidity in Hawaii, you couldn't get too fashionable without suffering the consequences. Most got by with the requisite shorts, surf-themed t-shirt, and rubber slippers (aka flip-flops).

Always keeping a low profile and erring on the side of nerd, I stuck with two or three groups of friends. The band people. The people on the lawn (known back then as "mod" - think Cure and Morrissey). Two girls from junior high. I eventually ditched the latter for more excitement -- hanging out on the appointed bench near the band room with the band people at first recess, then under the shady tree on the lawn with the mods at lunch. There was a bit of bad teenage blood with me and the junior high girls, but eventually we did become friendly again.

It never occurred to me that I at some point created some ill-will toward low-profile self. It probably took a few weeks to notice, but on my way to the band bench I heard the same word yelled in my direction, by the same voice. Banana. I didn't pay much attention, eagerly making my way to my friends to distribute the notes I had written the night before. One day. Banana. Another day. Banana. Holy crap, something is going on here.

And in true high school form, I didn't show my, what is the word, cringe? At each utterance, peppered with hate, the sayer protected by her posse, me not daring to seek its source, I kept my cringe under wraps. Months later, I found out from one of the posse members, a meek spy I shared a class with, that Annie (her real name) targeted me because she had overheard me expressing my excitement about my upcoming Ball event, complete with dinner, a dance, and pictures, with a shared crush. Who the f knew??? Annie thought I knew she was madly in love with him and that I was trying to make her jealous by talking about him so loudly. I didn't even know who Annie was. (And Annie was not even his type!)

Weeks, probably months went by. As the barrage continued, I made a plea to a classmate. She was tough, from a low-income family, tough, and smart. We shared a math class. We were clearly different -- I was so not tough, I was a front of the bus rider while she ruled the back seat, I didn't make people clear the hall when I walked through. Nevertheless, we were friends. I mentioned to her not in so many words that this person was giving me trouble, that I didn't even know her, that I wished it would stop.

It did stop. I can't remember how long it took. She never confirmed if she in fact intervened, and I didn't ask. I don't know what happened to her after high school.

Why "banana"? Apparently, the spy told me, the day Annie decided to put me in her bullseye, I wore that bright yellow skirt. 

The worst thing about it? Annie was a year younger than me.

Neglect

It was inevitable, that. All my frying pans are full of big fish and unfortunately my updates have been so scarce. 

Hives, still active. I suspect I'm allergic to sleep, because at night I'll sleep and wake up with hives. One night I didn't get to bed till 2 a.m. and was hive-free. Then I slept, and 2 hours later, hives. My mom thought it was the new free & clear laundry detergent we switched to, so one night I slept in previously washed sheets and clothes. The result? Hives. I suspected once, many nights ago, that I was getting overheated while sleeping, as the hives appeared on the side I was sleeping on and I woke up hot and itchy, so skimpy clothing was on the menu. The result? Minimal hives. Then another night, skimpy with full-blown hives. I did a g.oogle search and someone mentioned their hives possibly being triggered by oxytocin from breastfeeding. Possible? Doesn't matter, I won't stop nursing. I told my OB about the hives and she referred me to a dermatologist. I haven't gone, don't want to, don't need a prescription for a topical cream good lord what sleep deprived person will even figure out what to do with it and forget to wash her hands and the baby ends up getting sick from it?

Baby is doing well. Getting heavier, that boy. My wrists are taxed. My months on bedrest did a number on my physical strength, I'm bothered about that because I've always been active and strong like ox. I spend hours looking at him, I pick him up with every cry and gurgle and coo. He spends evenings napping on his Papa's chest (Papa is Dad, not grandpa), which his Papa looks forward to all the time. We go for walks some nights (morning walks are SO out of the question). My mom being here has saved my sanity, I should tell her that more often. Once a week she does the night feedings and I get up to pump. Wannabe dad does the morning feeding between 6-8. I am lucky.

My believer needs fixing because I can't believe he's finally here.

Welcome

A big warm welcome to Julia's new little boy, born last week. Wishing Julia and her beautiful family lots of love and hugs!!

Afflicted

Somebody done opened up a big ol' can o' whoop ass on me. Is it day or night? How many minutes was I asleep? And why am I breaking out in hives, on my "love handles" and my inner thighs, especially on the side I sleep on? Anyone experience this? It is most annoying especially for the middle of the night feedings. Concentrating on a good latch while being distracted by the fierce itching of hives is no fun.

I've been thinking of the toss ups between having a living baby and a dead baby. With a living baby, all the suffering has a "worth it" button you can easily push. With a dead baby, there is no button and all of your suffering has nowhere to go. But if given the choice between a dead baby and not suffering from hives and a live baby with my suffering from hives now entering its 3rd week? That's a no brainer, and yet the two choices are really not choices at all. It's like saying, would you rather have a broken left leg or a broken right leg? Either choice sucks.

But this time around we're not planning a funeral. Would I take hives over a funeral? You bet. This time around the cards that arrive in the mail don't have ridiculous phrases of "now you have an angel watching over you" and "they aren't gone, just away", but happy sing-song verses of bouncing baby boys and cutesy animals and blue and yellow and green and happy happy joy joy bursting through the mailbox. Definitely the congrats cards win out over the sympathy cards.

And I'm not lamenting the puffiness of my waistline, my enlarged belly button (now I can finally clean it - with a toilet scrubber!), the itchy red stretch marks on my hips, the lymph nodes in my left armpit bulging when it's time to nurse, my hair in a ponytail for days on end, the tender spot in me that is my uterus healing from surgery. 

I press that button.

***

Baby is doing fine. He had jaundice and stayed in the hospital two additional days after I was released, under and over the bilirubin phototherapy lights. The last two days he was put in an isolette (cue flashbacks from the NICU days - we tried our damndest not to freak out) with a phototherapy light above him. That seemed to work and we were discharged with instructions to feed him as much as possible. Five days later we were back in the pedi's office and a blood test showed his levels were back up! Uggh...so supplementing with formula was prescribed. We think he is back to or past his birth weight, having been at 8 lbs at the two week appointment.

We made a quick stop at the cemetery after being discharged so the girls could meet him, and the floodgates opened. It was painful to see the grave marker and our beautiful, perfect boy sitting next to it. I have three children, but I only have one. 

We are adjusting. My Mom is here, a blessing. My Dad arrives in two months.

His name -- he is named after wannabe dad. His middle name, Makana, Hawaiian for "the gift".

He is crying now, and the milk is coming down. Stopping lactation or encouraging milk supply? Definitely the latter, even though let down hurts a bit and his latching on is not consistent, and he likes to swat at and kick the tender nipples.

Press.

Feelings

While I would be the first to discount the whole "birth experience" phenom, as in, just be glad you have a live baby, things could be much worse, why are you even complaining about it, when you're making decisions based on the trust and expertise of your doctor, who has been with you since you conceived the twins, who gave you the grim news of the dilated cervix at 23 weeks, and all that the shit hit in the next 10 days, you would think that anything she tells you should be taken with all the salt in the world.

And for her to tell you that the risks associated with a VBAC are much greater in women who have not had a previous vaginal birth, while you are laying in a hospital bed with contractions 10 minutes apart, with an ill-measured dilation, when in all the long months before she was supportive and confident that a VBAC could be achieved (though she did reiterate that sentiment after disclosing the addional risks), you have to start questioning. You Have To!

And let me mention that she is 6 months pregnant, and although we were fortunate that she was on call, imagine your own doctor being able to deliver your live baby, she did mention that if things did not pick up, as in my contractions not increase, she would be off at 9 am the next morning and her baby shower was that day as well.

This is not an issue of me having the perfect birth experience. Had his health been in danger, I would not be writing this post. But his health was not compromised, nor was mine, throughout the entire pushing Olympics, while I squatted, bore down, pushed my tender tissues inside out, with hemorrhoids on top of hemorrhoids forming, with mineral oil-coated fingers stretching my vag six ways from Sunday. A vaginal birth was not without its own specially assigned pain, you see, and I had no idea it was going to be that difficult. (In the ensuing days, word of my pushing performance traveled throughout the department and each of the rotating nurses applauded my efforts.)

The common complaint about c-sections is that they are done for the convenience of scheduling. Proven? She probably looked great in her shower pictures.

Ultimately -- I signed the consent form. I took what I thought was the lesser of two evils, hell I had a c-section before so I knew what to expect. You want to vacuum my son out of me? She could have presented the third option, which was to stop pushing for a bit and continue to labor.

She was, however, kind enough to remove my old scar and assured me that this one would heal much nicer. Just in time for my bikini line to debut on Top Model.

So begins the care and feeding of a c-section, much more difficult, physically, with having to care for and feed a baby. Surprisingly, my recovery thus far is much more advanced than after the last one and I'm glad for that. I stopped the painkillers on day 7. But shit, the scar tissue. The numbness. The several layers of healing. The ouch when the fold of my [elastic-waisted] jeans hits the scar. More months of taking it easy. Just added hassle, ya know?

And no shit the birth experience is irrelevant. I am not unhappy that my beautiful son is here because I had a c-section. I'm not wallowing about while I gaze at his gorgeous face and his (I know they're not real, yet) smiles, and smell his baby breath and stroke his soft, full head of hair. Welcome home, sweetheart.

Facts

1. Got to the hospital last Thursday at 4:30 pm with painless ctx 10 min. apart.
2. Checked by the nurses, told I was 7 cm dilated, they marveled that I wasn't in pain.
3. My OB arrived, checked and said I was 4/4.5 cm dilated.
4. Admitted at 5:30 pm, ctx still 10 min. apart.
5. Swayed on birthing ball for a bit.
6. OB broke my water at 9 pm.
7. Ctx ramped up, epidural administered at 11 pm at 8.5 cm dilated.
8. 12 am fully dilated.
9. 12-2:20 am Olympic power pushing. Several positions used. Mom very tired. Perineum stretched and swollen beyond belief and reasonable doubt.
10. Given the option to use vacuum, if that didn't work, then c-section.
    
11. Skipped the vacuum, straight to section.
12. Baby arrived screaming at 3:20 am. 

Feelings on the above on upcoming post. I made the mistake of watching "the business of being born" the next day. Damn that mama guilt.

Arrived

Baby boy arrived July 11, 2008 at 3:20am PDT weighing 8lbs 4oz. Baby boy and Mom are doing fine!

~Amy (who is trying very hard to smoosh those cheeks through the computer screen! OMG he's so cute!)

Labor

Hi there. This is Amy, wannabe mom's friend with an update for all her loyal readers.

I just spoke with her. Wannabe mom and wannabe dad left for the hospital around 5:30pm PDT. She's dialated to 7cm and doing fine!

I'll keep you posted!

Anticipation

The expansion to 4 cm hasn't triggered any action down there. I say expansion because I can't be absolutely sure my OB didn't stretch me when she checked me on Monday. Monday! And now it's Wednesday, then it will be Thursday, tick tock tick tock.

Any time now, little baby, we're waiting for you.

Wolf

It was indigestion. Big chicken quesadilla last night. Still having issues down there apparently.

We never left the house. After my last post, I had painless, irregular, sparse contractions. Wannabe dad got home, we had lunch (I asked him to make me pancakes - yum!), and still no contractions that I could feel.

Still we wait. Sorry for the false alarm.

Incoming

We are leaving for the hospital shortly, after wannabe dad gets the laptop from the office. We will probably work while contracting. :) Ahh this business owner business.

The contractions are not at all regular, but I can feel them - in the 9 o'clock hour they came at 9:07, 9:33, 9:50. After that, 10:30, 10:50. Instructions were to go to the hospital if I start feeling them. Water has not broken.

We took Kaleo for a short walk this morning. I haven't done that in ages.

We'll stop by to see the girls then go to the hospital. I suggested that when we are released, we take baby to see his big sisters. Wouldn't that be a great announcement picture, him with their grave marker? (That's my deadbabymama humor showing.)

Speaking of which, if you sent out announcements for your sub baby, did you take into account your lost baby? I remember seeing this on the CLIMB website and I definitely want to include our daughters' names on their baby brother's announcement.

I hope there's internet access at the hospital, otherwise my dear friend Amy will keep you updated.

Please pray for his safe arrival. Thanks so much for all of your support. XOXO

Confession

Before I reveal my confession, we are still waiting...no action yet. I believe the mucous plug is now making its way out to sea, I saw a blob in the toilet yesterday. Since then, only tiny, periodic streaks of blood. I've calmed down a bit from my freak out session, but you can bet when my water breaks or the contractions start, I'll start freaking out again.

My confession is: Unless one is a stranger, I don't mind my big belly being touched. I know this repulses a lot of pregnant women out there. Lists and lists have been written on the subject. It's a "what-not-to-do" item. When I was pregnant with the twins I did mind the physical touching, but looking back I minded because my cousin made such a big deal of it when she was pregnant, so I thought it was the thing to do. (That cousin now hates me, no idea why, not a topic for my happy blog.)

At my grandmother's 95th birthday party at the end of May, my aunts and cousins were chomping at the bit to touch me. They remembered how my cousin reacted and trode (?) lightly near me with their hands stretched out, with a "Can I?" look spread on their faces. So I grabbed their hands and placed them gently on their grand nephew's cocoon. They were so happy. And it made me happy to see them happy about this baby, after all that we've [all] been through. (Although what would they be, other than happy?)

Touching a moving belly is a special experience as well. I like to share the wealth, but too bad the internal sideways simultaneous stretching and rolling doesn't quite get translated when you're not the owner of the belly. And dare I even complain about this, but what I thought were bruises on my hips from lying on my sides all the time, were the beginnings of purple stretch marks. Egad! And we are talking about even a quarter inch of stretch. I'll shut up about that now.

So that's my confession. Everyone is different, and attitudes change. What I won't change my mind about is the cousin that likes to throw babies in the air. He's just going to have to wait till the kid is 5 years old, and maybe I'll let him.

Esperamos

We are still waiting, this time in spanish.

I did manage to catch a few Zzzzs last night, good. Am at the office right now, bags are in the car. We're about to go home for lunch, then back here for a 3:30 conference call. 

Waiting

We're as ready as we're gonna be. Laundry is done. I've pored over dozens of lists of what to bring, so the bags for the hospital are packed with snacks and essentials. I'm skipping the robe, iPod, full size towels, nightgown, aromatherapy lotion, clothes for the labor tub (which I will probably not use anyway).

Car is gassed up, carseat installed (with help from the neighbor), pet sitter is standing by, I am wearing a giant maxi pad, and there's a deflated swimming pool floaty cushion (what the hell are these things called) under my sheets.

Last time we went to the hospital we managed with none of the preplanned essentials (although a hairbrush and body lotion would have been nice), so we'll be OK. Plus, we'll be 20 minutes away instead of an hour away. We have a friend and an aunt who live a stone's throw from the hospital. I'd say we're in pretty good shape.

But I'd be lying if I told you I am not freaked out. I am freaked out. I am FREAKED out. I hope I can get a good night's sleep.

Possibly

We could possibly have a baby by this weekend.

Just got back from my OB and I am 3 cm dilated with a bulging bag.

The last time I heard this was 1 year, 7 months, and 17 days ago, the day I was rushed to the hospital with the twins. They were 23 weeks and 1 day so there was much rushing to be done.

My OB is going to the happiest place on earth this weekend, though. We've been through so much together, maybe baby will hold off till Monday when she's back.

Crossing my fingers for a safe birth and not too much craziness!!

Evidence

Pictures of the materials used in the cerclage are below. I changed them to black and white so the remnants of blood on them aren't as obvious. When my doc held them up to show me I was surprised that they were covered in blood...it was a bit disturbing. I didn't know what to expect. 

So here they are. I can't really say what part of the mersilene was where, because I didn't see it on my cervix for myself. My doc let me know that the knot was "up", meaning as I was laying down it was nearer the front of me rather than the back. Make sense?

This picture is of the mersilene (thick white pieces) and the nylon thread. See the Y's in the nylon thread? Those sections were previously joined - that's where they were clipped. The thread was in a figure eight through my cervix, the mersilene around my cervix (like the ribbons around ankles on ballet slippers? Hmm.)

This is a close up of the nylon thread, look at the number of knots in it. 

But even more amazing is the size of the mersilene and the knots in it. I didn't feel it at all.

Here are the knots in the mersilene next to a quarter for size reference.

This picture shows the texture of the mersilene. It reminds me of really thin elastic (as used in clothing) but without the stretch.

I've had very slight spotting since yesterday, nothing to be alarmed about. Yes, #3 is still lurking and I've picked up a container of Activia yogurt to see if that will help some regularity happening.

Have a great weekend everyone.

Unstitched

Today was The Big Day -- cerclage removal. It's a good thing I was anticipating pain, because there definitely were some marked moments of it. Deep breathing came in handy (didn't erase the pain, but helped me relax), and thankfully the procedure took less than 5 minutes. (If you would like a detailed account, please email me.)

There was no scar tissue that had grown over the mersilene or the nylon thread, although because the cerclage was placed very high at the top of the cervix, some amount of digging (for lack of a better word) was required. Uggggh. After my doc cut the mersilene and the thread (she said that the peri who placed it used the mersilene around the cervix and the nylon thread through the cervix like a figure-8), she held it up for me to see and explained what piece went where. I have pictures of both which I'll post tomorrow. Good news is that my cervix is "big", as my doc described to the nurse, which I took to mean "long" and not "open". She examined my cervix after the cerclage was removed and it was closed yet soft.

I'm under strict instructions not to go into labor this weekend because she'll be out of town with her family. We joked that we would be joining her. She introduced us to the on-call doc who was briefed about my situation. If I have any contractions or bleeding I'm to go straight to the hospital. Hmm, we should install the carseat, and my hospital bag is halfway packed. 

I feel the same physically, but now that there's just my iffy cervix between the baby and the outside world, I am a tiny bit on edge. But as my doc pointed out, baby won't come out without me knowing it. Although he won't knock, there will be contractions or bleeding or water breaking beforehand.

As for my gastrointestinal issues, my doc isn't concerned because the episodes are pretty sporadic, about 3x a day. I did lose 3 lbs since my last appointment a week ago Tuesday, and I plan to make it up once things clear up down there.

And we're off the hook for The Sex for a week, until I get to 37 weeks. (I think we're both relieved to not have that pressure to perform. Heeheee! I don't think we could stand all that laughing anyway!)

Deli

The monstrosity of a deli sammy yesterday -- half for lunch, half for dinner -- slammed me back on the can this morning. Mental note made. This needs to clear up before the cerclage removal on Thursday a.m. or we're going to have some serious issues.

Rejoice

They're back to normal, my bowels. I am so happy. Bring on real food.

Lingering

My little visitor is still here. It's not the watery, shoot out of your buttcrack, splash all over the back of the toilet kind, but it's accompanied by stomach cramps and definitely not the awesome normal #2 I've enjoyed for most of my life. I never thought I'd say this, but I miss you, #2.

I attempted chicken soup the other night, eating it over a three-hour period (it was extremely hot soup and I thought I would take the greasiness, which I read can irritate an already upset belly, one small portion at a time) which was met with dismay the next morning. So far the only agreeable item is white bread/dinner rolls with jam, which I'm getting sick of. The strangest thing about this bug is that I don't feel worn down and I don't have a fever or nausea. In fact my energy level is steady; we were at the office until midnight on Thursday. 

On top of all this, one of my fave actors Mike Myers just released Love Guru, which is The Worst Movie Ever. We met up with some friends for dinner and that awful movie last night, which we ended up walking out of and demanding our dollars back. Ok, demanding is harsh, the nice cashier handed it over like she was waiting for someone to walk out. It was really just plain fucking horrific, and I feel disgusted for even watching a minute of it. I am so mad at him. Admittedly, my favorite movie is So I Married an Axe Murderer, so I was expecting at least some good humor from this flick. Blah.

And for some good news today, it's the last day of that 17p shot! Woo hoo! Typically it would go to 36 weeks but since I'm getting the cerclage out on Thursday, my doc said it doesn't make sense to get the stitch out then get the shot in two days. Her opinion, other docs might feel differently. I've grown to really like the nurse that visits me, and I'll sure miss her and our talks about doggies.

The last TMI tidbit for this post -- we attempted The Sex this morning. Now that was a comedy. It's been so damn long that I'm pretty much now a virgin down there, it was sore and there was barely any penetration! The cats were out of the room, the dog was nowhere nearby, but it didn't quite work out to be the marathon that we imagined. Besides, I got a stomach cramp and really had to go. Perhaps we try again in a few days. At least we laughed a lot. :)

Running

Since about 5 p.m. yesterday, that's what I've been doing.

Only it's been to the bathroom.

Let's just say it's not for #1 or #2, but #3. Seems I've caught some type of bug! What did I eat yesterday? Recall: breakfast - 2 dinner rolls with scrambled egg & steak (leftover from the party - yum!); snack - a handful of raw broccoli and raw snow peas (also leftover from the veggie tray), 2 dinner rolls with apricot jam; lunch - 2 dinner rolls with more steak (ok, that's too many dinner rolls), and a spoonful of cheesecake (more leftover, I suspect it's the cheesecake that arrived at our house on Saturday around 6 p.m. and got put away around 11 p.m.); dinner - skipped; snack: bowl of whole grain Cheerios my new favorite cereal.

Wannabe dad ate the same thing I did except for the broccoli and the cheesecake.

Either it's spoiled food, and thankfully I'm not throwing up, or labor is pending.

Any bouts of diarrhea that hit you before going into labor? How far in advance? How often? I've consulted g.oogle and people's experiences are pretty much all over the place. I want to be able to tell if it's a bug or if I need to start packing. Serious advice needed. Gotta run.

Marching

We are still moving forward...34w4d and counting. The big 36w is coming up which means cerclage removal -- scheduled for next Thursday. It hadn't occurred to me that we might be coming home with a cuddly, poopy, screaming baby in a matter of weeks, or heck maybe even next Thursday if my cervix decides to get things going. There is a room in our house specifically for said baby, and I doubt we'll have to babyproof anything else besides the dog, and maybe vacuum the excess cat hair from our bed coverings. We have two donated car seats that are not installed nor inspected, diapers that are on the registry list (I finally did one after my SIL informed me that she wanted to host a shower), hopefully my breasts will function properly so I can feed the baby even if nothing else is done. 

We've gotten the question so many times: "Is the nursery all set up?" And not wanting to believe that we'll actually use one, my answer has always been "No, not yet. It's too early."

My doctor has advised us that we might want to get things as ready as we can before next Thursday. She predicts that I won't go into labor right away, but it would be best to be prepared. The shower is this Sunday, which worked out well considering it's prior to the cerclage removal. And the 17p shot this Saturday will be the last one, it doesn't make sense to my doctor to continue getting the shot after the cerclage is removed.

What I'm really looking forward to? After a 7-8 month hiatus? Well, we've been cleared for The Sex. (Cobwebs, look out. We're comin'.) Doc is even OK with The Sex pre-removal, but what's a week?

I wrote before that I'm not falling for the baby marketing. Wannabe dad might be, though, mentioning that we should get some sort of baby-themed border for the room (which was already painted a lovely sage green when we used the room as our home office). Since he's of the graphic designer variety, I suggested that he put a collage together of the kitties and doggie faces, print them out and tape them to the walls. We have a framed picture of a cute llama, hand-drawn in colored pencil, given by his aunt to hold on to until she can come back from Peru to retrieve, that we can put in the room. We also have a framed picture of a building-scape of Cuzco, from the same aunt, so baby can get familiar with the abodes of his ancestors. 

The thought of sports-related baby paraphernalia actually makes me cringe. Just because he's a boy does not mean he should play football, basketball, baseball, or even like the stuff. If anyone gives me anything Oakland Raiders or SF Giants related I will hurl. What if he wants to sew? How about a picture of my sewing machine that I never use? Let's put up a picture of Dad washing dishes so the thought isn't foreign to him. While we're at it, add laundry and cooking to Dad's talents. (He's very good at all of these.)

All this time has passed. I think back to the chilly days of February when I first took to the bed, complaining about achy hips and shoulders and neck, headaches, worrying about every twitch and sting. I looked forward to the warmth of June, July, those elusive months with weeks of pregnancy that started with "3" and thought, how the hell am I going to make it that far? And somehow, I've gotten this far by just living hour by hour, and with the help of my wonderful wannabe dad, am still marching forward.

Whirly

Missing in blogging action, that's me. (Note/Warning: Belly pic at bottom of post.)

It's certainly been a whirlwind since my release. Bon, thanks for checking in, it really kicked my butt to put up a quick post on what the hell I've been up to. For starters, everything is fine. Better than fine. Super duper. Great. Cervix is still holding strong, baby kicks and movements and hiccups and wiggles and rolls are consistent.

The same day of my release (Tuesday, 5/27) my bedrest haven at home was quickly uprooted (wannabe dad doesn't fool around!) and moved to the office. I was immediately thrust onto a 6-page brochure project which wrapped up on Friday.

Friday night was a happy hour networking event (just 3 hours, I was so uncomfortable from sitting up that we had to leave).

Saturday, birthday party for my gramma -- the big 9-5! Again, a 3-hour stint then we had to go home.

The following Monday I tagged along to a photoshoot for a client with wannabe dad, a 2.5 hour drive to the lovely town of Carmel (I so heart Carmel but most of the time was spent working, not walking the quaint downtown or visiting the mission or letting the sand caress my feet).

We got home on Tuesday evening, with 5 minutes to spare to turn in our mail-in ballots (so much for voting by mail).

Wednesday brought another OB appointment, at which I told my doc about the nasty rash I got on my right buttcheek from the 17p shot the previous Sunday. Her instruction was that if I got the rash again, to have the shots stopped as it was making me uncomfortable and I haven't had preterm labor symptoms.

Thursday and Friday...work work work Friday was nice, a photographer friend offered to take pictures of me because she wanted to test some new lighting, but I'll have to buy the shots I want. :(

Saturday, the nurse came to give me my shot, which resulted in a small red bump at the injection site. Sounds like it might be time to stop those shots.

Sunday was a trip to the mobile pet vaccine at a local pet store for an updated rabies shot for Kaleo. That was fun -- my cousin was with me to keep Kaleo from getting to the other doggies. His puppyness takes over all sense of reason. When will he mellow out?

That has been what I've been up to, in a big nutshell. I've been conscious of the b-h ctx, which seem to kick in toward the end of the day. I still lie down several times a day, in fact I'm so much more comfortable after a little lie-down. At the end of the day I usually lie down on the couch watching bad tv or rented movies.

And all these switches turn on in my body at every week that I complete of this pregnancy. For example, at week 19 I was ravenously hungry and had to eat every 2-3 hours. At week 24 the I must have peanut butter now switch turned on. At week 31 the middle of the night bathroom trips increased from 1 to 3. At week 33 the holy cow! mucho! discharge! switch turned on, which conveniently rushes out after I'm done using the bathroom. Niiiiice, and gross.

Things are going so well. I'm happy to be out and about in the world. I know I'm not out of the woods until he's home, yet I feel so optimistic. I sorted through the 3 bags of baby boy clothes given by my friend and they're in their happy places in what is going to be the baby's room (I refuse to say that we have set up the nursery, because this Saturday that room will be where the food for the big wannabe dad's 4-0 party will be set up! woo hooo!!). And due to budgetary constraints there will be no assorted, unnecessary baby paraphernalia gracing the room. He won't care, and I don't feel the need to show off any highly decorated fashionable nursery to anyone. It's funny, because I'm a marketer and I am not falling for the baby marketing!!

Geez don't I sound like the bah humbug mama!

We have reached 33w4d today. Wow.

31w5d, the day after my release

Cleared

At today's OB appointment, I was released from bedrest! I am overjoyed and so is the baby, who has been moving like crazy all morning. The office is being rearranged to accommodate me, and we had a staff meeting where everyone was excited to have me back. Ok, they weren't really. (Our staff of two people is really quiet and subdued in terms of their personality and exuding any sort of feelings other than nonchalance.) Two things will put me back in bed: painful contractions and/or vag bleeding. My doc and I shook on it. It is not a big deal if I have to go back to bed.

Yippee!!

Dodged

"Hi, how are you doing?"

"Fine!"

"You passed the glucose test!"

"Wow! That really worried me."

"See you at your next appointment!"

"Ok!"

Whew. 

Injustices

People never cease to amaze me. We informed a customer that his check bounced, and received this reply: 

This is the reason you haves too deposit the check, 

is no ours fall but next time please deposit 

the the same day went I send thank you.

Really? It's not his fault that the check bounced? So if I don't deposit a check the same day I receive it and it bounces, it's my fucking fault? Wow. The funny thing is that wannabe dad predicted this customer would say that. This customer is always wrong and I can't wait to get him out of our lives and off the Christmas list. Some people's children.

Bodily functions never cease to amaze me. As if I haven't been saddled with enough discomfort, enter bleeding hemorrhoids into my perfect sunset picture. Yes, drippy, bright red, right at the surface. I wasn't straining, I promise. I felt a little twinge down there last night and after months of comfortable movements I thought "oh crap". I don't like to do the stool softener because it works a little too well, so I've sent wannabe dad on a yummy fiber tablet hunt. It has to be yummy.

Corporate america never ceases to amaze me. I learned from msfitzita that good ol' 31 flavors is holding a 5/21 hump day promotion and calling it bump day and giving away free ice cream to the impregnated population. I'll skip it, thank you. I don't need to be surrounded by other bumps and get stuck in the damn small talk is this your first how far along are you you're so small wow you're getting so big when are you due how are you doing. Besides, it's so exclusionary, not to mention ridiculous. Who was the marketing idiot behind that one? You deserve free ice cream because you were lucky enough to ovulate and have perfectly timed intercourse (or had an oops). How about a free ice cream day for people with two legs? Oh, I'm sorry you lost your leg defending our country, you can't have free ice cream. And a day for people with hair. Oh, you're going through chemo treatments? Shucks, you can't have free ice cream. 

Yet the carb cravings never cease to amaze. I still have a quarter gallon of vanilla ('cuz I ate half of the half gallon) that is mocking me, that I've left alone since I failed the glucose screen a few weeks ago. I did manage to survive the 3 hour test (with pillow and video ipod - thanks Rachel for the suggestion!) but no results yet. Please please please, a passing score. If I pass, I will ambush the ice cream.

Gas prices. You saw that one coming. Believe it or not, I've gotten wannabe dad to agree to sell one car for one used scooter for two, two helmets, and two bicycles. It will be sad to say goodbye to the Accord but I'll quickly get over that.

Other than the above topics of today's bitchfest, the weather is gorgeous after record high temps last week, so we'll save some money on cooling costs. Baby is moving, shifting, rolling, settling into his favorite spots and hiccuping daily. I'm listening to 10K maniacs (old & new) and miss merchant. This music reminds me of college and generally mellow times in my past life. 

We are in the 30th week, just 2 more weeks of bedrest assuming no painful contractions. I'm trying to keep the ants in my pants at bay. They are excited and ready to go! According to the u/s tech last Thursday, my cervical length is 3 cm, but wannabe dad saw a measurement on the screen that said 3.8 cm. Huh? Best to wait for the results. My doc is very good about calling with results, hopefully she will today or tomorrow. I will be sure to mention the lovely action down there too.

Holding

Why did wannabe dad think that my thigh, last night as we settled in for the night, was my belly? He made me laugh.

It just dawned on me that I am in the third trimester. Holy cows. This is my very first ever third trimester, having done three firsts and one second. This is all new territory for me, with new aches, more pillows have joined the bed, my weight hasn't changed much from 2-week appointment to 2-week appointment, and the vag discharge is flowing. Nice. It's enough to gross me out but not enough to worry about. The b-h ctx have calmed and I'm feeling the tightening even more as it puts pressure on my bladder. Surprisingly, I haven't been constipated (though I know I'm not off the hook just yet).

We talked to the doc about a VBAC, and that I was leaning toward that. She is open to it as long as I don't go past my due date and if I go into labor naturally. If she has to induce me, a c-section will be more likely. I am not completely opposed to another c-section, the main goal here is to go home with a living child. And if I want to get an epidural, I will have that option. 

Doc is going to let me "get up" at 32 weeks, hopefully earlier after she gets my cervical length on Thursday. The deal is, if I start to feel contractions prior to 36 weeks it's back down for me. 

At 36 I'll be "free" and the stitch will come out then. I'll post a picture of it (the string). I know it's blue. Too bad I can't sell it and pay off that darn surgery bill.

What else...oh yes, turns out I failed the glucose screen with a score of 152. Passing is 130. Gulp. I didn't even barely pass. I take the 3-hour test on Friday. Please no GD!

Another

A 2nd Mother's Day without our girls. Sigh. This one was not as bad as the first, with the kicking of this little guy reminding me to smile. Our day began with watching The Office on the 'net in bed, then grand plans to pick up a gourmet McD's breakfast (I even packed my own real butter since the arches like to serve margarine) for our picnic at the cemetery.

But first, Kaleo had to run run run so a quick stop at a nearby park.

And a quick stop at a drive thru coffee shop.

Finally the McD's drive thru, but it was 10:44 and breakfast ended at 10:30. Scary chicken sandwiches were reluctantly ordered since it was too late to back out of the drive thru. 

We haven't been to the cemetery in over a month. It felt good to be there again, to wipe down the marker and clean around it as we had done every week since the burial. We kissed our hands and touched the rough engraving of their feet as we tenderly rubbed each set of footprints. It still feels weird to read their names in the hard stone, coupled with our last names. How could this happen to us?

Wannabe dad made me the best card -- homemade, with scraps from the box o' assorted stationery paper that I've accumulated over many years. It was so cute! I recognized each piece he used in the card. (Somewhere in that box, a long-ago purchased greeting card is missing its envelope...)

All in all, it was dare I say a good day. I'm making dinner while wannabe dad is at work (it's a quarter to 8, being your own boss bites sometimes). At least we're at home and safe from the commercialization of this day. 

Wishing all the Mommies of children gone too soon, a day of peace and lots of love.

Inbetween

Torn. 

Between moving this hospital bed desk to the corner and moving my laptop to the desk to sit in a chair and work.

Between moving this home office back to the office to be a functional working person.

Between reveling in the glory of being pregnant and sweating about this ticking time bomb.

Between jumping up and getting dressed and shaving my legs and brushing my hair and putting on moisturizer and makeup and being among the two-legged, less hairy species that inhabit my little corner of the earth.

I'm afraid I've gotten too used to being a bedrested hermit. I don't know how I would act in a room full of people who interact with one another, who have brains that work, brains that are stimulated, people who have intelligent conversations with other people instead of cats.

Even an invitation to the grocery store freaks me out.

I've been fortunate enough to have visitors over the last three months, people who know us and know our story so we don't have to worry about those questions being thrown at us. When I am out in public, now that my belly has nowhere to hide, I don't look at anyone. I don't want to be the recipient of congratulatory smiles or outreached hands or Is this your first? This question, it has happened, and it made me ill.

And it made me ill because to the 17 year old cheery cashier I had to fake not having any anxiety about the baby without having to divulge my entire reproductive history. Clearly, he wouldn't care, and wouldn't know why this lady who just bought a gigantic bra and huge maternity shorts would even be telling him about her children who died and I'm off in 10 minutes and going to a party and man why you gotta bring me down like that?

Even at 29 weeks tomorrow, with no pain, with b-h contractions that have been more calm lately, with baby kicking up a storm, I feel like nothing could go wrong.

But everything could go wrong.

***

Let's welcome a learning curve to this happy home -- I am transitioning to using a Mac after years and years of PC usage. My computer also runs Windo.ws and there are some nuances to switching back and forth between the two so I can use Qui.ckboo.ks. Strange days are ahead.

***

Along with the huge maternity shorts and gigantic bra, I supersized my underwear. Taking out all 6 from the dryer the other day and holding them up, I thought I bought too big.

But they fit like a glove on my ass. Good times.

***

After this Saturday, I will have a mere 7 more 17p shots in my bum to go. The ones in my right cheek tend to smart for a few days, unlike the ones that go in my left. Hmm.

***

To VBAC or not to VBAC, that is the question.

Illusion

Resurface

Mixed in with the bills, the shopping circulars, the tempting credit card offers, the lovely "EOB" (explanation of benefits) forms from my insurance company that make my heart stop in a bad way every time I open one, was a letter from a former friend. Pretty stationery of the Thomas Kinkade variety, complete with crinkly vellum envelope. No return address, but I knew.

A nicely handwritten, carefully crafted letter apologizing for the loss of our girls after hearing about them from a mutual friend. An added apology for the ill timed baby announcement, received a month or so after the babies died. This is all well and good, yippee for her now that her conscience is cleared. Give her a pat on the head.

My daggers for her go way back, after she wrote me off for being honest with her, after she asked me to. Yet, more than a year later her only contact with me is a baby announcement. I can easily say that had we not lost our girls, I would have been happy for her but would still choose to not continue the friendship. She has always needed to be the center of attention and that announcement, however ill timed it was, sought to serve that purpose.

Sweet

My ice cream fetish has caught up with me.

I/my body failed the 1 hour glucose screening test yesterday. Boo!! It may have something to do with my zero exercise in the past 90 days, coupled with my advanced maternal age. Oh yeah, and the daily dark chocolate fix and my addiction to cereal (really, just granola but apparently too sweet). I spent the last 6 hours researching gd. I don't need more worry!

I'm cutting way back on my habit. I will do the 3-hour test in two weeks. I'm also irritated about how uncomfortable I will be in the lab (the most uncomfortable chairs ever) during the test, and how freaking hungry I will be. Best I can do is bring a book and a pillow for my back. And have a Big Mac waiting for me in the car when it's over.

On a happier note, my doc was really optimistic at yesterday's appointment. She is ok with me going for short walks once I hit 30 weeks. I cannot wait. I am so excited about walking with Kaleo and his Papa in the neighborhood, smelling the spring flowers, feeling the wind in my hair, and getting out of this bed. I won't train for that half marathon just yet (I have delusions that I'll do one in Santa Cruz next spring), but it will be nice to have some blood circulating in my chunky legs.

Speaking of which -- I am a chunk. I have never been a chunk. I know I need to get over it, that this is temporary but still. I looked at my ass in the mirror the other day and nearly fainted. The chunkiness makes these support hose that much harder to yank on every day. In the grand scheme of things that can go wrong in a pregnancy, this is so nothing to worry about.

Big field trip this weekend: visit the girls and Target. We're running out of toilet paper.

Tribute

Two years ago, a very loved and spoiled kitty left this world.

We went to the pet store (where the rescue organizations were displaying their eligible adoptees) fully intending to come home with a dog. And this big 8-year-old cat with big feet, which after much internet research we figured was a Ragdoll (although the foster mom said he was a Himalayan, but his face wasn't flat), fooled us by sitting quietly on our laps. Three hours and covered in three layers of fur later, we read and signed the paperwork, handed over the adoption fee, purchased the necessary cat paraphernalia, and went home.

Elvis (also called Mr. Elvis) was my 2nd kitty, wannabe dad's first. He was probably cursing the whole way home, having never had a cat, never thinking he would ever have a cat, but he never complained. Later on, as we both grew to love this kitty, wannabe dad would say "Did you ever think we would have a cat named Elvis?" with a huge smile on his face.

Elvis and wannabe dad were buddies. They kept each other company (wannabe dad worked from home). Elvis jumped up on the bed whenever wannabe dad tapped the side of the bed, and got in the habit of sleeping on wannabe dad's chest (all 16 lbs). Elvis would sit on my lap for hours and loved being held. Everyone who met him just loved his sweetness.

Kiss my belly!

Six months later during a vet visit to check out a sick Elvis, an ultrasound and xray revealed that he had a massive benign tumor attached to his liver. No wonder he "yelped" when I brushed him in a certain spot - the tumor was pushing his organs around. And his "belly" (which felt like harder than muscle) stuck out from the sides of him which was not normal. We had spent over $1K for the u/s and xray and weren't in a position to pay for the tumor removal. We decided to wait and see if the tumor would grow.

Over the course of the next five months we noticed that Elvis would meow really loudly right before using his litterbox. We took him in for another scan and sure enough the tumor was continuing to grow and push on his organs -- the organs were in strange places as shown on the xray. We scheduled the surgery, and wannabe dad had a bad feeling that morning. We gave Elvis lots of kisses but I didn't say a proper goodbye.

I love the sun.

I was off to work and after lunch, wannabe dad showed up at my office. He gave me the news and I promptly left work in tears. The vet was able to remove the tumor but it had so much blood in it that Elvis' heart gave out. They tried to revive him. Poor kitty! We felt awful, but were thankful that he didn't suffer any longer.

Wannabe dad had a tough time sleeping for the next few weeks. There was one night recently when I heard him tap on the side of the bed (he doesn't remember). So weird. We did that big guy right by rescuing three more kitties, and we hope that he's sending his kitty love to all of us from pet heaven.

My office gave me a gerbera daisy plant, which I think is still alive in the garden (haven't been outside lately!). It's a nice remembrance of such a nice kitty.

We love you, Mr. Elvis!

Gravity

So overrated.

If it weren't for gravity, my cervix wouldn't have its ugly label of 'incompetent.'

My sciatic nerves wouldn't be taking the beating they are now.

These shoulders and neck wouldn't have to bear the sailor knots intricately woven in the muscle tissue.

Atrophied arms would enjoy some lightness of being.

Pounding headache would be a passing fancy.

Everything I do that has become a huge chore would be taken care of with a light tap.

Some calculations:
Number of days lying down (I counted these instead of sheep last night): 84
Number of days remaining (I am getting up at 36 weeks, dammit): 64
Pounds gained: 18
Percent of muscle lost: feels like 40%
Gallons of ice cream eaten: 1/2
Number of driving days: 0
Gallons of water consumed: 1890
Gallons of water flushed: 1892
Number of sleepless nights: 26
Baby's average heartbeat: 158 bpm
Height of belly wave action: 2-4 feet, glassy
Percent of wannabe dad's support provided: 1 million%
Number of names picked out: 1 first, 1 middle
Percent of time spent worrying: 60%
Number of things purchased for baby: 0
Happiness level today (0-not happy, 5-happy): 2, mostly due to the extreme muscle pains experienced this week

Outside

It seems all of our neighbors got together to oil up their lawnmowers and have a field day today. In our quiet little suburb the whirring vibrating sounds of gas lawnmowers and leaf blowers are disturbing my normally silent day, the smell of man machine exhaust floats through my house, added to the whining of the dog because his toys are outside and he's inside and he wants to be outside plus there's too much pretty grass out there that he needs to roll around in and those holes that he started digging and nosing earlier in the week are too shallow to just leave alone.

There's a plane overhead.

The yard will most definitely go to the crapper this summer. We have someone come and mow and do some light trimming but the big stuff like checking the irrigation and planting and bug control is usually done by me. This year there will be no tomatoes coming from my garden, just the resilient overgrown rosemary, green onions, two kinds of oregano, and maybe strawberries if the slugs don't get them first. Need to ask the garden guy how much he'll charge to be me.

The pink roses I planted for wannabe dad's bday last year are growing nicely. I bought a pot of beautiful red roses at that time but was too lazy to get them in the ground. Ugh. Add that to the list.

We had the foresight to clean out the garage last December. At least that's not on my list, but all the crap stored in boxes that I will never use again is.

Just some ramblings on a finally Friday. Tomorrow I get my 17p shot. Yay. Now for some ice cream.

Skills

It was a rented car, a two-door convertible, driven by the then boyfriend on a weekend trip to the Big Island of Hawaii. We were on the way back to the Kona airport after visiting Kilauea volcano. At least 200 miles from the airport we stopped for gas. I got out of the car to...I think it was to clean the windows...but managed to leave my right pinky finger behind in the door when I closed it. That door was heavy, it trapped the tiny first digit, lifted the nail, blood blood blood drops, a trail through the sleepy mart as I walked in the door to the cashier to ask for napkins.

No hospital for at least 150 miles, we were told, but found a fire department several miles down the road. Two firemen tended to my poor finger, which was throbbing like a motherf*cker, wrapped it up nicely, then sent us on our way. Long story short, got to the hospital, xray found a tiny fracture on the fingertip, antiobiotic shot in the finger, tetanus shot in my hip, and a new bandage. Got on the plane and got home.

But this post isn't about the finger.

It's about the skills I learned because of the finger.

Wait, one last story about the finger. Two weeks later I attended a bridal shower, a small affair of 6 ladies including the bride. Or 5. Anyway, the maid of honor was kind enough to get the bride a stripper sent to the home of the moh in the broad daylight of a Sunday afternoon. I am not a prude, but I just was not into it, especially since for the last two weeks I was nursing my damn finger and walked around with my hand elevated. So it was my reluctant turn on the stripper's lap, and there's a picture of me being bounced up and down with my right hand elevated, my pinky finger sticking up, a huge this-is-a-really-funny-image-smile on my face. (I swear I didn't enjoy the bouncing, it made my finger throb. Plus, his lap was prickly since he probably shaved his legs a few or more days ago.)

In the month or so that it took the finger to heal, I learned to brush my teeth with my left hand, accommodate my job duties sans right pinky finger, and dare I admit, wipe. Yes, I became proficient at wiping with my left hand. A friend even asked me, "So do you...with your left hand?" "Yes!" I declared. I really had no choice, plus I wanted to avoid any cross contamination. She was amazed. I was amazed. It took 29 years to switch hands.

Super fast forward to '06. I picked up a few skills during my last forced bedrest that are applicable today: patience, asking for help (It starts with: "please pass the bedpan, and stand there so you can empty it for me. Wait, hand me the roll of toilet paper and a baby wipe. Thanks."), wriggling my way up onto my elbows from a lying on my back position to sitting up, eating and drinking and burping lying down, patience, lying down for hours, for days, letting go of the small stuff like crumbs on my chest, and patience.

So what if all the kitchen utensils aren't in their correct drawers. So what if all the towels end up on the guest room bed instead of the linen closet. So what if there's a pile of crap in the laundry room that doesn't even belong there (this is the first point of entry from the garage, and whatever is in anyone's hands ends up on a small counterspace in there and never leaves). So what if my closet is strewn about with winter sweaters, scarves, and various clothes and shoes (heels) that I won't be wearing for the next year. Overgrown eyebrows, head, legs and pits. Whatever. I have some grand plan in my mind that I will take care of this stuff, then make the mistake of telling wannabe dad my plans, and he nixes it. "The only thing you will be doing is growing Chuck."

Let's elaborate on the list: Letting go of feeling useful. And clean.

It's a redirection thing. Change of mindset. I am useful. I am keeping baby safe by minimizing my activities. An organized house and being perfectly groomed will not grow the baby. Repeat this to self daily or more often as needed.

Meanwhile, those darn contractions have calmed, I'm sure a temporary thing, but some respite until the next phone call. Chuck's movements are more pronounced, the waves he makes of my belly are eerie and could be set to music. It feels like he's positioned on a diagonal, kicking near my right hip instead of my cervix, and to the left of my bellybutton. He's usually very active in the mid-morning, afternoon, after dinner, around midnight, and 3 a.m.

Tomorrow is 26 weeks. Wow.

Relieved

It's getting difficult to type lying down, with the keyboard on my lap, with my belly blocking it, my arms elevated to reach it. It's not a wireless keyboard although it's very lightweight, and as needed I can lay on my left side with my legs pulled up so the keyboard can be propped up. That's easy to do when there isn't a cat on my lap or I risk kicking the sleepy kitty ("shleepy keety" in my house).

I'm distracted after spending a short time in L&D last night. It was only 1130 when I finally resolved to call my OB after experiencing 6 b-h ctx in an hour. This was the 2nd set of 6 that I had felt in an hour, with that first set felt in mid-afternoon. I told myself that I would call her if it happened again. I swore to myself that I would call. After wannabe dad had drifted off to sleep (amazing how quickly he does that), I was kept awake by a combination of the ctx and firm kicking. Thinking I could stave off the ctx by emptying my bladder, I did that three times in 20 minutes. Tightening. Pressure, but no pain. I switched on my lamp to write down the time, counted 6, then woke him up and called my doc.

We were instructed to go to the hospital, which is about 20-25 min away (I had never been to this L&D). We fumbled around our room getting dressed (the difficulty with OPMC is not knowing right off the bat what is available/appropriate to wear and what fits), admiring the cuteness of two sleepy bedcats, taking a few seconds to rub their fuzzy bellies. It was cold outside of the covers, and wannabe dad started breathing heavily. Fully dressed, he jumped back in bed shivering, pulled the covers over his shoulders, closed his eyes, started breathing in and exhaling through his mouth. He's been through this get-to-the-hospital-as-fast-as-you-can before, and a short anxiety spell had kicked in. I reassured him that I wasn't worried, that we were just going to get things checked out down there. Doc said she wasn't worried, and I told him that. Within a minute he was ok.

Thankfully it was a quiet evening and I was situated in a room right away for monitoring. I changed into a gown (memories), slipped into the elastic band and pulled it over my belly (memories), and two sticky sensors were placed on my belly (memories). I didn't freak out but I didn't attribute it to naivety.

Using a dry, cold speculum the nurse did a fFN swab (no lube on the speculum b/c of the test) and a manual cervical exam (with lube - yeah!). I swear she tickled my tonsils. She didn't get that good of a look at my cervix because of the discharge down there (normal), but she said it felt closed and normal. The stitch was doing its thing. After an hour wait indulging in late night cable shows (we only have bare bones cable at home) the fFN results came back negative. The ctx monitor picked up only 4 in an hour. I had the option of getting a terbutaline shot but given the fFN results and the cervical exam declined it. We got home, relieved.

"Thank you," I said to wannabe dad. "Thank God," he said, then fell asleep.

My doc monitored me again this morning (regular appointment -- how convenient!) and everything still looks good. She did admit that she was worried to receive a call from me, but was glad that I called. She said I don't have to apologize for calling, ever. She put me on much stricter bedrest from now on to see if that won't quiet the ctx (note to self: put on support hose), with the immediate goal of getting to 28 weeks.

I need a nap, for the next two and a half weeks please.

Exhale

But not all the way, of course.

Today at 24 weeks and 6 days, I am the most pregnant I have ever been.

Tomorrow I get to say that I'm 25 weeks, and will continue to be the most pregnant I've ever been. It feels good (but don't tell the universe or everything will go haywire).

The worry that has been plaguing me about the baby (I'm still worried about other shit that makes up my life) is inching its way down, miniscule bit by miniscule bit. I have been fervently keeping track of the B-H contractions by writing down the time in a notebook each time I feel one. There have been times when I had 5 in an hour, though I was instructed to call if I had more than 4. Am I tempting fate? Those few times I had 5 in an hour I just couldn't get my bladder empty enough, going just 10 and 15 minutes after the last trip. There is apparently in my body a fine balance between an overly full bladder and dehydration and when the contractions happen.

I distinctly don't remember any ctx with the twins, but that's when I didn't know any better. Now I know too much, dammit.

I started notating the contractions so that if it wasn't compelling enough for me to call, wannabe dad would do it.

I don't know why I'm not more paranoid to call my doc for every little thing. She told me to call for any reason. I promised myself not to be so g-d timid this time around. Good asian girl upbringing needs to go out the window.

I have no pain, no change in discharge, no heaviness, no bleeding or spotting, baby has been kicking my cervix and rectum for the better part of a week. The weekly headaches that plagued me for the first month post-cerclage are pretty darn scarce. The gas is plentiful and baaaaad.

And I found out that wearing OPMC (other people's maternity clothes) is a psychological positive. There's no baggage with these clothes. There's no "I only got to wear this once" or any pictures of me in these clothes while pg with the twins. Sure, the clothes are worn and stretched out, some are pilly, the pants are crop on me (the donor is 4" shorter than me, or more -- it's a blessing because summers here are deathly hot), definitely comfortable, but what it does for my head I am so grateful for.

(Although -- I did wear a shirt from my small stash the other day that says "hapai", which in Hawaiian means pg, and my friend asked where I got the shirt. "I got it two years ago in Hawaii when I was pregnant with Cerina and Nadia." She's a dear family friend, she gave me a big hug and said "it's cute!")

We haven't visited the girls in two weeks. There goes my mama guilt again. I know they wouldn't want me to risk anything with their baby brother. I think we can go when I get to 28 weeks or better. I am very much looking forward to both.