The New Year

About an hour ago, with the lights low, I held my son close to me, trying to rock him to sleep. He was looking up at me and I felt his warm little head and thought about how our time together, just he and I, will soon be ending. In less than a month, I will be back at work, full-time.

When I initially planned this out - three and a half months seemed like a very long time. I felt lucky - 3 1/2 months! As difficult as it was at first, I never realized how fast it would go, or how I would feel about returning to work. I love my job. But I feel like there is more important work to be done - raising my son. I'm afraid of what I will miss - will I be there to see his first steps? His first word? I ache thinking about not having him near.

A year ago tomorrow, I was running through Central Park at midnight. The air was cold and the sky was dark as pitch but the people around me were chattering excitedly, bouncing around to keep warm and wearing crazy costumes. As we set off, fireworks shot out just above us. I didn't run fast. I was still recovering from multiple failed pregnancies, infertility drugs, surgery. But it was truly a glorious run - I cried a little as I thought about the past three years and all we'd been through. Yet, I was feeling relieved and excited about what was coming. Although my doctor and the Husband were trying to convince me to try one more time, I had come to terms with the idea that in order for us to be parents, we would be adopting. It was a relief. No longer would I be dealing with infertility, I could stop researching, consulting, worrying. I could stop having procedure after procedure that always led to the same conclusion, "we just don't know, not for sure." I would never again have to hear, "there's no heartbeat." I would be becoming a mother, we would finally be parents, sometime soon.

How full of wonder I am about this years past. This time, as I run around my favorite park, my son, (my son!), will be sleeping soundly in the Husband's arms as they wait for me at home.

Perhaps now I will be a little less skeptical, a little more forgiving, when people discuss miracles. I can't help but think that I have been touched by one.

My hope is that you had an incredible year - and if not, that 2009 will be full of wonder, hope and dreams fulfilled.

Happy New Year.

Letter to My Son

(Better late than never!)
Baby--

You are one month old today. Mommy and Daddy are still in awe that you are here. Mommy has held you and looked at you and cried - she can't believe how lucky she is. And Daddy, too. Mommy and Daddy are so happy that you are finally here.

On the day you were born, Grandpa J and Nana were in town. They had been waiting for days and days for you to be born but you just weren't coming! Mommy was worried that Grandpa J and Nana would have to go back home before getting to meet you. But you waited exactly one week to be born from your due date and Grandpa J and Nana were still in town. Mommy and Daddy and Grandpa J and Nana went to see a play, the Master Builder, on Thursday night and things started happening that night! Mommy cried a little because she was scared and wanted to make sure that you were alright. Mommy labored all day on Friday but it wasn't too bad until the evening. Then Mommy yelled at Daddy to get up and take her to the hospital and Mommy has never seen Daddy move so fast! Once we got to the hospital, the doctor said, "Let's go have a baby!" Daddy was so excited he started jumping around the room! Mommy was surprised, she couldn't believe it was really happening! She was lucky to have Daddy there and a great nurse who helped. You were born pretty fast! Mommy didn't get to see you at first for a long time because they had to make sure you were OK - but Daddy was with you the whole time. That was very scary for Mommy.

Grandma J and Auntie M jumped in the car and drove from Ohio to meet you. They were very excited. Grandma J, Auntie M, Grandpa J and Nana got to meet you on the day you were born! Grandma J told your Auntie M to stop hogging you and to let her hold you, too.

Mommy wanted you to always be in the room with her at the hospital. The first time you fell asleep on Mommy's chest was one of the best moments in her life. It was very, very late and the hospital was very quiet. You had been crying in your bassinet and Mommy picked you up and held you close until you fell asleep. It was the best.

When Mommy and Daddy took you home they were very excited. Mommy dressed you in an outfit that was a little too big and Daddy thought you looked like you were wearing a fencing outfit. Then Daddy drove us all home very slowly. When we got home your two doggies, Ben and Momo were very surprised and curious to meet you. Daddy brought home something of yours earlier so they could get a little familiar with you. Even though Mommy and Daddy were very tired, we spent a lot of time staring at you. You were just perfect.

Even though it's only been a month, you've grown and changed a lot.

You smile and coo whenever you are first put down on the changing table. You don't particularly like to be changed - but once you are, you are back to smiling. You make the best noises.

You have found your hands and sometimes you suck on your fingers. Oftentimes you put the side of your hand in your mouth, or your pinky. Once when you were breastfeeding, you also had your finger in your mouth! Sometimes when Mommy looks down at you, you have your hands clasped together, sometimes resting under your chin. Mommy and Daddy remember seeing your hands always near your face in the sonograms, too.

You have already braved the New York City subway and gone to the Museum of Modern Art. You slept almost the entire time. There was a Miro show and a very crowded Van Gogh show. Your cousin R was there along with your Grandma J, Grandpa D and Nana. Mommy fed you for a little while just inside the museum. Nana played with cousin R so that Grandma J could see the Miro show because Nana saw it with Grandpa J when they were waiting for you to be born. Grandma J said that the Miro show gave her great inspiration for her own paintings.

You also recently had your first real bath. You didn't like it at all. Daddy bathed you while Mommy and Grandpa D watched and took pictures. You found it very undignified and maybe a little scary. Daddy was sure to bathe you fast so that you could get back into your warm clothes.

You love your sling - it hugs you close to Mommy or Daddy and makes you feel warm and safe. You usually fall asleep in the sling. Sometimes, when you are crying, Mommy puts you in the sling and walks you up and down the stairs. Most of the time, you will then fall asleep. Sometimes you don't like to sleep at night. You may cry a lot or seem perfectly content to look around and see what's going on, even when it's 4 AM.

You have already grown out of your undershirts. You are growing fast. Mommy and Daddy can't believe it!

Daddy likes to put you in fancy outfits but mostly he just wants you to wear the Justice League shirt. Daddy would probably like to have about 15 Justice League shirts for you. We've discussed the possibility that you may not be as big of a Justice League fan as Daddy is - but Daddy doesn't believe it. But Mommy and Daddy know that you will have likes and dislikes that we never anticipated.

Mommy and Daddy love you very much! Happy One Month! We're so very lucky that you are here!

Don't You Need a License for this?

I've finally figured out why everyone in the known universe (that would be, Santa, the elves, the lady on the airplane, the flight attendants, the barista, the check out guy, etc., etc., etc.) thought that MY SON was my sister's kid and not mine, because I look like the biggest incompetent who couldn't possibly be this child's mother. There is my sister, with three thousand different baby items slung around her, popping this open and that, sliding that thingamajig there all while swigging some coffee or eating lunch, while effortlessly holding the baby on her hip while I sat staring wide eyed off in the corner. The woman has four kids. And apparently, that makes a difference. Wouldn't you think people would think that the lady who looks sleep deprived and confused would be the mother? Nope, nope, not at all. Which is why, while on the plane, even though I was falling asleep, and even though I took the Baby out of the front carrier, and even though my sister asked if I wanted to let her hold him, I refused, and then promptly let him slip off of me and into the side of the plane. Someday, I'm sure he'll forgive me.

Random stuff

It's been far too long since I've posted. I continuously write, then save it, then never publish it. Since the Baby is asleep right now (scrunched up in his sling) this will have to be fast. Here are some thoughts, quickly jotted out, to myself:

1) Never expect your in-laws, or anyone, for that matter to help with the baby. They may not. Mine didn't. We were so looking forward to some naps or some time alone while in Ohio for Thanksgiving. Or something. Didn't happen. No offers. Nothing.

2) Try not to get angry when said in-laws have a party with 35 people and your baby gets sick six days later. Maybe not related - but still . . .

3) Realize that you just can't clean. Ever. It just doesn't happen. Take a damn nap.

4) Running with the the baby jogger (FINALLY) is exciting and also . . . weird. Try not to worry that the baby is getting brain damage each time you go over a bump. Try to realize that your stomach hurts like the dickens because it was stretched into another time zone for quite awhile.

5) Try to get out. Sometimes. Really. Seriously.

6) Put some pants on, brush your teeth. Your husband will thank you.

7) Bathe the baby more than once a decade. Even though he hates it.

8) Thank Zeus for the internet - without it, no one would have a gift, nor would anyone communicate with you, since you abhor the phone.

9) Sending out the birth announcements two months late is OK. Seriously. I mean, you are taking care of a new baby, and the announcement is awesome. So, it's worth the wait.

10) Try to appreciate every day. Every sleepless, sleepless day. It goes fast. He won't want to cuddle with you forever, you know.

OK - all for now. Sister coming from Seattle to stay for a few days (to help! She's going to hang with the Baby while the Husband and I go out. To dinner! To a movie! ALONE!). Must make some attempt at picking up or she won't be able to find her bed, aka, the couch.

And Another Thing

I have yet to pump - managed to sterilize the pump first (and my mother, who was in town also washed the parts that they tell you NOT to wash - she didn't believe me, apparently). So, a question - the pump comes with containers. Do you pump into said containers, store, and then put a nipple on THOSE containers or do you transfer the milk from the containers to bottles with nipples once it is needed? I recognize that this may be a really silly question and the answer is obvious - but we're running on practically no sleep here people.

Signed -
Confused.

Future Blackmail

I've probably started fifty different entries that I have yet to complete. So, instead, I'm attaching a photo - one that my son will be horrified by someday (and we'll be sure to whip out when he brings home a date).

My Beautiful Son

How anyone manages to take a shower, let alone post anything with a new baby is beyond me. How am I doing it? Both my mother AND the Husband are nearby.

So, although I read a lot of books about pregnancy and eventually read about the birth process, I neglected to look at the actual CARE of a newborn. And although one can go crazy reading all those childcare books that give conflicting advice, at least I may have been more prepared for, say, breastfeeding. It never occurred to me that I would need to breastfeed TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY. Just didn't get it. Nope. Didn't. So, now that that is firmly established . . . WOW. Twenty-four hours a day. Every day. EVERY DAY. Will try to start pumping this week - but am totally intimidated by it - it's a scary looking machine. Also, although it will be fantastic to actually be able to go out and leave the Baby with the Husband or another relative, it makes me a little sad, too.

The Marathon

Occasionally I worked for a sports photography company - shooting races in and around NYC. I did it mainly for fun - but the extra money was also nice. However, there were a lot of headaches that went along with it. For example, I could spend hours, unpaid, editing the photos, burning them to disk and sending them to the company. I dropped everything several times to shoot for them when they were in a bind, was taken off shoots when they had too many shooters without complaint, shot later than other photographers and even continued shooting after a runner accidentally hit me in the face, giving me a black eye, all with no thanks from them. Every year I shoot the marathon for them. The marathon is on November 2nd. I agreed to do it because I really thought the Baby would be around three weeks, and once I wasn't pregnant any more, everything would be a piece of cake. Not to mention that I really enjoy shooting it. However, when I realized that the race was THIS weekend and I was still having pain issues, not sleeping through the night, taking care of a newborn, figuring out the whole breastfeeding thing, I decided that it would be too difficult. The Husband has been asking me not to do it for weeks. The day starts early and ends late - I've shot it before with no breaks at all. I really don't know how I would manage without being able to rest or pump. The thing is, it's very difficult for me to admit that I may not be able to do something - it makes me feel terrible. So, it was with a lot of thought that I decided to tell them, at the last minute, granted, that I would not be able to do it after all. They did not react well. They e-mailed me that they will NEVER hire me again. I feel terrible. However, the Husband has pointed out repeatedly how little they care about their photographers and have not exactly treated us well over the years. But they are running a business and if they can't rely on me to actually be present at a shoot, why hire me again? I feel terrible about it - the last thing I want to do is have a bad relationship with a former employer. By the way, as a contract employee, the Family Medical Leave Act doesn't apply - but this type of situation is exactly why it was enacted in the first place. Sigh. The thing is, the Baby and my own health has to be the priority - in the end it just wasn't worth it to me to kill myself like that and to potentially disrupt breastfeeding (the whole nipple confusion controversy not withstanding - but also whether or not I could handle not pumping for 8-10 hours). Ugh.

Colic Anyone?

col·ic (kŏl'ĭk) Pronunciation Key
n.

1. Severe abdominal pain caused by spasm, obstruction, or distention of any of the hollow viscera, such as the intestines.
2. A condition of unknown cause seen in infants less than three months old, marked by periods of inconsolable crying lasting for hours at a time for at least three weeks.

It may not truly be colic but nights have been difficult. The Baby begins crying (screaming really), generally around 9 PM and is not easily consoled. Generally, however, he'll quiet down eventually (usually with a pacifier which is apparently a controversial move if you are breastfeeding). Last night, however, he began crying around 8 PM, and excluding a period from 3 AM to 6 AM he continued screaming all night long into this morning, It didn't end until now at NOON. I'm at my wits end. I've read from What to Expect, Your Baby & Child and attempted the techniques from the Baby Whisperer, i.e., the Happiest Baby on the Block, all to no avail. There's nothing like seeing your baby scream uncontrollably to make you feel completely inadequate as a parent. We change him, feed him, swaddle him, hold him, walk with him, sing to him, talk to him, change the scenery, try the sling, the bouncy seat, the swing, the car seat and nothing works. I did think that it might be gas - and have a call out to my doc to find out if there is anything over the counter that we can use - but really, that's just a stab in the dark. And to think, a few days ago we were patting ourselves on the back wondering why everyone said that caring for a newborn was so difficult. Ha ha ha.

Too Tired for Titles

A night with a lot of crying - and that was just me. The Baby was NOT happy last night - we never did figure out why. Probably would have been a good idea to actually READ all those parenting books I have . . . hmmmmm.

However, he is just delicious. We stare at him constantly. He has his father's feet. It kills me.

More later . . .

So, no one told me that not only would I feel like someone took a melon baller to my insides, but that barbed wire would be stuffed down my pants for good measure as well. Eeeow.

The Baby is wonderful. I'm still shocked each and every day. I can't believe how amazing it feels when he falls asleep while I'm holding him.

More later - typing one-handed is a bit of a challenge.

Out of the Rabbit Hole

Hi folks. The Husband here.

I'm sure Ali will want to write about the birth experience in great detail, so I won't say much, other than that she is truly hardcore.

My purpose as guest-blogger today is simply to announce the arrival of our son. And to say thank you to all of you for your support of Ali through the last couple of really trying years. You all made the difference through some tough times and I can say, truly, that without the infertility blogging community, my son would not exist.

So thank you. Here's hoping your life has half the joy ours does today.

The Master Builder

My mother recently told me that she went to see a play on the night that my sister was born. She couldn't get comfortable at all and then later that night, her water broke. Tonight I arranged to see the Master Builder at the Irish Rep here in town with my folks. I had trouble staying awake - and my legs needed to be outstretched constantly. I enjoyed it but was totally disappointed that nothing seemed to be happening. When I layed down to go to sleep tonight, however, I heard a POP!, then I felt pain for about 30 seconds and THEN, hello, mucus plug (totally, totally disgusting by the way). And because I thought it an odd color I called the doc on call. While I was waiting, my water broke. The color of the mucus plug is not a problem but I did tell him my water broke. He said I needed to come in for an exam to check things out. So, looks like things may actually be progressing, one way or the other (and I am trying to avoid going in too soon - even though I know that they want you in promptly after your water breaks because of the infection risk - while a midwife would not be quite so anxious - I'm trying not to be a total idiot and play Russian roulette here either - but I also don't want to go in too early ). So, thanks Henrik Ibsen. We won't be naming our son Henrik or Ibsen - but thanks all the same.

***UPDATE***

So, right, I'm back home. I'm only 2 cm dilated, 50% effaced and the contractions are irregular. So, they sent me home. Oh, and the water breaking? They don't think that it did - and, um, we shall never speak of this again . . .

Another day . . .

When the Husband and I first moved here, we lived in the far off land of Yonkers (shudder). I can’t remember how long it took to get to Grand Central by train - but it was a bit of a hike. I would often come into the city on the weekends, homework in tow and sit at a café down in the Village and “study”. It was fairly ridiculous, really, going all that way, with heavy books in a backpack to study, when I could have saved tons of time by staying at home. But I got very sick of being cooped up in that horrible house and needed a change of scenery (horrible house + heinous roommates = not fun, not fun at all). When the Husband moved here, we’d go down together. However, I always had an incredibly difficult time getting him to leave Grand Central. It is beautiful. It has everything you could possibly need - food, magazines, books . . . why leave? I’m starting to wonder if Junior here is following in his pop’s footsteps - there's food a plenty, coziness, familiarity and the lulling sound of a heart beating. Why leave, indeed.

Any suggestions on how to get the little guy out (sans pitocin)? I'm all ears.

Witchy?

Has anyone else noticed that Sarah Palin's two youngest daughters, Piper and Willow, are also the names of two TV characters, Piper Halliwell from Charmed and Willow Rosenberg from Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Just here to keep you informed . . .

Still Here

Still pregnant. Still very, very pregnant. However, I did manage to finally finish this:

The friend I made this for is due this week - about a week behind me. However, at this rate, she'll have her baby before mine. Ugh.

It was the Husband's birthday today - we spent it not exactly celebrating - but anxiously awaiting the arrival of our little one. No such luck. We're both extremely disappointed that we have to go to work tomorrow. Perhaps my sister is correct - all the fam goes late, so I should expect to go late (OK - I'm already late, but how late, no one knows). We'll see.

Well, that was unexpected . . .

Last week at my non-stress test, the nurses asked if I was supposed to schedule another one for the following week. I said I didn’t know, but to go ahead and schedule it and I’d cancel if my doc thought it unnecessary. However, my doc thought that we should do it again, "just to be on the safe side." I was a tad surprised since each test is the same - the babe does very, very well, his heart rate always elevates appropriately during periods of movement and I get a lot of "very goods" and "excellents". So, I resigned myself that I’d have to lay there for another half an hour of extreme boredom while I attempted to read at an odd angle and not be too annoyed at the discomfort of laying in one position for all that time. In addition, I was going to have to go it alone this week - the Husband would not be able to arrive until the doctor’s appointment, an hour later. As I lay there on Wednesday, thankful that I had worn pants this time, I had quite a long contraction. A very long contraction. However, I’ve been having fairly long contractions, at irregular intervals, for sometime now. Most memorably, last week on Thursday and Friday when I thought that perhaps "this was it!" until they petered out to a disappointing nothing. The nurse came in and said, "You are having a really long contraction. Are you feeling it?" I said that I was. It didn’t feel great, but it certainly wasn’t the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. And I was using my relaxation techniques, which helped. She poked my belly and said, "Stop that!" Another nurse came in to review the data and said, "Um, that was a very long contraction and your baby’s heart rate has decreased, considerably. We need to do a sonogram, right now." I was then whisked into the sonogram room, with my shoes in my hands, and she fired up the sonogram machine and started looking around. The baby was moving appropriately and his heart rate seemed again, normal. She asked if I was leaking fluid. Now, here’s the thing - I have had some leakage - but I haven’t been sure if it was just, um, urine (yuck) or if it was, in fact, amniotic fluid. I really couldn’t tell - but I tried the old, "lay down for sometime, and then get up - if you feel a rush of fluid, it’s likely amniotic." But that didn’t happen - I had to imagine that I was becoming, shudder, incontinent upon occasion. But just a trickle! And maybe only once or twice. And only with sneezing! Anyway, they then had me wait until the doctor, a fellow, arrived, to discuss what had happened. The Husband then arrived, and I filled him in on the details. The Fellow explained that during the contraction, because it was so long, the oxygen had decreased enough to make it difficult for the baby to breathe, causing him distress, and thus, his heart rate slowed. I didn’t think to ask to what level. I think I may have been too scared to know. The husband asked how long the contraction was and we were told that it lasted seven minutes. She proceeded to tell us that if I were her patient, she would feel that everything was fine now and not too worry - but she had a call out to my doctor. My doctor, who happened to be in labor and delivery, wanted me there, on a fetal heart rate monitor for another hour. It was strange to walk in there without actually being in labor. I also found out that in fact, although we’d been told that we were pre-registered, we were not. Good to know. When they printed out the hospital wrist band , I noted that I was apparently under the care of my RE and told the staff at the desk that he’d likely be pretty surprised that he was delivering me. They weren’t amused. They strapped me in, I read, we joked around with the nursing staff, and I tried not to feel too terrified. My doc came in, read the results and said that it was "textbook perfect" and sent me home. However, he wants me to do another test today. I am pretty sure that if the test wasn’t going well that they would have done a C-section. Right then. Right there. I didn’t think to ask about the after-effects of the decrease in the bambino’s heart rate. Could this have damaged him in some way? Permanently? Brain damage? Heart issues? I was too shell-shocked to ask anything. I was just there - the most compliant patient in the world. It’s amazing what fear does.

Blah Blah Blah

I know that I should be chomping at the bit and all - since, I don't know, my due date is on Friday, but I'm not. After my sister informed me of the whole two weeks late phenom, I just kind of let go of any anticipation. When my doc told me last week that I was one centimeter dilated and would be surprised if I went beyond my due date, I was excited. And then I thought, "He doesn't know! He hasn't a clue! He's not a magician! People can be dilated 1 cm for weeks! Please!" So, I'm relaxing or "chilaxin'."

People at work are getting quite nervous about the idea of working until I actually go into labor. But I don't really want to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs. Yes, I have stuff to do. But I'd really prefer my time off to be spent with the little guy.

There's a lot of talk at work about what my plans are and how I'm going to get to the hospital, etc. And I wave them off, thinking, you know, it's the first time, I just don't see myself going into rapid labor and giving birth on the floor of my office. I just don't (uh, knock on wood). And when people ask how I plan on getting to the hospital when my water breaks (which apparently doesn't actually happen with that much frequency - it's more likely to be a slow leak) I shrug and say, I don't know, I guess the subway? When they ask if my bags are packed, I say, um, no, I haven't figured out how to pack stuff that I actually need. When someone suggests that I bring an extra skirt with me everyday and pads, I say, that sounds like a good idea, and then proceed to work and forget about it. I know. I must be driving people completely insane. Am I normally like this? Not really. But being huge and tired has made me less, I don't know, uptight, then I was, perhaps even two weeks ago. I'm excited to meet the little guy, but know that he's going to come when he's going to come. If it goes on too long, though, there may be castor oil in my future . . .

Well, I'm off to forget to pack my bag, bring an extra skirt and pads, and instead, continue reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and likely fall asleep.

Two More Weeks or Four?

Less than two weeks to d-day.

I was just informed by my sister that everyone in the family goes into labor about two weeks AFTER their due date. Now, you'd think that I would be completely upset by this - what with the being as big as a house and all, but actually it made me slightly thrilled because it may mean that I have a little more time to get things done - which means that I won't actually go two weeks late, I'll be in labor tomorrow. Or you know, right now (no, I'm not in labor).

Last Wednesday I talked to my doc about going off of heparin. I'm sure I'm driving him crazy with this back and forth - but he seems pretty convinced that even if it was necessary at one time, I can safely cease using it now. I felt like a selfish jerk for deciding to stop - what if? What if? All because I couldn't take the bruising anymore, or the fear, however slim, of bleeding out if I should happen to have complications during labor. So, I've been free of the twice a day heparin administration since last Wednesday and the bambino seems to not have noticed - he continues to move around in there with much frequency. I have a non-stress test on Wednesday. Hopefully it will show no changes.

When I told the fam about the bambino, around 12 weeks, my sister started bombarding me with "birth plan" talk. What was I doing? What kind of birth did I want? Did I have a birth plan? The thing about dealing with infertility and recurrent miscarriage is that it robs you of the luxury of thinking about birth plans and what kind of birth you want because you can only think about getting through the present - you just can't think about what's happening tomorrow, or the next day, let alone, the birth. I did not really feel comfortable thinking about it until, oh, about two weeks ago. And although she sent me quite a few books on the subject, I stowed them away until recently. I also found her comments at the time to be annoying and a little too out there - or so I thought (she's had four kids all without any drugs - but her births are very, very fast which I'm sure makes a difference). The problem now is that all of this reading has lead me to semi-distrust the medical establishment, when it comes to birth, and specifically, the hospital and the ob/gyn team that I will be working with. Here's the thing - I am with one of the best OB/GYN high-risk groups in the country. I am also at a hospital that has gotten "Best Hospital" for years and years. But they are extremely medical-intervention-happy. They seem to look at birth as a medical emergency and are prepared for any and all complications - which should be a comfort, and in part, it is, but I'm concerned about this "snowball effect" that I keep reading about. Although I realize that complications can and do happen, and certainly hope that that is not the case for us - and will be thankful, obviously, that I am somewhere that can handle complications if they should arise - the "snowball effect" concerns me: your labor isn't "progressing" (meaning you've been laboring in the hospital for, like, six hours ) so they give you Oxytocin, "Pitocin". Now, you're in horrible, horrific pain so throw on that epidural. Now the labor has slowed down and the baby's respirations have slowed as well (due to the drugs), so guess what? Congratulations, you get a C-section! Some theorize that this is a direct result of the very real risk of litigation that OB/GYN's face. Others say that hospitals are also, at least in part, to blame - they want you in and out. When it comes to your child, what kind of risks are you willing to take? If they tell you that your unborn baby's respirations have slowed down, what would you do? Fight it? Not likely. You will be scared out of your mind and likely scream BRING ON THE C-SECTION. Could this have been avoided? Maybe. Maybe not. At my medical-intervention-happy hospital, the minute a laboring woman walks in the door, she is given an IV. An IV! I find this ludicrous - if only because this is NOT a requirement at all hospitals. Furthermore, they administer pitocin routinely after the baby is born to expel the placenta. Although hemorrhaging is one of, if not the highest cause of maternal death (which can happen due to complications with expelling the placenta), the actual risk is very, very slim. And again, this is not a universal requirement. And hey - in general, women actually expel the placenta naturally! And breastfeeding helps. Imagine that. Anyway - I realize that a birth plan is silly in some ways - I have to be prepared for anything happening, including a c-section or pain medications or other things that I don't think I want. I do realize that. And I have no issue with someone knowing that they want an epidural, either. It's just something I would rather avoid. I am having an open mind - I've never been through labor before, so who knows how I will react? And the important thing, really, is the Kid and his welfare. This is really a very short period of time and meeting my son and taking care of him is what really matters.

Starting to Believe . . .

There are still moments when I find all of this, well, shocking, amazing, unbelievable. I wasn't able to read books on birth or child care until, well, very, very recently - which makes things a little daunting as I try to read as many books as possible in these last few weeks. Not to mention trying to absorb the information.



We had our child care class last night. While the husband looked on lovingly at his swaddled fake baby (his swaddling is much better than mine, by the way, who knew?) - I couldn't help but to feel . . . overwhelmed, scared, unprepared. Bathing seems entirely frightening. The amount of clothes to dress them in? And SIDS. Just her mentioning SIDS practically had me running from the room sobbing (I am pregnant, donchaknow).



Then there are moments like these . . . when I go to the Stirrup Queen website and see that my blog has moved on the blogroll from "Pregnancy Loss" to "Pregnancy After Infertility or Loss" and I'm just, again, so incredibly shocked . . . and thrilled . . . and in disbelief, that this is really happening. It's really quite extraordinary. The husband always believed . . . I cannot say that I was always in that same mind set.



I have a feeling I'm going to still feel shock and disbelief (and elation!) for a very long time to come.

Uh, WHAT?

I have less than five weeks left. LESS THAN FIVE WEEKS. This is mind boggling. Truly. And we have so much yet to do. We've decided to stay in our 1 bedroom apartment for the first few months, keeping the bambino in our bedroom with us and then moving to a bigger place. Renting or buying is still up in the air. It's been kind of a run down memory lane for both of us as we try to make more space and wade through all of our junk. I think it's making us both feel nostalgic and anxious (we have so much junk! SO MUCH JUNK that we can't seem to part with!). I brought out the old junior high year books - and eee gads - those were some frightening years, for the both of us. I have to say, preemptively, sorry kid, it's likely genetic.

I was feeling pretty good about myself, I found a glider and ottoman in excellent shape for $80. It's listed at $800 retail. $800!!!! Then I made the realization, today, that the bellini changing table top I purchased in order to save space (attaches to any dresser) was NOT the best purchase in the world when I could have simply purchased a changing table cushion for anywhere from $25 - $50 and called it a day. If I keep the bellini (I purchased it used - I'd have to resell it), I still have to purchase a pad, too. Ugh.

Nothing else new to report - except that last time I saw the doc, the Kid's head was in the downward position - which I was thrilled with - but also kind of knew, since my ability to walk has completely altered in the last week or so. It's waddling time, baby!

Just an Observation

Apparently, according to Amazon, customers who bought a knitting book for babies (clarification: when I say "knitting book for babies" I don't actually mean the book was designed for gifted babies who can already knit, but presumably, for their adults), also bought Sports Illustrated Swimsuit: The Complete Portfolio. Huh.

It Never Leaves You

I've begun knitting a hat for the Kid and because I've decided that I am now the world's most experienced knitter and can handle something more advanced, I've started searching around for some punk/crazy/cool knitting patterns for babies. I was directed to one blogger's site and as I read her most recent entry, I slowly began to realize that she's just suffered a miscarriage. The pain . . . I'm not sure that it ever truly leaves you. You may think about it less often, less obsessively perhaps, but it is always there. It is always painful. She's a beautiful writer and I am so very sorry for her loss. Read her story here.

Stopping Lovenox

As someone who has the potential for a clotting disorder but who has had no actual outward signs of a clotting disorder, except for four miscarriages, the lovenox/heparin was administered to give me some peace of mind and because I continued to insist upon it. Over the course of this pregnancy and before, I'd read that most physicians stop the lovenox/heparin at around 36 weeks. When I asked my doc about this yesterday - he said between 34 to 36 weeks was fine. The Husband then asked how will we know if there's a problem and the doc said that essentially, we won't. But he also said the likelihood of there being a problem is very, very remote. This unfortunately gives me little assurance because, hey, you know, this is my kid! Today, unfortunately, I started in on doctor google and found out that most people were switched from lovenox to heparin at around 36 weeks because the effects of the heparin can be stopped easily via medication. In other words, if I had to have a c-section or an epidural, there would be little to no concern that I would bleed out if I switched back to heparin. Again, I was of the mind that I had to stop it completely. If you've had experience with heparin/lovenox during pregnancy what did you do? I'm very concerned about what this could mean if I cease taking it - but recognize that it could have no effect at all.

I Knew This Was Coming Soon

I just had someone at work ask me when I was due. When I told him, his eyes bugged out and he made a few utterances about how far away that seemed. Not realizing, at all, what I was walking into, and frankly being impressed that it seemed long to him versus those who are constantly telling me I have no time left, I told him that it seems long for me, too. And THEN he said, "I mean, it's just that you are so HUGE." Wow. Anyone want to represent me after I give this guy a knuckle sandwich?

The Baby Sugars

So, we attended our first birthing class. And I'm so glad that I signed up for it. The instructor seems super savvy, funny and no-nonsense. She also has a pretty impressive background. We were instructed to go around the room and introduce ourselves, give three personal facts and mention an issue we'd like to see addressed during the course. In general, I find talking about myself, even for a minute, excruciating (I turn bright red when my boss even mentions that I'm pregnant - weird, yes. Explainable? No.). After my quick, quick intro, wherein I restrained myself from saying that my big concern was finding out how I could pay someone else to go through the birthing process for me, it was The Husband's turn. The Husband indicated that he wanted to understand everything about the process so that he could remain calm. The next guy to speak said, "Unlike The Husband over there, this is about HER and I want to do what I can to make HER calm, it's not about ME." Wow. What a douche. I don't think The Husband meant he wanted to remain calm so he could stay down in the lounge and read, but, uh, OK. Anyway, there was an extremely adorable pregnant there who said that she was just diagnosed with gestational diabetes and was extremely fearful of needles and of having an overly large baby. I know that it is manageable, but when you read about what can occur to your child if you have it, it is a very scary thing. This pregnant seemed so fragile and so scared. The instructor did say that it's become much more common and it's much more easily managed than in years past, which I hope was a comfort. I wanted to get a chance to talk to her a little bit about the needle thing, but there wasn't time. I too have had a bit of an issue with needles - but the Lovenox thing has become so routine that it almost bores me. I find it annoying because I am sick of doing it, not because I am so incredibly fearful of the pain (not, mind you, that I embrace the pain - sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't - I'd rather, of course, that it never hurt). And a few times, when I've pushed around on my stomach to find an area free from tenderness, The Kid has pushed back. How wild is that?

Oh, and I got the call this afternoon: gestational diabetes? Negative.

Huzzah.

I Vant to Drink Your Blood

To say that I become a tad stressed at the prospect of getting blood drawn is something of an understatement. After years of having people dig in my arms repeatedly only to have not even the tiniest amount of blood trickle out, I'm a little, um, anxious about it. So, I was a tad concerned, shall we say, about Friday's four blood draws. I was not all that concerned about the no eating or drinking after midnight mandate, however (and I was wrong about that one, oh, so wrong). The husband and I took a wonderful indulgence to get there (cab) with my unopened heating pad under my arm (I'd read that heat can help!) and I sat, unable to read, until I could see the phlebotomist. Needless to say, the phlebotomist laughed at my heating pad. And, she was fantastic. She did not have to do multiple pokes each time - she got it on the first draw. And she told me that I wasn't a difficult draw - but that other "phlebotomists" may be, essentially, idiots. Nice. It was also met with some amusement by the husband when I was brought to the front of the line each hour on the hour because the timing was essential for the test. I really thought there might be a throw down. People don't, apparently, like it when others are moved to the front of the line for blood draws. Personally, I could care less - I can put it off a few more minutes? Sounds great. One woman started to throw a little fit about it (her husband was having the blood drawn) and the calm, cool, collected phlebotomist explained that my test was timed and her husband would just have to wait. The funny thing is that it didn't appear that any of these people had actually been waiting all that long - they just did not like someone cutting in front of them. What I did not expect, however, was the cold sweat I developed while waiting for our lunch at a great place called Good Health. I felt, wretched. Not eating or drinking for hours, having a fasting blood draw, consuming a repulsive cola flavored "drink" and then having blood drawn every hour on the hour, apparently can render one a tad ill. I felt more normal after eating but WOW, yuck. Anyway, I'm really, really, really hoping that I do not have this. It makes me quite worried about the bambino, who, by the way, has started moving around in there something fierce. I've told a few people how at times, his movements feel so weird, so odd, that I have to get up and move around in the hopes that they will cease. Most people look at me like I've lost my mind - you know, wow, this one isn't very maternal, is she? But sometimes the movement is so bizarre that it, frankly, weirds me out. But for the most part, I do love it. I love hanging with him. The first time I told someone that sometimes I find his movements a bit unsettling, he barely moved for a very long time. So, lesson learned, watch what you say in front of the kids.

Panic Spiral

So, I had the gestational diabetes screening test done last week. Yesterday, as I was walking (in a huff, I might add, I was extremely crabby - I barely slept the night before and was overheating) to the Park to hang with the Husband and go for a walk, I noticed that I missed a call while in the subway. The message from the nurse sounded ominous . . . something along the lines of, "We have your blood test results back, it's not an emergency but please call us in the morning." The Husband was dubious, "You don't have gestational diabetes!" As much as I love it when he plays doctor, I did not take his diagnosis as the final say. I was convinced that her tone indicated that I had a positive screen and would need to do the follow-up diagnostic test. Unfortunately, I was correct. I have to go in for the three hour test wherein I fast and then get poked for blood every hour. I've been anxious the whole pregnancy about my weight - I started out so much heavier than normal and have gained about twenty pounds so far. Although that's in the normal range, my goal was to gain twenty-five TOTAL. I can't help but to think that this latest issue is directly related to my weight (and why shouldn't I think that? It's a risk factor). Reading through several websites and my three trillion pregnancy books makes me also realize how serious and dangerous this is for the Kid. I'll be scouring gestational diabetes diet plans for the next week - and upping my exercise, hoping that this will result in negative diagnostic test. And that is all I can say - I'm trying not to go into a panic spiral - but, that's easier said than done.

The Tale of Frankenfoot and Trigger Finger

Ah, the wonders of the strange going-ons in one’s pregnant body. As I approach the third trimester (HOLY TOLEDO!) I’m having some, um, interesting issues. Occasionally I’ll glance down at my feet and it appears that they have been stolen and replaced by Fred Flinstone’s. They are, shall we say, large, frighteningly large. A little feet elevation and more water usually does the trick - but I am unable to wear about 99% of my shoes. Which is why I became obsessed with Crocs - thinking that those were the answer. I bought a pair of Mary Jane like Crocs (my husband banned me from looking at the traditional style) that I wore around work for awhile - but I began to feel ridiculous (Does everyone know that I am wearing plastic garden shoes right now? With a suit? Did she just look at me weirdly? She’s wondering why I’m wearing these to work! I just know it.) So I moved onto a larger, wide size shoe from a cheapy shoe store instead. I occasionally grow out of those, too. I finally broke down and bought some super expensive, super comfy flip flops which work most of the time. In addition to Frankenfoot, I now spend my nights with a wrist splint strapped tightly to my right hand because my fingers go numb constantly throughout the night - and it takes a very, very long time to revive them and occasionally, the numbness returns just after I’m convinced it’s gone. This does not bode well for restful sleep (I did however, recently dream that I professed my love to that actor from Entourage - all while very, very pregnant. Sadly, he did not return the sentiment. Dream-me was quite crushed, and had to walk away in shame). Most recently I awoke with a new issue, the pinky finger on my left hand appears to have come out of joint, but doesn’t remain that way after I’ve gotten up and waddled around the apartment for a spell. The first time I found it quite disturbing. I’ve since learned (courtesy of “Doctor Google) that it’s called, “Trigger Finger” and may be pregnancy related (apparently not only do my feet swell, but my tendons swell as well (and nerves compress) - hence, the trigger issue and the numbness - which may be pregnancy-related carpal tunnel). Now I wear a wrist splint and a finger brace. I know! Sexy! When I told me doc all of my recent woes, he said, “Yep, and it’s just going to get worse.” Grand. The good news is, however, supposedly this will all go away once the babe makes his grand entrance.

On the other hand, I’m actually beginning to see my BELLY MOVE when the baby does. It’s amazing. I thoroughly enjoy knowing his routine - he’s super busy in the mornings (I think he might be constructing a house, or maybe playing cards in there) and then he’s super busy again around 8 PM. Although I realize he's likely following my routine (sleeping when I'm busy, busy when I'm not) I enjoy thinking that he's a morning person, like his father.

Thank you all for your great suggestions on names - several of those names lost their favor once we tried them out with the Husband's last name. Although he denies it, he has a very difficult last name to work with. A lot of names rhyme with his last name - and not in a good way. However, we will be hyphenating the bambino’s last name (shocking! Call the national guard! How could we! It’ll be SO long! How will he survive?) so that could soften the blow somewhat, but it’s unlikely. Still, though, the Husband is set on a name, and has even begun calling him that name - while I’m still on the fence about it.

I’m very, very excited to have the third trimester near - it’s truly amazing. I’m constantly amazed. And although I complain about my most recent issues, they are really so very minor. And so very worth it.

How to Make a Pregnant Woman Cry

1. Be iTunes
2. Decide to "sync" iPod for no apparent reason
3. Erase 90% of music from said iPod
4. Make sure that music you erase was not previously burned to disc (someone in this scenario is a dumb ass, and it's not iTunes)

The Name Game

I had my reservations about starting this - somehow the idea of considering a name that people in the blogosphere suggest seems to cheapen the whole idea about naming your kid. I even posted something - and then withdrew it. But I am at a loss. There are several names that we like - and it's important to me that the middle name is a family name or means something fairly significant to us - but the first name? I want something solid that says "Good, upstanding citizen." The problem is - most of the names that I have chosen or we have chosen are a little fancy pants. And that worries me. Also, nothing is speaking to me yet as "his name." Almost, maybe, but I'm still unsure. So, what the hell, hit me with your best shot - if you are willing to give up a favorite boy name, I'm curious to hear it. Or read it. Whatever the case may be. Also, we're desperately trying to steer clear of uber popular, trendy names. So no to Noah (although I love that name) or Mason. One of our top five, happens to be a popular name. But, well . . . we're not perfect.

P.S. - if fancy pants names float your boat - I'm interested in those, too!

Good Nutrition

I recently read a post on one of my favorite blogs regarding nutrition during pregnancy. I understand that his wife miscarried several times before this pregnancy. As the one who does the bulk (?) of the cooking, he is trying to achieve a nutritionally balanced diet for his wife while she is pregnant. So, they consulted a nutritionist. And while said nutritionist may not have had a TV (horrors!) it appears that she gave some pretty sound advice - try to eat more whole foods versus foods with additives. Try to eat more fruits and vegetables. What I don't get, however, are the comments. Many of the people who commented seem to equate trying to eat well, or at least her advice, as despicable. Why? I find this so incredibly strange. I am trying to eat well during my pregnancy and I am far from perfect in my attempts - but I would never fault someone else for trying to eat well. And although I complained about people exercising and climbing mountains during their pregnancies - it's only because I was so sad that I wasn't able to continue to exercise during the early part of this pregnancy. I happen to enjoy exercising. I had dreams of running throughout my pregnancy. I know that may seem crazy - but running is really one of my most favorite things to do. And no, I'm not thrilled that I am as big as a house - but I am also trying to ignore that and think about the kid and his needs. I would think anyone would recognize that eating well during pregnancy can only benefit mother and child. If you want to eat junk food all throughout your pregnancy, that's your prerogative - but why get upset if someone else is trying to eat well? I only have one shot at this - this kid is only in my womb, developing like this, once. This is HIS life, not my life. I'm far from perfect - but the junk I do eat upon occasion (I had my share of Pringles during the first trimester) I try to combat by also eating as many fruits and veggies as I can. And frankly, I feel better when I do.

Now go eat your damn Twinkies.

Does Size Matter?

Let me begin this by saying that I am incredibly grateful to even BE in this position. And in the scheme of things, as long as this doesn't mean anything other than, perhaps, my own vanity and discomfort, it's really no big shakes. That being said, I'm not quite sure what happened - but one minute I was a little upset because I wasn't really showing - but wasn't entirely fitting into my clothes (bella bands, rubber bands, large pants, rejoice!) and the next minute? Well, I look about nine months pregnant. No, really. I wanted to look pregnant. I felt weird as people continued to act stunned when I revealed how far along I was - I wanted that badge of honor. But hey, the joke is on me. I've become huge. And, have I said, uncomfortable? Huge and uncomfortable. I don't know if it's the fact that I weighed so much more than normal when I started out this time around, the restricted activity for the first four months and/or the 12-15 pounds that I've gained since becoming pregnant - but I am the size of a small planet. And although they tell you that this time of pregnancy is the "honeymoon" trimester where you feel better, have more energy, etc., that's not what's happening here. I'm uncomfortable. I feel like I'm carrying around a bowling ball. My feet are swelling up. And I have heartburn 24/7. Although this isn't really all that bad, I suppose, I'm a tad afraid of what's in store for me as the pregnancy progresses . . . every woman is different and every pregnancy is different, but really? If I look nine months now, WHAT WILL I LOOK LIKE COME OCTOBER? Believe me, I'm thrilled, ultimately with all of it, I feel lucky, I feel grateful, but I also, yes, feel totally uncomfortable. And you? If you jogged three trillion miles a day all while feeling completely wonderful, I really don't want to hear about it . . .

Pink or Blue

I live with all males. I have two male dogs. One male cat. And the husband, as you've likely guessed, is also male. I have believed throughout this entire pregnancy that I am carrying a boy. Why? I do not know - I just have. I have had a VERY difficult time looking at girl names, in fact, I've actually thought, "Why are we looking at girl names anyway? I know it's a boy." A woman at work, who says that she "knows things, has feelings about things" (and hey, maybe she does) has said repeatedly, that although I am "carrying like it's a boy" she sees girl. I shrug my shoulders and tell her that I feel, however, that it's a boy. I've also bought all boy clothing - despite the fact that I had no definitive proof of the baby's gender. It just seemed wrong to buy anything girlie or neutral - because I just felt like, it's a boy, why buy some lame yellow or white outfit (and anyone who tells you that neutral baby clothes are just as cute as gender specific clothes is completely out to lunch, if you ask me, which you didn't)? My mother's side is all girls, everyone, until my sister came along, has had girls. My sister, defied the odds (although yes, it's totally determined by the male, but whatever) by having three boys and then one girl. When the first boy came along, we stared at him and didn't know quite what to do with him. A boy! What does one do with boy?! When the girl finally came along, we stared at HER and weren't quite sure what to do with her - so used to boys we'd become.

In all this, although you might say things have been "planned" (Clomid, IUI, etc.) it didn't feel that way - everything about my reproductive life in the past three plus years has felt completely, utterly, and absolutely unplanned, in so many ways. So, it was an easy decision for us to want to know the gender. And the husband has been anxiously awaiting the 20 week scan in the hopes that we would find out. I, on the other hand, was mainly concerned that the scan would show no anomalies but was, excited (when I let myself) to know as well. So, when it came time for the 20 week scan, the minute I laid down I said, "We would like to know the sex, if you are able to tell." She did a beautiful job of telling us exactly what she was doing and that each and every measurement was normal. However, the little bugger was in a transverse position, with the head near my right side and the rump near my left. The hands were also in front of the face. This made it nearly impossible to see a clear view of the lips or of the heart. And despite the fact that I tried to jump around, poke at my stomach, drink juice, and lay on my left, the bugger wouldn't budge. So, I have to go back next week for those remaining two measurements. At the very end, she said, "Let's find out if the room will be pink or will it be blue?" She moved the scanner around and at last said, "Boy. It's a boy!" And I yelled, "I KNEW IT!" like a complete lunatic. Later, the husband said, "My son" and we both laughed and carried on with the delight of it all. A son. We're going to have a son. And we couldn't be more thrilled.

MOVEMENT!

There is really nothing quite like the first time you realize that someone is moving around in there. The doc told me at the last visit that if I hadn't felt it already, I would soon. I thought at that time that I may have - but I wasn't really sure. This week, however, it's been coming on with much more frequency. Something is really happening in there. I'm not sure what he/she is doing, but I'm sure it involves something like calculus. There's a lot of fluttering and occasional tap, tap, tapping. I keep imagining the little guy in there pointing his index finger and jabbing, rhythmically, at the sides of my stomach, which I thought odd. My sister pointed out that it's more like swimming - so one stroke, two strokes, three strokes feels like a jab, jab, jab. When it happens, when I'm say, sitting around with other people, I just want everything to stand still so I can pay as close attention as possible to the happenings inside the womb. It's such a wild, wild and wonderful thing.

The parentals are in town for my birthday (today) and my father's birthday (Friday). It's been a great visit - although occasionally, they drive me completely bat shit. I can't help but think about how this will play out exactly the same way, thirty-six years from now - the husband and I driving our little one bonkers - all the while we look on in confusion. It's sad, really, but possibly inevitable, no?

I'll write more later, but currently I need to hoist myself into bed - I was falling asleep on the new club chair we just bought (yay). This is the first time we've bought a truly nice piece of furniture, in, oh, say, ever - and just think, it will likely be the last, as now, we have to have things that are kid-proof. Grateful? Absof#$(*!%lutely.

Cheers.

The Cape

We spent the weekend at the Cape. We sat at many restaurants looking through a name book - which was at times daunting and strange. We napped. We ate. We biked (a little). Waiters asked my due date. I talked to a woman in a kitchen store about her jogging stroller. We bought a few baby clothes. And all the while I felt afraid. Afraid to let myself go. I do not know if this is a healthy pregnancy. Still. I do not know. And I am afraid to know. I am afraid of the miscarriage risk, but I am also afraid to know. Once I know, there is no turning back. I have to begin accepting, dealing, moving forward. For now, I can deny.

The rest of the time was spent with the husband reassuring me that, in the end, everything is going to be all right. Sometimes I forget that it's not just me who is going through this - the infertility, the miscarriages, the possibility of our continuing to have problems. This child, whomever this child is, is part of other people's lives too, those who love us. I forget that. I forget that I am not completely alone in this. My sister signed off an e-mail recently with, "I love you and I love the baby." If something is wrong with my child - I will be angry. I will despair. I will blame myself. I already do. But I am not entirely alone. Grief is a lonely business. But supporting and loving this child does not need to be.

To Amnio or Not to Amnio

Although you may have thought I'd closed the chapter on the whole nuchal scan issue and have been kicking around the city gleefully purchasing new maternity clothes because I have accepted my potential fate, whatever that may be, that's not exactly true. The more I thought about the results of the nuchal scan/blood test (high hCG) the more I thought I should talk to a genetics counselor. Conversations with my sister (long time RN and currently studying to be an NP, but no background in obstetrics - besides having four kids) and searching on-line is probably not the best way to handle potentially devastating news. So, we met with one yesterday. For some reason, I thought that it might alleviate some of my concerns. It did not. I wanted to get as many facts as I could about the risk of amnio, so that I would feel like I made an informed decision not to have one. Also, I wanted to get a better analysis of my results. This is what I learned (according to the counselor):
1) There is no known genetic link to Downs - in other words, just because no one in my family has Downs and no one in the husband's family has Downs, does not mean we have a lower risk of having Downs. The risk is completely about the age of the mother. This surprised me. I have read some studies, briefly, about a potential risk between the MTHFR gene and Downs, but let's ignore that, thank you very much.
2) I will be 36 at the due date - the analysis increased my risk to that of a 37 year old. However, from what I've read, it's more like 38.
3) Although the PAPP-A and the nuchal were considered normal, the hCG was decidedly not. They want the numbers to be around 1. A number above 1 for the hCG and below 1 for PAPP-A gives a higher risk for Downs. My hCG was quite a bit above 1, but again, the PAPP-A was normal. The counselor did say that it was the hCG that placed me into that risk category.
4) When I asked what the analysis would be if you changed my age to 25 or 30 she basically said that wouldn't make any sense because the risk at 25 or 30 is so much lower, therefore, the results would be meaningless - because it's all about the age of the mother.
5) The blood tests in the first trimester are actually more accurate than those given in the second.
6) I still have less than 1% chance of carrying a baby with Downs. However, I could be that one person . . .
7) The national average for "complications" from amnio is 1/400. Complications include, but are not limited to, severe cramping, bleeding, leaking amniotic fluid and miscarriage. I've read that the risk of miscarriage from amnio is 1% - but it's hard to quantify. The hospital does not have their own averages for complications from amnio. I found this highly irritating.
8) Upon learning that the husband is a teacher, she basically went on to say what a cake job teaching is, you know, summers off, etc. This did not sit well with the husband.
9) She seemed to be pushing for the amnio because "the birth is supposed to be happy, and what if they take the baby away suddenly and all the doctors are trying to figure out what's wrong, wouldn't that be horrible?" I found this completely bizarre. Right, because even if I had the amnio and the baby was normal, that means that there is absolutely no possibility that there could be complications. Is it possible that she receives kick backs from each amnio performed? One wonders.
10) She doesn't necessarily think blood tests are great tools because you could just have a concentration of one thing in that particular blood draw. In other words, we could have had the test done fifty more times and my hCG would be normal. On the other hand, they could take the blood 100 times and one time it shows a problem, and there really is a problem.
11) I hate genetics counselors and I'm still not having the amnio.

The End.

********
I should have mentioned that we will be having the 20 week scan and we'll know more then, potentially, and the amnio is still available at that time. Again, though, the risk of a miscarriage from the amnio is still higher than my statistical risk for carrying a child with Downs.

Hello, Maternity Mega-Store!

Ah, it's an upside down, crazy world when you start thinking these jeans not only look comfortable, but down right kicky!

But am I grateful for this sudden foray into all things elastic and stretchy-paneled? You better believe it.

Moving On . . .

I'm definitely in a different place than I was a few days ago - I'm more relaxed, less hysterical. I wish I'd never had the test done - I'm not going to do the amnio - although the risk may seem minimal, if I did miscarry - even if it had nothing to do with the amnio, I would never forgive myself.

The test consisted of the nuchal scan, body scan and blood tests. As you know, it's not a diagnostic test, but merely a statistical analysis. The nuchal scan wasn't really the issue - the nuchal scan was normal to high normal. There is a nasal bone. The rest of the scan was completely normal - no abnormalities were detected. The blood work, however, is another story. I was just over normal on one and a little bit just over that for the other (hCG and PAPP-A). What further tipped the scale is my age. Additionally, according to my sister's own analysis, they used to do the nuchal translucency test in the second trimester but found that the nuchal scan was more accurate at 11 - 14 weeks (13 weeks, 6 days). The blood tests, however, are more accurate in the second trimester. She thinks I should have those redone and then also wait for the Level II ultrasound (offered to all my doctor's patients).

I've spent plenty of time on message boards in the last couple of days reading of women who had a higher risk than myself, did the amnio and all is well. Of course, there are those where the amnio confirmed the chromosomal abnormality - but that seems to not be the norm (at least in my reading). However, I'm trying to just accept my fate - and enjoy this pregnancy, enjoy seeing my child grow, whatever lays ahead. I don't have a problem, specifically, with having a child with special needs, it just will take some readjustment. But I am also not so naive as to think that it is an easy life, or the life I dreamed of for my child. Again, you reassess, you readjust, you deal. I also do not have an issue with someone who would choose to terminate their pregnancy - it's just not something at this point in my life I could do. Going through four miscarriages was difficult and I'm not willing to let this one go. I already love this child. Whomever he or she may be.

Thank you for all your comments. They are a comfort.

Nuchal @#()#*)(* Nuchal

And there I was getting all caught up in the likely non-existent lead poisoning debacle when I had so much more to be worried about: the nuchal transulcency test results. According to my doc, at my age (the practically teen aged 35), the risk of Downs is slightly elevated, but still low, considering it is at less than one percent (my google research shows 1/400 or .0025). The results of the nuchal test elevated that to slightly higher but still less than one percent (1/161 or .006). I don't want to have an amnio - I'm fearful of the miscarriage risk (although small). And I also know that at less than 1%, it's still likely (one hopes, one hopes) that things are fine. However, I'm worried that you will read this and think, "Oh, no, that is bad. I've never heard of such a high risk!" I'm worried that maybe I should have an amnio - even though I've been against it since day one. I've been reading a few other blogs who had nuchal scares - and their statics were somewhere in the 1/250 range. Shudder.

The doc seemed mellow about it, however. He indicated that some people probably would have an amnio with my results - but when pressed, said that he himself, if it were him, probably would not (the mental picture of him pregnant, was amusing). He also said I should keep in mind that he's just not the overly anxious type and he's had patients with a 1/5 chance of Downs who, in the end, did not have a Downs baby.

One minute I'm fine and sure all is well, and the next minute, well, I'm crying while trying to puncture myself with a needle filled with heparin.

Ah, onwards and upwards, dear ones. I suppose only time will tell.

Lead Paint

So, I have something new to obsess and panic about - lead paint. Yay me! I was in a "home" this weekend for about five minutes that has some serious lead paint problems. I was in another home a couple of weeks ago, also with a lead paint problem. We're very casually looking at places to buy and occasionally I come across a "fixer-upper" and then proceed to force my husband to go take a look. Of course, every time we go we shout, "Oh my gawd! This place is a nightmare" and run screaming down the street. We are in and out very fast, considering. At any rate, I've been reading a little about lead paint exposure and came across this, "No level of lead exposure can be considered safe." I'm completely freaking out that I've caused brain damage to my unborn child by looking at some horrifically decrepit "homes" that are in serious need of repair (but the asking price is so REASONABLE, cough, cough). What do you think? Don't mince words, seriously. I may even ask my doc to test me for lead paint exposure. Am I losing it or do I have reason to be concerned?

Waterlogged

We had the nuchal translucency scan yesterday. We saw him (I'm using "him", for now), the Bean, wiggling about, moving every which way, flipping over constantly and refusing to uncross his legs. We were on such a high afterwards that we went and bought a ridiculously overpriced tiny, tiny vintage superheroes t-shirt from a chi chi Upper East Side baby clothing boutique. It's very the husband. Then we proceeded to call a ton of friends to tell them about my status, including the friends who told us they were pregnant very early on and are a week behind us. They actually didn't seem overly enthused. Which kind of saddened me - but who knows? Perhaps they are mad we didn't tell them sooner and are feeling ridiculous for their constant apologies for being pregnant around us (we kept telling them, no need, no need). Anyway, although initially I was feeling fantastic about it all, it didn't take long for the usual worry and anxiety to return. I won't know for another week how the scan went. And I know that it's only a statistical analysis (blood test for markers, age of the mother, size of the nuchal fold) and isn't a diagnostic test - but it still scares me. The ultrasound tech did say that from her point of view, at least, it looked OK - and there is a nasal bone, which is also a good sign. I didn't know, at the time, what size of the nuchal fold is considered normal so wasn't able to make my own mad Google analysis (perhaps this is good?). However, I did take it upon myself to find a thousand photos of other nuchal translucency scans to compare ours - I kept thinking, I don't know, it looks too big, it looks too big. The husband did point out that as far as he knew I had not trained in ultrasound technology, but what does he know? Anyway, we'll know in a week.

Next dilemma - when do I tell the boss?

Also, is there some horribly evil person behind the whole, "drink five hundred gallons of water an hour before your ultrasound"? It was excruciating.

"Labor of Love"

As someone who has gone through infertility treatments and worked with no less than three reproductive endocrinologists, I am saddened but by no means shocked by this man's treatment by reproductive specialists, his family and friends. The author, a transgendered female to male sought treatment to become pregnant because his wife had a hysterectomy due to severe endometriosis. I in no way mean to imply that the situation isn't mind-bending, it is, and it raises a lot of questions, but no one deserves to be told that it's a good thing that their pregnancy didn't survive because it was likely "a monster." Long ago I read the book, She's Not There and one of my favorite all time books is Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Both explore sexual and gender identity and both protagonists lived a life of incredible anguish because they felt as though they were born to the wrong bodies. If he had done this so that a sibling could have had a child would the perception have been different? How many of us in the infertility community have been shunned in some way because we should "just adopt"? The author of the article, Thomas Beatie, writes, ". . . our situation ultimately will ask everyone to embrace the gamut of human possibility and to define for themselves what is normal." It's an intriguing story. Read about it here.

Birthing Plans?

So, the husband claims that I am becoming more and more irritable and is blaming it on my current status. When I asked him to explain why then I found him highly annoying upon occasion while not knocked up, he said,"PMS." He was joking, of course, and although it did make me laugh, it also gave me pause. Am I more irritable than normal? I don't know. I do know that when my sister sent a long e-mail about birthing plans, a subject she is very, very into, I became highly annoyed. I e-mailed back to try to explain that this is a day to day thing for me, my next appointment will take place three weeks after my last one (and who knows what's going on in there) and I just can't think that far ahead. Just one of the many difficult outcomes of going through infertility, recurrent miscarriages, etc. But she didn't really get it. She responded by e-mailing that she'd try to bring it up again in a month or so. I responded by telling her that if I cared to discuss it, I'd bring it up. Partially, I'm just too scared. Simple as that. You start making birthing plans, you start buying cribs, and then your world falls apart . . . I seriously may have to send people out for diapers and a crib WHILE IN THE HOSPITAL, like one of those ladies who doesn't know she's pregnant until she gives birth . . .

All I care about is the kid being ALIVE and HEALTHY. I don't care about home births, water births, unmedicated births, epidurals, pitocin and the like. There may have been a time, long ago, pre-multiple miscarriages, when I had the luxury to care about such things, but that time has past. I do care somewhat about c-sections and episiotomies (something I would like to avoid), but also told my doctor that if the baby is in distress, slice me open.

The thing is, it's needling at me. Perhaps I should care? Perhaps I should be thinking about such things (already?). Am I a bad parent (already?) If I don't start making birthing plans now? Do birthing plans even work? Isn't it better to relax and realize that you don't really have that much control?

Not to let all her wisdom go to waste (I really do love my sister, and she is a long time nurse studying to be a nurse practitioner and also has four kids, so she does knows a little something on the subject), she recommends the following books: Your Baby and Child, by Penelope Leach, The Birth Book by William Sears and Martha Sears and Natural Child Birth the Bradley Way. She strongly advocates using doulas, breast feeding until the end of time (joking, or am I?) and natural child birth. What do you think? I ask this delicately, because I know you may not be in that position right now . . .

And trust me, if this works out, I know how damn lucky I am. And will be shocked for a long while. I just feel like I'm in a holding pattern, suspended in mid-air, always, until that next appointment. It's also very weird to have my family know - and a little unnerving, frankly. Again, expectations, dashed dreams. It's hard.

Out of the Closet

I called my parents yesterday and while talking to my pops realized that they'll actually be in California next week (the magic day when I was going to spill the beans - it actually says, "Spill the beans" on my calendar at work). I tried to slyly ask if they'd have their cell phones with them but they didn't seem to know and were quite confused as to why I was asking. So, I hung up, met up with the husband who was playing frisbee and made our way to the Met to see, "Depth of Field." I told the husband that I thought either we should tell both the parental units next Wednesday, wait until the nuchal transulcency scan on the 2nd or tell them right then - because all these dates were starting to seem arbitrary. I also felt that if the nuchal scan isn't great, I'm really going to need their support. The husband, who has been chomping at the bit to tell his parentals since day one, jumped at the chance to do so yesterday. So we did. His parents who have been desperate for grandchildren for about ten years (at least) and only have one now who isn't even a year old yet, and my parents, who have four grandchildren and seemed only concerned about the fact that we were unhappy, reacted quite differently. The husband's parents were very, very reserved. My father was so thrilled he got a little emotional. It was great. I think the husband's parents are scared and cautious and don't know what to do with such information. I think my sister was somewhat annoyed that I hadn't told her earlier - but she doesn't understand how superstitions and paranoia come into play in times like these. In fact, telling them all this early is a little suspect, although also, a relief.

The post about my father was taken down because I wasn't sure if I really wanted it out there - denial is a great coping mechanism and I plan on using it for all its worth for the time being. However, I decided it's weird to post it and then take it down. So , there it is.

Pops

In August of 2005, my father was diagnosed with renal cell carcinoma (kidney cancer) and had his kidney removed. In October of 2005, he was diagnosed with a distinct and unrelated cancer, non-Hodgkin lymphoma. I became pregnant in November of 2005 and miscarried in January. It has been one of my greatest fears that however I end up becoming a parent, my child won’t know my father. He just told me today, in between joking around, that he received the results back from a CT scan and will be starting chemo after a short visit to New York, mid-May. I’m not normally a crier - well, that’s not entirely true, but at the very least, I usually restrain myself to times and places I feel are more appropriate, but most definitely, not at work. When I got off the phone - I just sat in my office and sobbed. I started to believe, that maybe, just maybe, he’d licked this thing. This has hit me like a ton of bricks.

My parents don’t know of my status. We decided to tell them at the end of next week when I reached that magic number of weeks (you know the one). I certainly haven’t lost my fears on that front either - I saw my new doc on the 12th (very elegant, very French, very anti-episiotomy) and won’t seen anyone again until the 2nd when I have the nuchal fold scan.

So, I sit, I wait, I cry, and I worry about my pops.

And Another Thing . . .

What's with these people who JUST peed on the old the pee stick MOMENTS AGO and are immediately out shopping for car seats and the best 529s? Friends of ours just told us about their pregnancy at SIX WEEKS. Two weeks before that, LITERALLY TWO WEEKS BEFORE THAT, they began buying baby furniture and rearranging their guest bedroom. Are these people insane? Are they aliens? I'm completely baffled. Meanwhile NO ONE except for you and the good people (you know, random strangers with funny clipboards) at my clinic know of my status.

Boggles the mind, really.

So, right, she doesn't post for weeks, and now she won't shut up . . .

Carry on.

The "P" word

And I don't mean "prostitute".

I’m still in this in-between stage where I don’t quite know what to think - can I get excited yet? Can I start to believe? Does the fact that I’ve met a milestone I’d never met before matter? Of course, I’m afraid, because anything can still happen . . . but it was so incredible to hear that heart beat and to see that little guy who looked so much bigger than I’d imagined. I’m going to be slightly nutty for, OK, well, honestly FOREVER. I don’t want to be one of those hovering psycho moms - but I’m starting to understand that compulsion more and more.

Yesterday was really the first day (at least in the light of day) I looked at a p______ related book. Last Saturday I found myself reviewing a section in What to Expect when I couldn’t, for the third night in a row get back to sleep (FYI - even though you are exhausted, if you repeatedly wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep - stop taking mid-afternoon naps - even though they are delicious). I am actually beginning to let myself (for only brief interludes) contemplate how much time I’m going to take off (likely three months - although I’d like to take off six) and when, exactly, I’m going to tell my boss (something I can barely fathom). Yes, it might be premature - but in my p______ state, my mind wanders. (However I just read a note from my mother - her friend’s daughter just had a baby after four miscarriages - apparently the doctor said she was out of the danger zone only after she’d reached five months - so this gives me pause to slow down a little. But isn’t that wonderful? I’m so excited for her - and I do understand if you are not - I've known that feeling well).

I’ve also graduated to "fat pants." I’m not looking at all p______ (at least I don’t think so) but my waistbands are uncomfortable and tight. I’ve had to purchase a size I can’t even utter (I started out a little on the fatty side this time as well - I didn’t think IUIs actually worked - so I figured I had time to get the post-surgery-shingles-lethargy weight off, but hey, I’m fine with it - I’ll take it off later - and really, what I get in return is far more important than my own damn vanity, really).

Nausea has been a fun and exciting twist this time around. For awhile there - I wasn’t nauseous when hungry, only while eating or afterwards. So, brilliantly, one day, while feeling particularly green, I decided to forgo lunch. Mistake. I came home and dry heaved. In the sink.

I also can’t figure out the whole "cravings" thing. Nothing sounds appetizing, AT ALL, until one thing does COMPLETELY and then once I’ve tracked it down - it doesn’t live up to the hype. Yesterday the husband asked if I preferred a black bean quesadilla or Thai style spring rolls. I was no help at all because frankly, I was feeling queasy again. Anyway, once the husband made the decision to make quesadillas and I’d had one, I wanted, oh, say, about a dozen more. It’s frightening, really. Who is this person?

Anyway, I am still on heparin (and have the old banana looking stomach to prove it - actually, more like an old banana that’s been run over by a car). And Doctor Superman has released me into the capable hands of some OTHER doctor whom I’ll be meeting tomorrow - alone. The husband won’t be able to make it.

The big story around the water cooler here, though, involves a governor and his poor judgment. Oh, and a prostitute and money and the Mayflower Hotel. Discuss.