Mercy in 2012

I have some catching up to do here. I am aware. We have spent a month with our specialist and have been given some information about what may be going on with me and I will get to all of that, but I am working in my basement and a song just popped up on shuffle that ripped my heart out and has left me sobbing while my sweet girl sleeps.

You know that Phil Collins' song from Tarzan, "You'll Be in My Heart"?? Yeah that fucking song.

It is December 30, 2011. Tomorrow we will celebrate the end of 2011, not in a nostalgic way, but in a "piss the fuck off" sorta way. 2011 started for us with a cancer diagnosis for my father-in-law, continued on with the loss of an unborn child in April, the sale of our first home which was both a blessing and a stabbing because it left our proverbial wallet bleeding, the wicked death of my father in law, and the loss of a second unborn child in November. 2011 was riddled with loss for my family. We are blessed to have our health, our home and of course, our sweet Eva. We are strong for that.

I look at 2012 as it approaches and whisper to it that I welcome it's arrival and don't request it to bring me riches or spoil me with all that I want. My heart just begs it for mercy.

To D&C or not to D&C

Ultrasound results just in: nature is as nature does. Looks like our June bug has made a graceful exit from this world and into the next on her own terms (I am convinced it was a girl) and I won't need surgery. 

I am glad for that small miracle, but can't help to shed tears over the official end of this pregnancy. 

Goodbye my sweet June bug. Your absence is deafening and the promise of you is greatly missed. Mommy loves you, infinity very muches.

The Weight of a Date

November 11, 2011.

This date has been hanging over my head like a bad omen for seven months. Everyday since my first miscarriage, 11/11/11 has seemed to be just days away. Sitting there just around the corner, poised like a wild cat waiting to take me out. I have lived for months in the anxiety of this "due date". I did not get out of bed yesterday in anticipation of its finality.

I was supposed to have a baby today.

Instead, I went to my doctor's office for an ultrasound to confirm the completion of my second miscarriage. I will find out by Monday if I need to have a D&C or if nature took its own course in its own time.

I long for the children I have lost on this day and everyday. I am glad this day has come and gone so I could have an obvious excuse for making the grief of our losses the center of my attention, but I cannot continue to live in this space.

I wholeheartedly wish the outcome was different and I was holding a warm and precious bundle in my arms tonight. I wish it was the tiny cries of a newborn keeping me awake tonight and not the screams of their absence. I cannot change what is. I can only appreciate the tiny blonde ball of energy who has chosen tonight to wage the battle of determination to wear her Halloween cow costume as pajamas. My soul aches with appreciation of the gift we received in Eva. I can only feel luck in the support I have from my husband, who hurts to see me hurt even as he hurts himself. Tonight, our home is warm with the love shared between the Shire Three.

Seeing red in the search for solutions

So you read my last post, right? About the newest item to find a home in our refrigerator??  Are you ready for the punchline????

It was all for nothing.

I called my OB the next morning, saying, "I got it. Now what?". The nurse called me back about an hour later and said she had been misinformed. She was going by how many technical weeks I had been (half way through the 8th) and not by how far along the baby measured (half way through the 6th). Turns out I wasn't far enough along for them to be able to do the chromosomal testing on the tissue. 

I could, however, take my little treasure in its ziploc bag and go to maternity triage at the hospital, wait for hours on end because I am literally of the lowest possible priority because I AM NO LONGER PREGNANT (i write that in red because it makes me see in red) so anytime a pregnant woman signs in with whatever random issue, I get bumped to the bottom of the list. But if I wanted to endure watching woman after woman being admitted to have their precious babies hour after hour, I could do so and I could bring my baggie. I could have them confirm the miscarriage via triage ultrasound, then get wheeled through the entire hospital down to radiology for the thorough ultrasound I had last year (I have walked this course before, remember) to have a THIRD person confirm our loss just over a lab test technicality. Then I could give them my "sample" and they could send it off for special testing from there.  So if I want to sit through hours of mind-numbing pointlessness, humiliation, slap in the face after slap in the face to get it tested on the off chance it was a chromosomal anomaly, when it is completely likely that the test will tell us nothing, or what I thought was the embryonic tissue is actually a strange blood clot, or the sample I captured isn't large enough to test, or that it wasn't the result of any genetic misfires at all and all I end up with is anger, lost hours, and seemingly endless depression to go along with a huge insurance bill.......well if I want all that, then yes, I can have it tested.

The anger bubbled up in Matt and I so fast and so fiercely we could have hardly anticipated it. No we do not wish to put ourselves through that, but thanks for the opportunity. We will pass.

When we regained some sanity, we decided the information the test would give us would not provide us with any sense of peace. If these babies were struck with chromosomal bad luck twice, then the absence of a specialist finding anything will tell us that or genetic testing will show us we are both carriers for some whacked out crazy genetic situation. We will get our answers. Even the absence of answers will be answers.  And when they come, even that won't give us peace. 

Peace is not in the answers, it's in the solutions. 

Things you think you'd never do on a Monday night

It's after just after midnight on Tuesday. I was almost asleep about an hour ago for the first time before 3 am in five days when I felt the need to run to the bathroom due to an intense increase in bleeding. Turns out it wasn't blood...it was the baby.

So here's what happens when you're in that situation. You sit on the toilet and sob. Then, you call out to your sleeping husband six times before he stirs and he goes to get your a snack-sized ziploc because your OB wants you to capture it and bring it in for chromosomal testing. You pull up your pants and seal the bag as well as you can through blinding tears. You grab your pillow and a blanket and head downstairs. You put the baggie in the fridge because what the hell else are you supposed to do with it??? (Should I put it under my pillow and hope the fertility fairy comes by morning?) Then you sit on the couch in the fetal position and watch "Julie and Julia" because it's completely pointless and isn't everything?

So that's what I did with my evening. What is left of our June baby dreams is on the shelf on the door in the fridge between the soy sauce and the salad dressing.

Is this for real?


AKA: welcome to the sarcastic anger of a mother scorn....you ain't seen nothing yet.

Unplanning a Life

When I miscarried in April, the most difficult part for me was unplanning the year that I had unknowingly planned out. I had to unravel thoughts of what the immediate future would be like for Eva as a big sister; what the obstacles would be and the joys; plans to potty train so as not to have two in diapers, double strollers and space for toddler and infant toys and gear. Every day that passed for months turned into another realization of things that wouldn't be the way I had planned. It was devastating.

There is a difference between the experience of that unraveling and this current one. Having one miscarriage is heartbreaking without question, but it is also rationally explained as a glitch; a one-time occurrence probably resulting from a chromosomal anomaly.  1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage. It is common. You have one and you can tell yourself, this was your "one". You can give yourself time to grieve and you will find strength to try again and you will get pregnant and have a healthy baby to hold and raise and love. There is no reason not to believe.

Then you get there. You have grieved the loss and found the strength to try again. You get pregnant and all signs tell you this baby is healthy and your typically spot-on intuition tells you that you will hold and raise and love this baby. But it's all a lie.

I didn't do much to plan for the upcoming year this time, partly out of caution, but mostly because all those obstacles and thoughts from last year no longer apply. We have moved to a bigger home so we have the space for bouncers and swings and bottles and boppys to go right alongside a play kitchen, train set and dollhouse. I have a bigger car to fit two car seats and a golden retriever. Eva has long since refused to sit in a stroller so no doubles would be needed.  There were no plans to place in motion. There was only love.

And now I am bleeding. The cramping was so bad last night it woke me up and kept me from sleeping most of the night even after 600mgs of Advil. My love is gone. There is only achingly open space.

So now I am faced with, not unplanning a year, but possibly unplanning a life.

Originally, we wanted three children. Eva was born and we contemplated having four. We had so much love to give and we knew there were children missing. When we lost our 11/11/11 baby, we shifted our reality back to three (if we were lucky), but we had our eye on the prize of even having two. When we conceived in September, we made a decision. If our June bug arrived without issue, then three was still on the table. If we lost it, we would fight like hell for two but could not put ourselves through this again and again.

Now we have lost June bug and although I am still blindingly aware that someone is missing from our family (that it's not meant to be the Shire Three; that Eva must have a sibling to walk with her through life), I am faced with a new reality. This may never happen for us. We may never have another child. It may be just us three. Eva may be alone in this. There may never be a need for these extra bedrooms or the bigger car. The big tub may never hold two splashing little bodies. There may never be another stocking on our mantle, two little bikes in the garage, two birthday parties to plan and make equal. There may never be "big sister" t-shirts to wear proudly or pictures to take of Eva kissing her baby when she meets him/her for the first time. There may be no use of the phrase "my children" in our lives.

We will see a specialist. We will fill out the forms and answer the questions. We will listen to suggestions and follow advice. I will do anything I have to to make this happen for us. But I cannot control it.

The life we had planned may have been unplanned for us. This is the cross I bear.

A "Missed" Miscarriage

That's what this is. It's a "missed" miscarriage. That term seems ridiculous. How can you miss a miscarriage. I mean, isn't it pretty damn obvious? Not this time.

A week ago, my boobs weren't sore at all, but they are again now. I have fits of nausea and am incredibly bloated. I have no cramping and no spotting.

If I had not had the ultrasound on Thursday as a follow up, I would have no idea that we have lost our baby. I would be carrying on in my euphoric pregnant state dreaming of what is to come as our family expands. I would go to my 12 week ultrasound, probably skipping in the building thinking I was safe because I passed the danger zones. There wouldn't be a heartbeat and I would have then found out I had lost our child SIX weeks before. I can't even imagine that. So, unbelievably, I am actually thankful for knowing our baby is gone.

My doctor told me it can take several months during a missed miscarriage for the body to realize what happened and actually let the tissue go. Last April, I was hell bent on letting the miscarriage happen naturally, but I was already bleeding and cramping like mad at 8 weeks. I am almost 9 weeks now. That's almost 3 full weeks since our baby's heart stopped and I am showing now signs of loss anytime soon. So what happens in the meantime? I'm supposed to go observe my student teachers and give them feedback about their questioning strategies as if I give a shit. I am supposed to hold class and talk passionately about motor development as if that matters to me in the slightest. I am supposed to go to playdates at the park and buy groceries and simply carry on like I am not carrying a child that I hoped and prayed for, that I had a great feeling about, that is now gone. How in the hell is that supposed to happen????

There are risks to the surgery, but I simply cannot make my body continue on a different page than my mind and heart. I have scheduled a D&C for two weeks from now so that it can give my body some time to clue in and see how it responds. Otherwise, it's surgery.

I expected this pregnancy to end in surgery. Only I expected it would be a C-section at 38 weeks.  This is not how this was supposed to end.

November 4, 2011: I've been trusting my gut since I was 13 years old

I am a woman that relies on her instincts to navigate her path in life. I use intuition about people, places, decisions, etc in order to feel out risks and rewards. Over the years, listening to my gut has taken me into great relationships and out of dying ones; it has led me to meet some of my very closest friends. My gut has told me what major to choose, what job to take and when to move on to another one. My gut has told me who to trust and who to keep my mouth shut around. It helped me choose my husband. It has told me when something is cosmically wrong, providing me with a warning for the death of my father and the loss of an unborn child. I have always been able to trust my gut.

Now, at 30 years old, it turns out I can't.

We went for our follow up ultrasound yesterday to measure growth from last week. I was 8 1/2 weeks. I ran around all morning because Eva and I woke up late and I had to rush her to school. I did an observation of a field placement student before my appointment to pass the time and keep from worrying. The night before, I spoke to some friends and my mom and told them that I had a good feeling about it, that my gut was telling me things were fine.

I was wrong.

There was no longer a heartbeat.

Last week, our June bug measured 6 weeks, 2 days. Now it's lifeless figure measures 6 weeks, 5 days. Exactly like last spring, just days after we saw that precious heart beat, it stopped.

I was not prepared for that. My gut outright lied to me and if I can't trust my instincts then I can't trust anything.

I don't understand what is going on. Why has my body betrayed me twice? Did I do something? Is it because I had a bad cold and have had thirty minute coughing fits for the last two weeks? Did that hurt the baby? Was it the days I took tylenol for the headaches or the tylenol cold medicine they told me I could take? I didn't even go near caffeine this time because I know that is one of the things that potentially causes miscarriage, but was it splenda?  I had candy and cookies around Halloween even though I should have been preparing my body for the gestational diabetes.  Should I not have?  I carried Eva around a lot. She's only 26 pounds, but maybe that was too heavy?  I didn't sleep well, sometimes only a few hours a night. Maybe I didn't get enough rest?  Is it scar tissue from my c-section with Eva? Are my hormones running a muck? The list of questions about why is maddening, but I don't know how to silence it.

The only thing getting me through the approaching 11/11/11 due date of our first loss was the knowledge we had someone to look forward to. Now that is in a week and by the time it gets here I may have lost another. How is that fair?

My husband and I picked up Eva from school early and we took her home. I crawled into bed and under a rock and I have barely seen daylight since. I alerted who I needed to and have no plans to pick up the phone anytime soon. I simply wish to disappear.

After a fitful night sleep, I woke to see a new day arrive with the force of the weight that now weighs on my shoulders. For now, I will lie in bed and I will cry until the well runs dry as I wait.

I am not ready to say goodbye to my June bug, but it turns out I do not get much of a say on the matter.
I am crippled with heartache.
Nothing can ever make this right.
No one ever will.

October 30, 2011: Sunrise, Sunset??

I awoke at sunrise Friday morning with cramps.

I darted out of bed in the hopes that it was a near exploding bladder that was causing them. 10 minutes after I released that full bladder, the cramps remained.

I crawled back into bed and watched my peacefully dreaming husband as he slept, blissfully unaware of what my body was telling me at that moment. My body was telling me we were losing our June bug.

The tears felt particularly hot on my face at 5:55am on a cold morning. Matt woke slowly listening to my sickening sobs before he completely came to and shot up and said, "What is it? What's wrong?".

He held me and we cried. At some point I shot out of bed and vomited before waking my mother with a phone call to see if she could come down to sit with Eva when we were inevitably sent to the hospital. She was on the road within the hour.

I sent Matt to work to get his ducks in a row because there wasn't anything we could do until my mom arrived anyway.

When the office opened at 8:30, I called my doctor and left her a message. I asked what my sense of urgency was. If I hadn't actually lost the baby yet, was there something they could do for me at the hospital? If so, I would leave in my PJs immediately and take Eva with me.

She called back promptly and asked me about what I was experiencing. I told her honestly that I had cramped from about 5:45 until 7:00 am and that I really wasn't cramping since. There was no blood. She took a deep breath and told me to do so as well. Then she told me to just sit tight at home. There was nothing they could do for me at the hospital. She said some cramping without the presence of blood is normal at this stage of pregnancy, but that she understood my concern. She told me if the cramps returned or I saw blood to go to the hospital but otherwise to just hang tight and rest.

The cramps never came back. Slowly, I began to breathe again, but I still shut all the blinds and turned my phone off. There was no one I wanted to speak to and nothing I wanted to speak about. When my mom arrived, I made a point to not let my feet hit the floor all afternoon and I did not get out of my pajamas all weekend. We cancelled all of our weekend plans in order to give ourselves the time and space to let our heart rates return to normal and see what was in store for us.

I made it through the weekend and so did June bug.

My boobs are slightly more sore than they were days before, but not profoundly so.

My body may be telling me I am going to lose this baby, but if I am honest with myself, my gut is telling me the opposite.

I just hope like hell I can still trust my gut.

October 27, 2011: The Waiting Game

The ultrasound yesterday turned out to be a complete deja vu.

Our June baby was there, measuring smaller than expected and although the heart rate was within the normal range, it is very low within that range.

This is EXACTLY what they said last April days before I miscarried.

The only thing I have to hold on to right now is that they found the baby immediately. Last Spring, they did not see it transabdominally and it took them nearly thirty minutes to find it transvaginally. This time, as soon as the warm goo was squished by the wand on my belly the baby was there and the little heart was flicking away.

The ultrasound tech was so compassionate she must have been working that day just for me. When I told her my circumstance, she took her eyes off of her "job" to make eye contact with me and tell me she has been in my shoes and knows just how anxious and lost I am feeling. She told me things during the scan she probably wasn't supposed to tell me. I appreciate her more than I can express.

I feel anxious.
I feel lost.
I feel broken.
I feel angry.
I feel impatient.
I feel confused.
I feel helpless.
I feel utterly alone.

But more than any of that lies the feeling that I refuse to be (pardon my language) dicked around.

I don't want some nurse telling me that they have seen crazier things work out. I don't want someone telling me that they are sure things will work out for me this time. Don't tell me there is probably no reason to be concerned. I don't want someone to say to me that the odds are so unlikely that I will miscarry again.

I want to be positive and enthusiastic, but the fact remains that,  right this very moment, we know nothing.

This is why I appreciate this ultrasound tech and my OB nurse telling me, "if this was a random ultrasound we would have zero cause for alarm. However, with your recent history, of course our guards are up and we are on alert." For this reason, they will send me for another ultrasound in a week to measure growth and to find some answers. Thank you for not placating me. I need people to shoot straight at me.

So now we wait. Pregnancy symptoms that have decreased will either resurface or I will start to bleed and cramp.

I don't know what my gut is telling me because it is in too much of a knot to speak clearly to me at the moment.

So, literally....I wait....

October 26, 2011: Ominous Timing

7 weeks, 1 day.

My boobs have been decreasingly sore for the last few days. I was nauseous as hell this time last week and don't feel even a fleeting wave of it now. Called my doctor this morning and I am being sent for an ultrasound...

Plain and simple:  I am a mess.

I had my first real panic attack about an hour ago. It wasn't fun.  Eva didn't even notice, which is a blessing because I was almost going to panic about the impression my panicking would leave on my sweet girl.

Last April, it was in my 7th week that a loss of a symptom sent my mind into a spiral and prompted my doctor to send me for an ultrasound "for my own peace of mind". That ultrasound was awful. Although they found the baby and clocked a good heart rate, it was the beginning of that end. Two days after I began bleeding and miscarried within the week.

Now it is October and I am in my 7th week. I have experienced a loss of a symptom and again I am being sent for an ultrasound for "peace of mind". This time at least the doctor gave me the respect of acknowledging there was cause for concern on her end as well.

My appointment is in an hour and I feel frozen. I am ice cold to the bone despite wearing three layers and Ugg boots. My eyes and face are swollen and red, probably beyond recognition. I am unwilling to look at myself in the mirror for fear of having to hold my own eye contact. I am terrified.

The timing is ominous. Same week, same issue. Deep in the pit of my stomach is the knowledge that at just 7 weeks this baby is supposed to be the size of a blueberry. Did I mention that Eva's fish is named Blueberry???  He died yesterday...

October 18, 2011: Well hello again John

And by "John" I mean the toilet.

Hello 6 weeks and hello nausea. I have had a wave of nausea here and there for the last two weeks or so but they are seriously like 2 seconds long and usually while someone else is driving. Today, nausea woke me up from a nap...awesome. I sat on the bathroom floor facing the toilet for an hour while on the brink of needing to puke my face off.

I know there is no need to choke back morning sickness. June bug is getting all the nutrients it needs as the size of a lentil bean (or blueberry depending on what site you refer to) so if I vomit up my lunch, all is well. But I choked it back anyway and here is why: the last thing on my stomach were really delicious shrimp potstickers. Nothing sounds good to me right now. Lunch and dinner arrives and I cannot think of anything I want to eat. Nothing is really grossing me out per se but nothing jumps out at me either. That is, except for Chinese food. This happened while I was pregnant with Eva too. All I wanted was Chinese food. Mexican entered the equation later on so I am holding out for that as well, but right now, I could drink a bottle of soy sauce. So I know how this works. If I gagged up the potstickers then I couldn't stomach Chinese food for at least a year. With Eva this happened with Macaroni and Cheese. I puked it once and then the casserole dish that I had made it in showed up clean in the dishwasher and I had to SPRINT to the bathroom to puke and that was a few days later. Matt had to put that dish away. A week after that I went to pull it out of the cabinet to make something else and one look at it sent me running again to the bathroom. Then I made Matt hide it in the garage. It wasn't allowed back in the house until Eva was 6 months old.

So I sat in the bathroom breathing through nausea in order to keep ahold of my love for Chinese food. After about an hour, Eva woke up. As she called out for me, I looked at Brady (our Golden Retriever) and said, "Dude...it's SOOOOOO time you start pulling your own weight around here. Go get Eva for me."  He outright refused.

This could be a major struggle. But in the end I will be thrilled to hug the toilet. I would rather be sick to my stomach day to day than not be pregnant. I would rather have that glaring evidence that my hormones are increasing and therefore this June bug is growing than be faced with another miscarriage. I am grateful for nausea!

October 8, 2011: A Step

I went to get bloodwork yesterday to confirm and have not yet gotten the results because it is the weekend. I don't really need the confirmation though because I did take about 3 tests over a 3 day span that all said positive, just to prove to myself it wasn't mind over matter.

By my own calculations I am 4 weeks, 3 days going by the first day of my last period, but I know I ovulated a few days early this month because I am one of those freaks of nature that often feel myself ovulate (just a brief pinch on one side of my uterus--this month it was the left side) so if I go by that I am more like 4 weeks, 5 days. Of course 2 days doesn't really make much of a difference except that it brings me closer to crossing the threshold of 8 weeks, 4 days when I began to miscarry the last pregnancy.

So let's talk about that for a moment...
I am determined not to spend the next 4 weeks in a panic. When I pass that, I will not worry for the next 5 weeks as I round out the first trimester and most dangerous time frame. After that, I will not consume myself with fears about loss until I hold this healthy baby and wish it a happy birthday. I simply will not allow it. Don't get me wrong, I will be cautious.  When I am tired, I will rest. If I am stretching myself too thin, I will take a break and/or tell people no. Eva is my first priority. This June Bug is my second.

Do I know that I will have a second miscarriage? No.
Do I know that I will hold this baby in my arms? No.

So how will I not worry about that uncertainty? I just won't. I cannot put all my eggs in this basket and yet, I will feel every joy and excitement it presents. This may be the easiest pregnancy anyone could ever have with nothing but health for me and this baby or I may lose it. Either way, it will give us some answers to the screaming questions that seem to be on a loop in my brain and it is a step towards expanding our family and holding our next child.

I will not worry.

I will let go...

October 5, 2011: The Gifts

I have been given the gift of another chance. The gift of developing new life. After tragedy last spring, I am again expecting a little brother or sister for our sweet Eva. But I have been granted another precious gift: to trust my body again.

When we conceived last February I knew within a few days. My body reacted quickly and symptoms were full force very early. For all intents and purposes, I had little reason to be concerned about that pregnancy because there seemed little room for doubt at the time. Then my body betrayed me and I felt I had no one to trust if I couldn't even trust my instincts.

I felt like I knew this time too. Read back a few posts and you will see that I had reason for suspicion but I didn't know if I could trust myself.  As it turns out, I can and that gift means more to me than I can express.

Thank you for this life, this chance and for this trust. Thank you.

October 4, 2011: A beginning

A very faint, but very there double line.  :)

October 3, 2011: Resolve

I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.
I will not take a test today.


I did not take a test today.

October 2, 2011: Flying into unknown territory

I leave today for 4 and a half days to go visit one of my very best friends who had her baby girl a month ago. I will either get or skip my period while I am visiting her in Ohio. I took another test this morning hoping to not have to pack both a pregnancy test AND tampons in my carryon and so I could tell Matt I was pregnant in person if I am...

I'm not.

Or am I?

October 1, 2011: No Special Birthday Gifts for My Husband

Due for my period on Oct 5 so I took a test this morning because my husband turns 31 today and I thought it would be a great gift to give him...

Negativo=boo.

September 27, 2011: Here I go again

Operation June baby began as scheduled and is all wrapped up in a pretty little bow now as we play the waiting game.

I have decided to talk to no one about any early signs or symptoms because it is so easy to fall into a cycle of imagining things and that just leaves me feeling disappointed, depressed and scared when my period inevitably arrives. So outwardly, I am projecting the attitude of "not pregnant until proven positive". Of course I am being intelligent and taking my prenatal vitamins, not drinking, no soft cheeses and blahbibity blah, but I am not going to question my pregnancy status with anyone until there is nothing to question. One way or another.

That is the face I wear.

Inside I am freaking out at the real possibility that I am typing this pregnant. So let's do this:

1. For about 2-3 hours two days ago I had cramps. Just mild and constant but definitely there and then they vanished and have not returned. I am not due for my period until October 5. These were not menstrual. Implantation cramping, yeah?
2. Last month I said I thought my nipples looked funny and it turned out that's just how they always look when I get my period. This month they definitely look weird. Not the same weird as last month, it's different. I saw them this morning and thought, "ooooh yeah! THAT's what they looked like" as if I was recognizing an old friend. The color is off, darker. And they appear harder; more right angles I guess.
3. I thought maybe my boobs were sore last month, but I think I created that in my head because I wanted to believe they were. Right now, it's a slight soreness that is hard to describe. It doesn't "hurt" if I squeeze a boob but there is just a light burning feeling that is constantly uncomfortable. It's a feeling I remember.

So I definitely could be pregnant. And if I am, I'm due June 12. That sounds fine to me!

A new pet peeve

So my biggest pet peeve was always people who are unaware of where they are in space. So the people at the mall or take up the entire walkway and walk at a glacial pace. The idiots backing out of the parking lot that pause halfway out of their spot so that you can't go around them because they are still technically backing up. The assholes in the grocery store that stand staring at canned vegetables for an hour with their cart in the middle of the aisle so you can't get by with your already screaming toddler. These people. I can't stand these people.  You know who you are!

I have a new pet peeve that may be exceeding this one rapidly= people who don't know their audience.  Well that's not entirely accurate. I don't care if you genuinely don't know who you're talking to but if you know someone's story and still talk to them about it like you don't then I hate you completely. If you know your friend has breast cancer and talk to them about how much you hate your boobs, then screw you. If you know someone in the room has just gotten a divorce and you still go on and on about how in love you are or how hard it is out there and how glad you are that you are now engaged and will never have to date again, then you should be stoned. And if you know that I have had a miscarriage and you tell me, "Eva is getting so big, time for another one Jane, don't you think?!" or "I am so over being pregnant right now"... I seriously may never speak to you again. Which maybe that's your goal? If so, congrats.

It bothers me also, but maybe not quite as much since I have made it public info in a way, when you ask me how trying to get pregnant is going.  If you say, "So you guys are trying again. How are you feeling about it all?", then I love you. You are a true friend that wants to see how my head is on and check in to make sure I am not losing my mind with worry. That is fine. When you ask me, "do you think you may be pregnant yet?" and I tell you, "I don't want to speculate. I don't want to do that to myself. So all I know is that no, I am not currently pregnant" don't continue probing me for information. I am not lying. I do not want to play that game. I don't care if it is your way of showing your hopes for us, it's inappropriate and not appreciated. All you are doing is pushing me to the brink of insanity over an already stressful issue for us. If you push me on this issue then you are putting yourself on the list as one more person I will disappoint when I get my period on time. Is that your intentions? If not, then take my word for it and stop asking. You will be informed when we feel it is the right time to inform you, not on your agenda of wanting to be in the know. If that is your intentions than it has been nice knowing you and this is where our paths divide. Period.

September 7, 2011: 3007 HPTs Later

Three days late now.

In theory, you're supposed to use your first morning urine to test for pregnancy because it had the highest concentration of the pregnancy hormones. So I took another home pregnancy test this morning. The last digital one in the pack. I bit open the package for the test strip and thought "please let this read positive", but then I caught myself and put an asterisk on that: "Please let this read positive. * if it is MEANT to be positive. Let this read positive if it will be a positive result. If I will carry this baby to term, let it tell me I'm pregnant. Don't let it tell me I am going to have a baby in the Spring if I am going to lose that joy in a few weeks. If it will be right, let it be right...".

It was negative.


Two hours later, I got my period.

September 6, 2011: Wishing and Hoping and Thinking and Praying

What are the odds?

It could have ONLY been that time. After midnight. Just hours before my father in law passed. That was days after I was supposedly ovulating. What are the chances?

Slim to none is how I feel about it.

However, sometime that morning I woke up with a cramp. I didn't look at the clock so I don't know what time it was and I'm not so out of my mind to think it was the exact moment John passed that an intrauterine cramp woke me out of my sleep indicating we possibly made a baby. But I didn't have gas and I still don't have by period.  What was that cramp?

I took a home pregnancy test five days ago. It was negative.

I am exhausted. But then again it is rainy and dreary.
I am sick to my stomach off and on. But then again I have post-nasal drip from allergies that could be making me nauseous.
My boobs feel full. But then again they're not "hurts to brush my teeth" sore and I could just be getting my period.
My nipples look funny. But then again...no I'm pretty positive they don't always look like that!

I took another test Sunday. Negative.
Took one yesterday and I could have sworn I saw a faint line, but Matt said he didn't so I went and bought a digital pack. Took it. "Not Pregnant"
I took another digital one this morning. "Not Pregnant".

So I'm beginning to think I am just driving myself crazy and hoping against reality.

But then I realized that If I AM pregnant, I'd be due in May. That's a fine month to have a baby. So I calculated the exact due date. And if I conceived on the day Matt's father died (which again is the only possible date) then I am due, May 12th, which just happens to be the day that MY father was born....

See what I'm saying....?

September 6, 2011: Seeking Comfort

As I said in August, we had plans to try again to get pregnant but they were all messed up so we decided to just put it off one more month. That was the new plan. And of course, as plans tend to go...

Matt's father, John, had been very ill with inoperable esophageal cancer that has metastasized to his liver for many months. My father in law was diagnosed in January of this year, but was sick for quite awhile before that. The first round of chemo went very well. Much better than anyone had hoped or expected. By March, he seemed like a new man, a healthy man with a positive outlook. By May, the tables had turned and John was in and out of the hospital with a variety of symptoms that made the situation appear increasingly grim and sinister. By July he had decided to end treatment. Matt spent the majority of summer weekends at his dad's house in Lancaster. When we left for South Carolina in August, Matt had said what he needed to say and was at peace with the concept that he may not see his father again. He lived on edge all vacation waiting for the phone to ring with his brother, mother or step-mother on the other end telling him he needed to come home.

The phone rang with that phone call after a week on vacation. John was in a hospice facility and was still alive but it was really bad and he wanted to see Matt.  We ran off the beach, packed up in a frenzy and threw all of our stuff, Eva, and Brady into the car and headed home to face the end.

We stopped in Richmond over night and got to the hospice center by Sunday afternoon. John was in and out of clarity all Sunday but made clear eye contact, squeezed our hands when we held his and made attempts to talk to us when we all spoke our goodbyes and "i love you"s. We stayed in the Lancaster area Sunday night and saw him again Monday morning. He was no longer alert by the time we headed home.

That Monday was very rough for Matt. He was filled with so much anxious energy waiting for that phone to rings telling him he was at peace that he simply couldn't and wouldn't sit still. He was exhausted from driving and tried to go to sleep early but couldn't. I offered him a Tylenol PM and he refused it. Sometime after midnight, in the earliest moments of Tuesday, August 23rd, Matt reached for me for some comfort and our plans to wait a month fell to the side.

My father in law passed at 6:30 on August 23, 2011.

The call came along with a sense of finality for all of us. We expected it, but it still wasn't fair. Eva has lost two of her grandfathers. How could that EVER be fair? Matt's nervous anxiety continued that entire week leading up to the services. No one quite knew what to do with themselves. John had made most of the arrangements himself, which was a blessing at the same time it was a curse. There just wasn't anything for anyone to do to busy themselves.

The services on the following Saturday were beautiful. A true firefighter's tribute. He would have been so proud and so pleased!

Today is Tuesday, September 6th. This date is notable for two reasons.
1. It has been 2 weeks since my father in law passed.
2. I am now two days late...

Preschool "Eve-a"

Tomorrow my little baby starts preschool!

As I look at her right now, I feel like I am living one of those car commercials where the dad is leaning in the passenger side window giving the "rules of the road" riot act to a 3 year old in the driver's seat only for her to turn into a teenager in the next frame. How is she old enough to go to preschool tomorrow???

She will be going to the University of Delaware's Laboratory Preschool two mornings a week. This school is run by the Early Childhood Department at UD, which is the program I graduated from and currently work for. As an undergrad, I did observations in all the classrooms and had a field placement in the Kindergarten. Designed as an Early Education research facility, the classrooms each have connecting observation booths where observers and researchers can go and conduct their business without interrupting the flow of the class or stealing the precious attention of the young children. In order to assist these individuals there to research, each child has a name tag on their backs so that if someone comes in and starts a project on "Jack" they can easily locate him when they come back next week. I clearly remember staring at these name tags while doing observations in college. They are smaller than the back of a toddler, so maybe 4 inches across and the names are written in gorgeous teacher handwriting, but regardless, nothing can make a 13 digit name fit comfortably on one of these tags. I will admit to considering this when we chose Eva's name. Three letters. It would fit very nicely.

I put Eva on the wait list for the 2011/2012 Two-Year-Old class when she was six months old. I was late to do this. She was WAY down on the list! Good thing I am an alumni and current employee! PHEW!

So tomorrow is the day. I already paid this month's tuition. I turned in her health appraisal and all paperwork already. We completed her "family photo book" homework weeks ago. Matt is taking the day off of work. She will wear her "back to school" Hello Kitty tshirt and secure sneakers. Her Winnie the Pooh backpack will be packed by bedtime tonight and will be hung with a hoodie by the door. A snack and juice cup will be prepped in the fridge for easy morning access. We will probably have to wake her up tomorrow morning because that's what the trend is. If we have somewhere to go early, she wants to sleep in. We will give her a hearty breakfast that she will resist eating (she isn't much of a breakfast eater) and take her "first day of school" picture. We we drive to UD as a family and hold her hand as she walks to her classroom, excited to be at school. We will help her put her things in her cubby, greet Miss Debbie and Miss Terry (the current student teacher) and get oriented. And then we will kiss her goodbye, tell her we love her infinity very muches and are so very proud of her. We will walk out the door as two proud parents and step into that observation booth. We'll watch them put on her "Eva" name tag.

We are prepared for tears. I think ours will be bigger than hers...

The best made plans...

So we decided it would be as stress free as possible entering the mode of babymaking again if we started to try while we were on vacation. I would be ovulating smack in the middle of our trip so we decided that would be as good a time as any to let the games begin.

We got to our Fripp Island vacation house and the front door doesn't lock.  It locks from the outside but there is no way to keep our 2 year old escape artist from getting out from the inside of the house. Panicked by her love for the beach, only a few steps away, I decided I didn't feel safe leaving her in a room of her own where I couldn't turn the doorknobs around in order to lock her in all night. So we moved her mattress to the floor of our room...

Not exactly a "game on" set up!

So we will wait again.  I am hoping that I will still feel as brave this time next month as I did heading out for our vacation. I hope I am up for all the downsides as well as the upsides to trying a few weeks from now. But I have to admit, my courage feels wobbly...

Un-planning a year

As I mentioned in the last post, Matt and I were left in the hospital room for an hour and we cried for half of it. When the sobs slowed to a halt, my mind started quietly swimming at a frantic pace. It's amazing how much you unknowingly plan for the upcoming year when you see that positive sign on the pregnancy test. I hadn't done it consciously, and neither had Matt. But now we were in the situation we were in and it all came crashing down. We had to un-plan a year of happiness in the face of personal loss.

Shit, did we do the right thing taking such a hit on the sale of our house? We were desperate at the time, but are we still? Nothing we could do about it now. I guess I can cancel that meeting with my boss to tell him I am expecting and what my plan is for the course I teach since I am due mid-semester. I guess I don't need a new car. I was going to get a 7 seater. Now that just seems silly. I need to call and cancel that first trimester screening (when I did this, I had to say, "I had a miscarriage" 3 times to the receptionist because she was older than dust and couldn't hear what I was saying as the reason for cancellation.  You're fired!). I guess we don't need to worry about moving Eva to a toddler bed yet because we won't need the crib. I guess I don't have to rush to potty train her because I won't have two in diapers. I guess I can drink coffee and eat sugar again. Shit, I just resigned from my extended maternity leave because I was expecting a baby. I guess that's just as well. I guess I won't have to stop to pee a thousand times on the way to South Carolina this summer. I guess that's a good thing. I guess I can go see Brooke after she has Sydney now because I won't be in my 3rd trimester. I guess I won't need to ask about recommendations for double strollers because I bet Eva won't want to sit in one by the time we have a baby now. I guess I can return that new expensive monitor because I won't need to add a camera anytime soon...

The list was endless and I am still adding new things to it to this day.

Let me say this: I am an early childhood special education teacher. In fact, I have spent the last year teaching a senior level course at the University of Delaware about early childhood special education. I literally teach people how much can go wrong during a pregnancy and what that can look like. I spent my first year teaching children with profound multiple disabilities. One of these students was missing a huge part of his frontal lobe, was deaf-blind and had seizure disorder. The slightest touch (because he had no way of knowing you were coming) would send him into a five minute seizure. So I know. I am very aware that nature takes a course and that babies that are miscarried this early in a pregnancy are generally not viable. So the educated part of me can rationalize that I had a feeling early on that something was wrong because something was. That I measured small in that first ultrasound because the baby wasn't developing right from the start. That something was wrong in its tiny little chromosomes that didn't give it or me a fighting chance. Part of me knows this very well.

The other part of me shoots back to the feeling I had when we started trying to conceive Eva. I just had this feeling-no, it wasn't a feeling, it was a knowledge-I just had this knowledge that it wouldn't be easy breezy for us to have the family we wanted. I didn't have the coziest pregnancy or labor with Eva, that's true, but we have a beautiful daughter who we could not adore more than we do, but we know we don't want her alone in this. She needs to have a sibling and it didn't go well the first go around. Will it ever go well? Was this a result of my pelvic issue? When they warned me in passing about possibly fertility issues was it more than a warning? Was it a promise? Eva was born 5 weeks early. Why? Could my body not hold her in? Can I not hold anything in now? When I got to maternity triage and they confirmed my impending miscarriage, they also said it wouldn't be long before the process was complete because I was already dilating. So which came first? Did I dilate and that caused me to lose the baby or did I lose the baby and that caused me to dilate? What if I can't have a baby again? What does that mean for us? For me? For my family? For my Eva?

When I had the miscarriage in April, someone close to me went as far as to suggest I brought it on myself. That wasn't the way it was worded to me, but it was the general point she was making. If I put out the negative energy that something would go wrong somewhere down the line, then I would bring it towards myself. Now, don't go getting all defensive on my behalf. It was a knife to my soul and it still is, but I saw her point and understood it. I obviously believe in energy, as you know, I survey rooms all the time. But I also believe energy doesn't work that way. I don't think the universe is set up to punish a mother for wanting a child. For that reason alone, I know I didn't bring this on myself. Whether this is the only miscarriage I will have or if I have several coming for me, I don't know, but either way I did nothing to cause it. No amount of negative intuition or cups of half-caff or pieces of pizza or warm baths or that glass of wine the night after we conceived did this. I know this for sure. I have peace in that.

I miscarried in April 2011. A lot has happened since then. We have moved to our dream home in Pennsylvania in a great school district with over an acre of land. We have made a home. Eva turned two and is a blossoming bundle of personality. She is so much easier to tote around and I enjoy taking her places and teaching her through every new experience, whether it's another trip to Target or her first time to the zoo. I LOVE TWO YEARS OLD! She is such great company these days that I am glad I get to focus on her right now and enjoy every moment of this age and THIS child. We are leaving today for our annual family trip to Fripp Island, South Carolina. Eva loved the beach last year and I have no doubt she will make this family vacation one to remember.

And that brings us to current day and to why I started this blog in the first place. This will be my last public post to facebook. I needed an outlet to move the pain I feel everyday that hides behind my eyes and smile as a result of the loss of this child off of my heart and back into the universe. We were told we should wait 3 menstrual cycles before we tried again. We've waited much longer than that. The loss of our 11/11/11 baby was a blow we couldn't bounce back from in just three months. We simply weren't ready. I may get pregnant easily when we are trying again and I may not. I may carry this next baby to full-term and I may not. We will either have another child or we will have trouble. And now, we're ready to know which way the coin will fall...

Nothingness

At first the bleeding was spots of brown. That's not abnormal. While this never happened while I was pregnant with Eva, I did know several mothers that bled brown and knew from their experiences that it was a release of old trapped period blood, which is disgusting, but not dangerous. But, when it was paired with the increasing sinking feeling in my stomach that accompanied this knowledge that something was wrong, it was just more clues from the universe that I would lose this baby, that maybe it was never mine to have in the first place. Just some tragic cosmic error.

For a few days, I found myself holding my urine. I would need to pee and put it off for sometimes an hour or more out of the complete terror of what would be revealed with each subsequent wipe. It was a horrible state of anxiety to live in.

During these few days, I suddenly started having friends email or text or call me telling me they just had a hunch I was pregnant. They wanted to know if their hunches were accurate. What was I supposed to say? I was only 8 weeks along, well before I would have wanted to make this news public information anyway and here I am on the brink of losing the baby. Was I supposed to say yes? Was I to lie and say no and jinx myself in the off chance I wasn't going to lose this baby? If I said no, would fate shift and cause me to miscarry something I wasn't supposed to lose?  I will never ask someone if they are pregnant regardless of what my hunch or intuition tells me because of having this experience. I know they meant no harm, their curiosity was peaked by one thing or another, and they wanted to be in the know. I have done this in the past, but I won't put anyone else in this position. In the end, I told the truth. I said I was pregnant, but didn't know how long I would be. How were these friends meant to respond? "Congrats"? Hardly.

After about 3 days of this brown blood, the anxiety of what would happen and when was eased. Red. Just a streak within the brown, but it was bright red. This wasn't old period blood. This was new blood. A few hours later into the evening I started cramping.

I warned Matt that I thought I was losing the baby. He told me to go lie down, probably for a dual purpose. He wanted me and that possibility out of sight and out of mind and he also was desperate to believe I was overreacting. But he knew deep down I wouldn't have cried wolf about something like that. It terrified him.

I texted my mom, my sister and best friend. My exact text was, "I am losing the baby. I am not overreacting. I don't want to talk about it right now. I will call the doctor first thing in the morning". And I put the phone down to charge for the night and I cried myself to sleep.

I did call the doctor in the morning. I was still holding out some hope that they'd tell me it was normal and to come in for an exam but that they weren't concerned. That's not what they said. They sent me straight to the hospital to Maternity Triage. My friend came and watched Eva, gave me a hug and sent me on my way to meet Matt at the hospital.

We waited forever. Lots of babies being born that day.

Finally, we were brought back to an exam room and the doctor arrived and started the ultrasound. I didn't bother surveying the energy in the room. My body wasn't lying to me. It was in a low-grade state of labor. Matt held out nervous hope though. I could tell by the strength with which he held my hand as he focused on that ultrasound screen, willing it to show him a healthy child. At one point he mumbled something like, "I see it", but the doctor grimaced and the exam was over quickly. It was there, but it's tiny heart no longer beat.

Matt and I collapsed into a grief I simply can't describe and hope none of you have to know. All I really remember clearly was holding Matt's face still so he would hold my eye contact so I could tell him through sobs that I was sorry I couldn't save it. So so sorry.

The doctor left us alone for an hour. We cried for half of that and then just stared at each other with a mutual acknowledgement of how hollowed out we felt suddenly. Then I was taken to radiology for thorough ultrasound so that one more person could tell me our November baby was gone.  At the ultrasound I had before this, they told me the baby was measuring 6 weeks, 1 day. Now, a week later, it measured 6 weeks, 3 days.  2 days after I saw that precious heartbeat, it stopped.

I was given 3 options:
1. Get a DNC, which is a procedure where they "take" the miscarriage from you
2. Take a medication to speed up the process, which could actually make the cramping worse.
3. Go home and let it all happen naturally, which they estimated would take 3 to 7 days.

Not everyone would have gone the route I did, and that's perfectly fine. I chose not to have the DNC because I didn't want to regret it in the future. If I had the DNC and miscarried again, would I wonder if something had been scraped too much during that procedure? Probably. So it wasn't for me. I wasn't about to take some medication to make me lose my child faster and in a more painful way. No thanks, I think I'll pass. I am someone that needed to see my father's body when he died in order to make the whole event feel grounded and real. Some people view it as morbid and that's also perfectly fine. I needed to go home and grieve this child as I lost it. I didn't want it to happen faster or harder or easier or with the help of some other human being. If I had to lose this baby, I was going to do it on my own. I was going to mother it the only way I given a chance to. So I went home.

After holding Eva so tightly upon arriving home that she thought she was in trouble, I crawled into bed. I sobbed for days. The cramps ebbed and flowed. I was in that low-grade state of labor for a few days. It was basically the worst period of my life. The bleeding obviously increased over the next few days. I had to go everyday to get bloodwork done so they could monitor that my body was returning to its full un-pregnant self and that none of the tissue was left behind. I will spare you the details, but I was not home when I actually "lost the baby". I was at one of these bloodwork appointments. The nurse had to knock on the bathroom door to make sure I was okay because of the sobbing sounds she must have overheard. That was not a good day.

I spent several days in bed and my mom was up to watch Eva.  I was determined to give myself the time to grieve before I stepped back into the world. I had a lot of time with my thoughts. The transition that occurred in my heart in just one short week was tragic. Going from the purest joy of endless possibility that comes with the promise of developing new life to being sent home from the hospital to await it's impending loss is an emptiness I can only describe as hollow. I am still heartbroken. Nothing and no one can make it right.

Nothing ever will.

Blah

In "Round 2", I had every pregnancy symptom I had with Eva only this time it was earlier and stronger. The exhaustion was overwhelming. My boobs were so sore I considered taping them "Boys Don't Cry" style to my body. But it was the nausea that knocked me on my ass.

I began to feel sick when pregnant with Eva around week 10 and it was hard and fast. Once my doctor told me I didn't have to choke it back, that Eva was getting enough nourishment, I would suddenly get a wave of nausea and would have to knock people down in order to get to the bathroom where I would puke my guts out. But then I felt better. It was gone by 12 weeks. So in the end, hardly the worst case of morning sickness in the world. But "Round 2" was a different story. I was nauseous before I even knew for sure I was pregnant, so at like week 4! And it wasn't in waves, it was all day. Sun up til sun down. It wouldn't get to the point that I would have to vomit either, but linger just on the brink...all...damn...day. By week 6, my OB prescribed me an anti-nausea medication, that's how bad it was (I never took it). Sometime towards the end of my 6th week, I remember talking to my mom and we half-laughed and half-panicked at the possibility that I was carrying twins. Then my 7th week arrived and suddenly, I felt better. I wasn't sick to my stomach at all anymore. You would think that would be a good thing and that I'd be celebrating but it struck me to my core and I was aware of it all day long. Why aren't I sick anymore? Is something wrong? Shouldn't I be sick until my second trimester? Why did it go away overnight? Something must be wrong. Almost every hour I would squeeze a boob to make sure they were still sore. And they were, so I took some comfort in that. For awhile.

At the beginning of week 7, I went for the prenatal counseling visit at my OB. This is where you talk to the nurse and schedule some appointments and they talk to you about what to expect and blahbity blah blah. It's not even an actual exam and the second pregnancy it borders on completely pointless. "Oh you mean I CAN'T drink wine with this pregnancy? I thought something may have changed in the last 18 months? No? Oh okay. Thank God I came for this appointment or I would have had NO idea! PHEW!". Idiots.

But I talked to the nurse at length about this nausea/no nausea thing. I wasn't due to have an ultrasound until I was about 12 weeks, so another month to go, but to ease my mind she wrote me a prescription to go have one done. Everyone told me I was over-reacting. Even the nurse thought I was being a bit of a wimp. But something wasn't sitting right.

I didn't go for the ultrasound right away because I needed Matt to go with me. When he got home from work we went to the same place I had gone the year before to get the breast ultrasound. I changed into that same paper-thin gown and was brought into the same room to wait for the ultrasound tech. And here Guru Jane goes again, surveying the energy in the room. The light wasn't blinking anymore, I'm glad they got that fixed. The ultrasound machine still whirred, the crepe paper sheet crinkled under my skin and the room was musty and warm. Matt sat in the chair by the bed and he tapped his foot repeatedly.  Matt is NOT a foot tapper. I took a breath and closed my eyes and "felt the room". Was it heavy? Would something bad happen here? Was something wrong with this pregnancy? With this baby of ours?

Yes.

The energy in that room made my skin crawl. It was heavy and dark and simply felt tragic.

I cried immediately when the ultrasound tech had trouble finding the baby. She tried to be reassuring. She told me that they don't do routine ultrasounds at 7.5 weeks because they are so small they are hard to find.  It didn't reassure me in the least. Through tears, I focused on Matt's face as he stood over her shoulder looking at that ultrasound screen searching for our child. He was serious and stiff because he didn't see one...and then suddenly, his shoulders relaxed and he nodded to me and there it was! It took them 30 minutes to find, but there was our little baby bean! We saw the heartbeat, a tiny flicker, and it charted in the normal range. The baby measured small (6 wks 1 day), but everything was give or take a week or two at that stage. They were just thrilled the heartbeat was beating away as fast as it should be. They sent me on my way with a picture of our little November baby.

I wish I could say that having that ultrasound put me at ease or that it had reassured me by seeing the baby's heart rate, but it didn't. I felt the energy in that room and knew what it revealed to me. Something was wrong. The universe was just easing me into it. I stared at that precious ultrasound picture of that little alien-like bean and I spoke to it. I said, "Hello little one. You do your job and I will do mine. Stay with me, please".

The next day, we got an offer on our house. Two days later, we negotiated a deal and went under contract. Three days later, I started bleeding...

Luck is a tricky thing

Today, I share this photo for the first time through tears...

The universe gave me a 30th birthday present so precious I couldn't possibly think myself worthy of it.  It gave me a positive home pregnancy test.

It took us 3 months to conceive Eva. Round 2, it took us one month, one try. Bingo!

I KNEW it this time well before I saw a plus sign. Round 2, you know what you're looking for in a way you don't have reason to know the first time around. I was exhausted. So exhausted it hurt to sit up. And I was nauseous, but maybe I was just getting sick? I knew for sure one night when I was getting into the shower. I caught a glimpse of of my boobs, specifically my nipples. If you've been pregnant you know what I am talking about before I even have to say it = alien nipples. 

I saw them and lost my breath. Holy shit I'm pregnant. 

I took 4 tests before I got the result I knew was correct. I learned my lesson from the whole "faint line" thing with Eva's conception and used the digital models this time, which resulted in a very clear, bold-printed "PREGNANT"!

Eva was napping at the time and I clasped my hands over my mouth to keep myself from screaming out in joy and risk waking her. I didn't hear the end of it when I got pregnant with Eva and didn't tell my mom right away, but instead waited for Christmas. So I called my mother and let her be the first to know. (She knew before Matt, for the record!) When I heard Eva's sweet voice through the monitor, telling me she was awake by calling my name, I bounded in with an ear to ear grin and said, "Well hello, big sister!"

I wanted to share this special news with Matt in a way I didn't have the grace to do the first time around. Instead of screaming at him from the bathroom and waving a pee stick in his face, I took Eva shopping to buy a "Big Sister" t-shirt. I viewed this as the first of many important events in preparing her for the role of a lifetime. 

Eva was wearing the shirt when Matt got home from work. It took him like 20 minutes to notice and even then it's only because I pointed it out. His reaction, "No SHIT!? For real?" and then he did a little Chandler Bing type dance in celebration of his effective swimmers!  We were going to have a baby. 

We didn't even worry about selling our house in that moment. It never even crossed my mind. I thought about that siren that had been going off in my mind like a war due to my back problems, "possible fertility issues". I had the arrogance to think, "fertility issues, my ass!"

I was due to have a baby November 11, 2011...11/11/11. We took it as a sign of luck. 

If I knew then what I know now I could have been prepared that "luck" is a tricky thing...

Round 2

There is something about the 1 year mark that makes everyone feel like they have the right to be nosey into your private baby-making life. When Matt and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary, everyone starting asking if we were going to have a baby soon.  We didn't. We waiting 4 years for that. Once Eva celebrated her first birthday, everyone started asking when we would have number 2. 

Originally, when Matt and I first started talking about babies (before we were married) we wanted to have 3 children. We wanted to have our first when we were young (like 26) and then wait four years before we had the second and then have the third soon after that. We had many reasons for why this was our plan then, but once we had Eva in our arms and our hearts plans changed. 

Eva was about a month old when I looked at Matt and said, "I want 6 more just like her!". 

After Eva turned one we talked about it more seriously and decided that we still wanted three children, but now we wanted an option for four. We didn't want to wait until Eva was four before she had siblings to share the roost with, but we weren't QUITE ready yet either. We had some preparations to make first.

1. We needed to move. While we technically could have had two children in our townhome, we did not WANT to have two children in our townhome. We simply couldn't imagine how we could even see each other over all the toddler gear AND baby gear at the same time. By this point we had been on the market for 9 months and were getting nowhere except into a lower price bracket with each price decrease. We were very discouraged. We had had probably a dozen showings in ALL nine months on the market. It was incredibly difficult to keep a house show-ready for 9 months while raising an infant turning into a toddler inside it. The last two showings we had scheduled were no shows. I was about to crack under the pressure so we pulled the house from the market and planned to regroup in 2011.  

2. I needed to fix my back. I was still having some serious pelvic-back issues. So I went to the doctor, got x-rays and completed almost 2 months of physical therapy.  Check!

3. I needed to ween myself off of caffeine and sugar. I knew I would be walking right back into Gestational Diabetes again once I got pregnant. I was NOT looking forward to this at all. Having GD a second time meant I would be handled by the Diabetes Center and not Maternal/Fetal Medicine. It also meant I would have an even higher chance of keeping Diabetes post-pregnancy. Boo.

4. We needed to take a vacation!  Before Eva was born, Matt and I took a "Babymoon" to Disney World. We had a wonderful time and wanted to take Eva even though she was still so young. I wanted to go there while I wasn't pregnant so I could eat and ride whatever I wanted! My best friend lives in Orlando and her 30th birthday was a fabulous excuse to take the trip. Check!

So all that really left us with was selling the house. We met up with our realtor again and resigned all the paperwork and were ready to brave it all again. We weren't willing to sit on the market for another 9 months so we came on the market well under market value (our apologies to the neighbors!) and with our game faces on. 

After a long discussion, we decided we didn't want to put our family on hold anymore and we decided we'd start trying and give the house-selling-situation up to the powers that be. We hoped we would sell before we got pregnant because it would probably take months before I got pregnant....or so we thought...

Eva "Stitches" Shire....not if her mother can help it!

I am skipping over a TON of events that were important to me and Matt and Eva here (1st birthday, 1st family vacation, 1st trip to a farm, etc.) because this is the event that's on my mind this morning. 

We managed to go well over a year before Eva got anything more than a "teething fever" (which of course doctors swear don't exist...um...would you like to come to my house for a clinical observation?!). She didn't even have an ear infection in her first year. However, A trip to the ER was bound to happen with Matt as her father.  

As a child, Matt broke every bone in each limb at least twice. He busted his nose running through a plate glass door. "Stitches" would have been an appropriate middle name for my husband.

Eva was 14 months old. It was one September morning. It was early. I wasn't even out of my pajamas yet. Matt went to work and I had just given eva her morning orange juice. I was at the sink washing whatever we had let sit in there overnight while my coffee was percolating. That's when I heard it.

Over the sounds of Mickey's "hot dog dance" (I can only assume that it was a panicked rush to get to watch this on the TV that caused the incident to happen at all) came a curdling scream and a cry I can't even describe. I barely even heard it with my ears, it was more like my soul. That's how deep it struck me. 

I ran into the family room with the water in the sink still running and my hands full of soap to find Eva face down on the carpet right on the edge of the coffee table. 

I didn't see it happen, but I know what must have occurred. My little girl took a flying face dive into our solid wood coffee table, which had two exposed sections (one on top and a rim along the bottom) and she had managed to smack her face on the top part, fall and hit the bottom one. Her left eye and the bridge of her nose blew up so fast I had to talk myself down from a panic. 

I called my paramedic neighbor and he rushed over to take a look. "Um...yeah...you may want to take her to AI to the ER". My inner monologue: "Jane, now is NOT the time to panic. YOU are the mother here. YOU must be calm!!! slap slap, calm the fuck down!". I called Matt and told him as calm as I possibly could with Eva freaking out in the background that he needed to come take us to the hospital. NOW!

We were at AI Hospital for Children for what seemed like forever. And while waiting for the doctor, my nerves calmed. Not because I felt like my child was safe and would be treated and felt perfectly at ease with that, but because there were "Code Blue"s and trauma arrival alerts while we were there. My child busted her face on the coffee table. She had an ordeal and it scared, hurt and upset her. She had stopped bleeding and the swelling wasn't increasing anymore. Somewhere in this ER, someone's Eva was turning blue and no longer breathing. Someone's Eva was arriving via ambulance on a stretcher with trauma from any sort of accident so far exceeding what happened with our stupid coffee table that there was no room or need for comparison. Eva was in my arms and smiling up at me. The Shires were fine and thank God for that miracle.

In the end she didn't break her nose or eye socket, she didn't even need stitches. She had a nasty "Rocky-ish" shiner for about 2 weeks and we seriously considered putting the coffee table in storage. But she was back at home by nap time and was acting like her usual happy, tricky self. 

The thing that lingered was a mother's guilt.

I know, I know...I couldn't really have done much to prevent that accident at that moment. She must have tripped. That happens at 14 months old ALOT. I had put corner guards on the coffee table so it's not like I was neglecting that the coffee table was a potential danger. I couldn't stand over her every second of the day in order to have caught her before she hurt herself. I mean, someone has to wash the damn dishes, even though I really wish it didn't have to be me (GOD there are so many dishes when you have kid!!). The guilt came because I saw it coming before it happened.

For the few days leading up to this incident, Eva was really clumsy. I chalk it up now to a foot growth spurt. Right after this she skipped a size 4 shoe altogether. Her balance was off completely. She had been walking well since she was 11 months old. She was solidly running by 14 months. It wasn't related to that. She just tripped and knocked into things all the time for about a week before this. My friend even told me that she ran right into the wall at her house at one point. But she kept bumping into the coffee table. Anytime she was near it she would hit her foot on the corner, knock a knee into the side or chest bump the corner guards. I kept "seeing" something more happening involving this coffee table, thinking "this thing is dangerous", but I ignored it. And something did happen. I could have shot myself I felt so guilty.

I consider us lucky that a black eye was the worst of it. And I take a lesson from it. Now, whenever I "see" a danger happening. Even if it's something as silly as "if I leave my iced tea there, Eva could spill it", I move it. If I think, "this cord is dangling" and think it could harm Eva in anyway I move it. I don't cross my fingers and think everything will be fine like I may have before. I don't hover over her by any means, but if I "see" it, I take care of it. The first time. Every time.

I am hoping this saves her from following in Matthew "Stiches" Shire's footsteps for at least a decade!

Lumpity bump bump

As I previously mentioned, I tried to breastfeed in the most traditional sense. I tried to get her mouth to tit for longer than I could stand it. I tried to do it. It seemed like the easiest, cheapest, healthiest, most convenient and most natural way to work things, but I never really WANTED to do it. It sort of creeps me out if I'm being forthright about it, but I could do anything for my Eva. In the end, she rejected me completely so I pumped for months and she got her nutrition that way with assistance from good old Enfamil. This meant I wound up hooked up to a hospital grade breast pump for almost half of any given day. It took awhile for my "supply" to arrive (it must have been temporarily lost in the mail) so once it did I was determined to fill up my fridge AND freezer! 

I would say it was about a month when a milk duct decided to malfunction and got clogged. I don't know how this happens. Breast milk is the consistency of 2 ounces of water with a drop or two of cream in it. How does this clog anything? It's beyond my ability to comprehend. But what I do know is that when it clogs a duct, the resulting infection is a bitch! 

It was my right boob ("Mary Kate", according to Matt) and right on the top. A hot-to-the-touch, hard and painful lump showed up. I never spiked a fever because I knew what it was at the earliest signs and my OB was very attentive and I was on a prescription like brown on rice. The antibiotic helped, but the best remedy is to let the milk continue to flow. At one point or another, I remember this thing was so painful and sore that I was expecting to see a stone sized clump suddenly shoot out and into the breast milk bag, clearly indicating that the clog was now clear. That never happened, obviously, and one day, it was just miraculously better. And I was back in business.

About 9 months later, I had been weened from pumping for awhile so all the swelling in my now GLOBE sized breasts had subsided. I went bra shopping and was shocked to find out that I was still the same bra size (a D if you're nosey or a pervert) only now I needed padding because my now hollow used boobs were deflated. Who needs padding in a D cup? Yup, that's me. 

So I took my now bubbly padded-D cup boobies home and went on with mothering. 

At some point I realized it and put it off in the back of my mind where we place things like, "change the brita filter" for constant "GOD why can't I remember to do that?!". It was a lump. A breast lump.

Now, I'm not a hypochondriac (well, that's not completely true. I can't watch Dr. Oz or The Doctors without thinking I have some strange disease that they are mentioning). This lump was in roughly the same spot the clogged duct had been, but not exactly the same spot. Could it have moved when my boobs deflated? Possibly, even probably. 

It may be questionable whether or not I'm a hypochondriac or not, but I'm definitely not a fool. 

One of my favorite people from college, therefore one of my favorite people period, felt a lump at some point too. She also wasn't a fool. She pointed it out to this doctor and that one and all of them gave her the response that she really wanted to hear, but unfortunately for this rock star woman, it wasn't the correct response. She was diagnosed with breast cancer several years later, when it was well beyond just "breast" cancer. (Why can't we locate these bastard doctors and have them stoned? That's what I want to know!?). 

So for years she has been fighting this fight and kicking ass here and there and occasionally, sadly, getting her ass kicked while everyone who has her on their "my favorite people, period" list has to sit back and try to support her while being entirely helpless to actually do any good. 

So when I felt this lump, I went into action. Am I going to bear witness to her story and still be so ignorant that it could be her and not me? NOPE. I was at the doctor in less than 3 days. 

They were pretty sure it was scar tissue from the clogged duct that did likely move slightly when I stopped pumping and the milk ducts dried up, but......

I was sent for a breast ultrasound. Thinking of my friend and all I know of her story since she first found her lump, I was thrilled they even sent me for the ultrasound. That was more than her doctors ever did for her. But I wasn't put at ease by that. 

I went for the ultrasound directly from the OB exam. It was only one floor down in the same building. I sat and waited for awhile because I didn't have an appointment. My name was called, I changed in the little changing room into the paper thin gown and I was sat to wait in an ultrasound room. 

I took a breath and did the same thing I did when I was in labor early with Eva and the NICU director was giving me all the worst-case-scenarios: I surveyed the energy in the room. I took notice of the blink of the lights, the feel of the crepe paper underneath my back, the smell of the office space and the whirring sound the ultrasound machine was making. Would I forever remember that whir? Would this musty smell forever remind me of the day my life changed? Would this moment be heavy?

No. It didn't feel heavy. It felt musty and too warm for the season and that light blinking was really annoying and why is that machine so loud when it's not actively in use, but it felt light.  I wasn't willing to let myself off the hook entirely; too superstitious for that. But I let out the breath I was holding.

And in the end I consider myself lucky as all hell. Nothing showed up on the ultrasound. I check that lump on Mary Kate more than once a month and I don't leave out Ashley. I check her too. About a month ago I thought maybe it had changed so I went back to my doctor. She had no cause for concern, but to come back in 3 months if I'm still worried. I will forever be worried. I am a woman in her 30s in THIS day and age.  I have to check the "yes" box on medical forms when it asks if I have a maternal grandmother who had breast cancer. I have a friend MY AGE who is on her upteenth round of chemo because cancer seems determined to prove that she's weak...watch out, cancer, she's not and she's coming for you! 

I am watching mine closely because someone wasn't watching hers close enough. Please watch yours too!

I want my back back baby

When Eva was six months old, we looked around our townhouse and really saw all the baby items starting to take over. The way our home was set up, we pretty much existed in one room most of the day and now that Eva was in motion, we had to have stations to interest her. I called it "circuit training". It was like Curves for babies in this one room of our house. We had a jumperoo, a swing, a play mat, a box of toys, a box of books, a bouncer, and a table toy.  Eva would maintain interest in any one activity or station for about 10-15 minutes before she would FLIP out. So I would typically feed her, change her, put her in the jumperoo for 10-15 minutes, then move her to the swing, they play with her and her box of toys, then to the play mat, then read with her from the box of books, then to the bouncer and finally help her stand at that table toy before she needed to eat and be changed again and start the whole circuit over again. 

This circuit training worked like a charm, but the "stations" had completely taken over our living space. We knew that the worst was yet to come. Soon there would be a toddler toys...and LOTS of them.

We needed to move. 

We met with our realtor on a Friday and that weekend we began to pack some stuff up to make our home look deceptively larger. We packed up margarita glasses, Christmas dishes, breadmakers, wedding china and everything else we didn't use on any sort of regular basis. We were going on the market Monday.

Sunday morning Matt got up early with Eva and later I woke up having to pee so bad it was reminiscent of pregnancy. Only, I couldn't get out of bed. Literally. I didn't know why. All I was aware of was pain. A pain so deep and so all encompassing that I would have literally rather peed the bed that attempt to get to the bathroom. I couldn't even roll over. 

After about 5 minutes I was able to locate where the pain was coming from. It was the right side of my lower back. I took a series of deep breaths and tried to call out for my husband. It hurt too much to yell. So I cried. It hurt even more to cry.

Luckily Matt came up soon to put Eva down for her morning nap and found me crying and still trying to hold onto my bladder. I ordered him not to touch me. He was half panicked, but half thinking, "oh my gosh my wife is such a drama queen". I could tell that's what he was thinking. And at times, he's completely right. This time, he was wrong. Unfortunately, he was very very wrong. 

It took me an hour to get to the bathroom and pee and then down the stairs to the couch. I called a neighbor who was a paramedic and asked what medics would do to help me if I called an ambulance and he told me. The only answer I wanted from him was to tell me they would give me a horse tranquilizer before they tried to touch or move me. That wasn't the answer he gave me. So I cried some more.

I have no idea what I did to my back. I didn't THINK I over did it while packing up all of our things the day before. I barely lifted anything. There was no cause for this. I just simply couldn't move and sitting/lying still was the single most excruciating event I hope I ever have to experience.  I think Matt eventually understood that I wasn't faking or putting on a show. We called the doctor and got an emergency prescription and appointment. There was no way I could have made it to the doctor without some serious medication first. The doctor proved to be slightly useless but I left with an extended prescription for all sorts of pain meds and muscle relaxers. Matt took a day or two off of work and my mom had to come down for the rest of that week. I couldn't sit up or hold Eva for over a week. 

A week or more later, I was still on the meds and I would stand in front of the mirror still feeling horrible pain trying to figure out why my torso looked the way it did. I could right it. Our good friends, who are also our neighbors, are PTs, thank GOD! They came over and looked me over and told me it looked like I had slipped a disc or had a lateral lumbar shift. By that, they meant my spine was actually seriously F-ed up. He gave me some suggestions of things to do. And I did them.

About 3 weeks later, I was fine. I was sore from time to time and lived with a fear of its return every morning. I saw a chiropractor for 6 months and he helped with symptoms but didn't cure a damn thing. I got an x-ray and it revealed absolutely nothing. 

A year later I got some answers. It wasn't my back. It wasn't my hip. It was my pelvis. It wasn't sitting right. It was twisted. Nothing I did packing boxes that day had caused it. But something did: pregnancy.

We all know that pregnancy causes our pelvis to separate over time in order to prepare to push an 8 pound watermelon out of our "ladies". Well, at some point, it has to come back together. Sometimes it takes a month or two, other times almost 9 months. Most women have no reason to even notice. It took my pelvis almost six months on the dot and I had reason to notice.

It involved my sacroiliac joint (google it if you want the whole "hip bone's connected to the sacroiliac joint..." thing of it). There were risks to this condition and one of the top ones they listed was "fertility issues".  Awesome.  They told me it was common and extremely painful (tell me something I don't already know), but that it could be fixed.  I could receive therapy and that would help, but one of the most effective treatments is actually a subsequent pregnancy. It would separate the joint again and hopefully it would come back together correctly the second time. Interesting.

I went to PT for a few months when Eva was 16 months old that really helped. I haven't felt pain in that region since I stopped PT. Occasionally, I feel weakness there. If I get tired, I feel an ache there as if that is the area to weaken first. I always take it easy when I feel that ache. I know it is not something I want to rehash or anger. 

I continued to live in fear of having to experience it again (I do to this day). I am simply too young to live in fear of waking up and not being able to get out of bed. Something else struck me more than this though. "Possible infertility issues"...it rang in my ears like a gong. 

It is still ringing...