"You are officially no longer pregnant"

That was the best news I'd heard all day. After 22 hours of labor, my son arrived early last Sunday morning screaming and healthy, and was placed on my chest while they wiped him off, just as I'd requested.

At 3:55 Saturday morning my water broke, and so began the journey down the tunnel called the birthing process. I'd planned to keep my medication options open and alerted our doula as we drove to the hospital. Some hours later, my dilation had still not progressed so they gave me two doses of a medication to help this process - a medication that also had the effect of intensifying my contractions and bringing them closer together. My doula arrived just as I was having the epidural administered - I knew I was not going to cope well enough to endure this without it, but it didn't bother me because it was my choice. In fact, it wasn't the horrifying experience I'd built it up to be in my mind. It was kind of a non-event. So, even though it meant losing mobility and having a catheter, I conceded. No regrets.

The doula was still very useful and a great aide to us though. We talked about our mutual experiences with miscarriage, she massaged my feet quite a bit (which sped up labor, actually), and she was a great source of calm and inspiration during an uncertain time. My mother and good friend also hung out in the room until it was time to push, and even though I wondered how I'd feel about having people in the room it was a welcome, warming distraction to be surrounded by their love and support.

I'll spare you the details of the rest, except to say that the epidural never quite took effect in one area of me so it was by no means a painless experience. In the last couple hours, I pushed with each contraction and didn't have the energy to open my eyes in between them - in fact, I'd let myself doze off in between them to conserve my strength - so when the final moment came I was able to muster the strength to finish. I did insist on drugs right after, as the epi had been disconnected and I got some stitches to repair five tears (yeah. ouch.).

All things considered, it was a perfectly normal birthing event with no complications.

Now, here I am a week later lost in a haze of round-the-clock feeding, burping, changing, adoring, praying, praising God, posting photos on Fac.ebo.ok, crying, and crying again because I cannot believe the unfathomable depth of this blessing that God has given my husband and me. It really is one of those things that everyone says is wonderful but no one can really articulate. I'm grateful and terrified, confident and conservative, wanting to learn and wanting to just rest. But all I can really do is live in the moment whether that means wanting to rip my eyes out of my head from lack of sleep or gush love and gratitude as I take another pic of him being completely wonderful and beautiful, and beyond anything I've ever known.

Oh yeah, I'm hooked. Smitten. In love. My heart no longer belongs to me. Pardon me while I go cry some more and hold my son.

so close

39 weeks and a couple of days. That's how far we've come. I saw the doc today and there's been no change in effacement (50%) or dilation (maybe 1 cm) for the past two weeks. Since my due date is next Wednesday, she said that depending on how things go she might talk to me about an "exit strategy" but she assumed I wasn't interested in that yet (true).

I have to admit I'm kind of disappointed, but it did spur me to go for a 20 minute walk after work today. Meanwhile, I sleep like crap. I pee every half hour (baby's head is nice and low). I'd walk more if it didn't make my lower back feel like I was pushing an anvil.

Oh yeah - I've entered the bitchy stage. Bwa-haha....

I know I'm being a bit impatient since I'm not at the arbitrary magical due date yet - it's just more challenging since I'm uncomfortable and exhausted and whatnot. Besides - technically the kiddo is still "on time" if he comes anywhere from two weeks before to two weeks after that due date. Not that I wanna go another three weeks like this, but it is rather reassuring.

I try to give this to God daily and submit to His perfect timing.

In the meantime, I try to find the humor in all of this. Probably my most hilarious recent moment was trying to cut my own toenails. I know, I know. I should just get a blasted pedicure since my feet look like they're retaining helium while shedding the latest layer of alligator scales (sexy!). Since my sinuses like to swell overnight, I snore about as loud as a freight train carrying a bunch of snarling bears crashing through a tunnel. Those are the highlights.

I shouldn't be impatient. I should be one of those women who loves being pregnant because she's just so damn grateful to be pregnant in the first place. But I'm... just not. I do, however, love feeling my son warble around. I love singing to him and saying "good morning" and watching in amazement as he moves like a fish in a bowl toward my husband's hand whenever he touches my belly. Truth is, I'm already in love and I cry whenever I think about the nurses putting him on my skin right after birth, cord and all, unwashed and pure.

In other words, it's a mixed bag. A bag of fresh fruit that doesn't even have a name flown straight from Eden, putrid rotten fish from the bottom of a swamp, gourmet chocolates filled with raspberry cream by reincarnated Mayan priests, and water. Buckets of water. Because that's what I'm required to do - drink oceans of water.

right around the corner

The doc told me yesterday that he's lightening or lowering. Getting into position. My reaction was kind of like entering a marathon and getting my bib number sent to me.

Around 10 this morning I actually had lower back pain - something I have not experienced at all during this pregnancy - which only lasted about a minute. I thought it was a bit odd.

Around 3:30 this afternoon, I got a nice solid dose of cramping during which I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. It passed within 30 seconds.

Shades of things to come. I am drinking my raspberry leaf tea every day now, as this is supposed to help tone the uterine muscles (and thus make them more effective for baby's birth day).

Still haven't booked a doula, but am leaning toward hiring one direct from the hospital. If they get back to me on time...

mind over mind? and bringing God in

I've mentioned more than once here that the idea of the birthing process freaks my cookies. To slay this dragon, or at least build a bridge that goes around it, I've educated myself (and DH) with my doc's reminder that "information is power." I've gone through the childbirth preparedness class at our birthing center, read through more than one book that talks about the process, prayed many times, spent time thinking about the event and its inevitable outcome – the birth of my son, and started listening to the Hyp.no.birthing CDs.

I have now listened to four sessions. Every time, I fall asleep. Or at least I'm pretty sure that's what happens because I couldn't possibly tell you what I've learned other than how to breathe deeply. Last night I listened to a session called Deepening, which guides the listener into a deeper state of hypnosis. I suspect that, even if I do fall asleep, my mind really is getting the message because for whatever reason I returned to a state of consciousness a few minutes before the end of the session (rather than waking up to dead silence).

I can tell you that, as of right now, I do not feel dread at the thought of going to the birthing center (in fact, I'm looking forward to plugging in my iPod and dimming the lights in there!). DH is still pretty squeamish about being there, though – I'm hoping he listens to the birth partner CD so he can be more calm during the process.

Despite the "pain-free labor" the home study professes, this is not my expectation. I'd say I am resisting the urge to build any expectations since I know that anything can happen. I am, however, starting to visualize how I would like the process to go. Why do this? Because the mind is powerful, and the suggestion can influence the outcome. My coworker, who also used the program, did this and many aspects of her process carried out exactly the way she had envisioned it.

At the same time, I have begun focusing more on bringing God into the experience and making Him the focus of my desire. Last weekend in yoga class, as the instructor cooed gentle words of new age "wisdom," the thought popped into my head of really making God part of the process instead of an afterthought. I am praying more in that direction, asking God to cover me with His Spirit and permeate the room we'll be in.

Hyp.nobir.thing and visualization are powerful tools, but they are just tools. God is no tool.

my adventures in self-care

Okay, I wouldn't go so far as to call them "adventures," but I am looking for ways to make my pregnancy and birth more comfortable and less stressful. I know, I can just show up and grab the anesthesiologist to stick that needle in my back. But there's more to it than that - at least for me.

As I've said before, this is a huge challenge for me. So whatever I can do to improve serenity and health is worth doing. Nevermind those cookies, ice cream and candies that I can't stay out of!

Case in point: Hypno.babies

Last week in the childbirth prep class, they took us on a tour of the birthing center (kind of a hybrid birth center & hospital). It was very pleasant and informative. Later we watched a documentary profiling three women who used epidurals and gave descriptions of the process, etc. I was interested in it, but I noticed that my palms were sweating and I was starting to feel a bit sick. I excused myself to go use the restroom and hung out in the hallway for a while. It was a mild panic attack, which went away as soon as I left the room.

After this experience, I knew I had to do something about my subliminal reaction to the whole thing. My coworker lent me this home study course a month ago but I hadn't touched it. I downloaded all the tracks onto my iPod and started listening this week. So far I must say it is relaxing and is helping me, but I think I'm falling asleep each time I listen. The course says that's okay, as the subconscious mind still absorbs the information, so I'm not worried about it. I'll keep listening/sleeping and go through them all.

Second case in point: herbal teas

I have been reading through various sources of herbal support for pregnancy, mostly looking for consistency across different authors. Safety is critical, of course. Two herbs that I've decided to drink in tea form daily until the baby's born are nettle and red raspberry leaf. Both are called uterine tonics - kind of an odd expression, but basically it helps prepare the muscles for expansion and contraction. That, in turn, makes birthing easier and less painful - maybe even shorter - and recovery quicker.

I haven't ruled out the wildly popular epidural - I'm about 70% in favor of it at this point, since I make no assumptions about how my birthing experience will be. But I am all about supporting my body and mind in this stage, and treating childbirth like a mere medical event instead of the rite of passage that it is feels hollow.

In case you're curious, one of my book sources is Wise Woman Herbal for the Childbearing Year, Susun S Weed.

visual aids and the perception of progress

There we were, in the second of four childbirth preparation classes, when the leader showed a DVD of the labor process. Included were snippets from actual live births with women who didn't appear to be using meds (not that it matters). The emerging head, the visual inspection of the placenta…

Pardon me while I hurl.

Afterwards, the leader asked if we had any questions. Me? "Can I just schedule a c-section under general anesthesia?"

My doctor promises me that it's different when you're in the moment. Different as in better, right? LOL

As of today, I'm 30 weeks along and all is well. Or "perfect" as my doc says. I like her terminology. Oh, I could complain about the slow digestive tract, the sleep issues (Snore like a mama bear roaring in the woods when confronted with a threat to her cubs? Me?), the unanticipated weight gain (it's a good thing DH has no reason to pick me up or his back would snap in half), the heartburn (I love the jingling sound my plastic bottles of antacids make), the low energy (I regularly act on the overwhelming desire to nap), the mood swings (I love you! I'm desperate! I hate this place! Get outta my way! Aw how cute! I'm terrified!).

Oh but why? The baby is perfect. I don't have any problems that require intervention or careful monitoring or bed rest. So, really, I have nothing to complain about. Not that it stops me…

Hey kid! Quit kicking my bladder! …I mean, I love you sweet one…

A brief and powerful vision

The other night I was reading a novel, sitting Indian-style on the couch as I usually do. I glanced down at my belly and suddenly… I had a kind of vision of my son: Truly picturing him as a person of flesh and blood within my womb (no longer an idea or dream), growing and sucking his thumb and moving his eyes and mouth; realizing the power of knowing that, in a matter of weeks, I'll be holding him and staring at him and will no longer be pregnant but a parent.

Whoops. I can't think about this too long. I'm at work and I will start crying, just like I did in my car on the way to work this morning.

It occurs to me that I have no idea just how blessed I am. And I thought I had a pretty good idea.

Multitasking Heart

First the good news: the big 20-week ultrasound was last week, and it was more or less a smashing success. I say more or less because the tech had trouble getting a good image of a couple of baby bits, so I squirmed while she dug in the wand. I have no idea how long it took - 45 minutes? But now I have sore muscles connecting my pelvis to my hips.

Anyway, I digress. She asked if we wanted to know the sex, I said yes, and she said something like "Well there's this thing here between the legs".. I'm thinking yes - it's a dash in a snowstorm - so I said "What is it?" and she kindly pointed out that it's a penis. I felt just slightly silly (but later learned that DH couldn't tell either so we can be ignorant together!).

So yeah. Somewhere around Valentine's Day I'm gonna give birth to a boy.

Me. Give birth. Have a baby. I'm actually pregnant and it's not going away. I feel him bumping around in me, and see (and feel) my body changing rapidly.

I am blown away by this every day. When I thank Jesus for this amazing blessing that I can barely comprehend, I start to cry (usually at a time when I can't like in the car, at work, or outside walking).

Meanwhile, DH is awake at 3 a.m. most nights trying to figure out all the details of the parenting universe while I toss and turn trying to figure out how to stay comfortable long enough to sleep more than half an hour at a stretch.

I truly do not understand how any woman can honestly say she loves being pregnant. Emotionally it's a variety of wonder, terror, and joy. Physically it's a major pain in the ass. But it has to be worth it, right? Just kidding. Sort of.

Rather than ruminating over the complexities of parenthood (which makes my brain go numb), I can't think more than six months ahead. I'm debating what kind of childbirth I really want to embrace. The epidural is fine, though I truly loathe the idea of having a footlong needle stuck in my spine while my pee drains into a bag. Part of me truly wants to feel the act of giving birth, though. Like somehow being numb from the waist down will disconnect me from the experience a bit.

My coworker used the hypnobirthing method with amazing success, which makes me wonder: could I do it? She said it was definitely not pain free, but she was able to manage it and stay calm. She was in labor for all of six hours. Okay, I don't think that means I'd have the same experience but I gotta wonder if there's really something to this. Obviously there is. I will do research.

And now the bad news. My grandmother is dying. She suffered congestive heart failure the day before my ultrasound. She's apparently conscious now but isn't connected to reality at all. I wish so much that I could be at her side, even though she'd probably not know me, and just pray and be there. Death isn't new to me: I've lost a great grandmother, grandfather, and other grandmother not to mention a couple of uncles. I have held a bedside vigil. I don't wish her to recover - her life has dwindled to medication and the white walls of a nursing home while her mind is trapped in the prison of dementia - I wish for God's mercy to end her suffering and bring her home. God's will be done.

So my heart vacillates between joy and sadness, hope and longing, the future of my son and the past of one of my mothers who helped raise me. Yes, it's the cycle of life. No beginning comes without something else ending, does it?

The Pressure is On

This week we're having the floors replaced in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. Leaving the carpet in the bedrooms and the linoleum in the bathrooms (for now).

On the first day of construction, I came home to bundles of furniture collected in the center of the living room and in the kitchen. Clearly, cooking was out of the question. We also noticed a thick film of dust collecting on every surface (probably the walls too). All we can think about now is how much cleaning we'll need to do this weekend once it's all done - it was kind of depressing and made me anxious. Not that I'm not willing, but I know how fast I get tired these days.

Otherwise I can't believe we lived with this nasty gray carpet in our condo for nine stinking years. So much for being frugal. I hate spending the money, but it's all part of the plan to make the condo more appealing once we're finally ready to sell it and buy a house (not planning on it helping the value since that's in the toilet anyway). At this point, that could be another couple years. But I digress.

On the second day of construction, I was determined to lay on the couch in front of the TV so I rearranged a couple pieces of furniture. I felt like I had triumphed over a small hurdle, but by the end of the evening I was coughing up dust. Ick.

Our collective frustration manifested itself in, of all things, an argument about painting the walls. DH is in love with pure, flat, white paint. The kind you see in art galleries. I can see why he's attracted to it, but it's anathema to a home as far as I'm concerned. To me, pure white (except the trim, doors, and ceiling) is cold and hard. Not soft and warm like I prefer. Is it worth arguing about? Probably not, especially in that moment. But it was too late. I was pissed off.

I sat in a chair later (in the dust-free bedroom), trying to figure out why I was so frustrated. I could see it was symptomatic of the pressure I'm feeling all around me. I'm still getting used to being pregnant, am suffering some digestive maladies because of it, typically wake up 6-7 times a night instead of sleeping soundly, and feel overwhelmed at the thought of planning for the arrival of the baby and all the complexities it will bring:

• Will I keep working full time?
• Do I have a choice?
• How much is day care?
• Do we need to dump half our furniture so we're not crowded *sses-to-elbows in that condo?
• Can I afford to take 12 weeks off (6 unpaid)? Yeah, probably not but I want to so badly!
• How am I gonna bond with our baby if I have to work full time?
• Just how much water do I need to drink anyway?
• Am I really going to have this baby or is something gonna go wrong?
• We're so screwed...

Today's the third day of construction and we're not sure they'll be done before sometime tomorrow. But that's okay. I can live with dust (from the other room), and we can use it as an excuse to go out to dinner tonight. Protecting my sanity and marriage is more important anyway.

I was reminded yesterday, whether by the Spirit or nine months of counseling drilled into my head, that I need to make sure I take opportunities for self care. I'm woefully neglectful and lazy in that department - not sure why. So I'm signing up for chair massage at work once a month. Trying to prioritize exercise. Eating more vegetables and fruit. Saying no once in a while (though maybe not often enough).

I'd like to say that I'm procrastinating less but that would be a lie. I still can't make any decisions about the condo or the baby, and even though I'm on the docket to play guitar and sing background vocals with the worship band this Sunday I haven't picked up my guitar this week (barely touched it in the last month). What is wrong with me? I know I need to practice but, without the song list for this Sunday, I'm likely to wait until I see it before I bother so much as humming a tune.

And, if I'm honest, I have to admit I've been neglecting my relationship with Jesus which is the stupidest of all. My friendship with my Lord is my anchor in this world but I keep putting Him in a box instead of praying more and reading the Bible.

Just call me Procrastinitus Maximus!

Living in Tension

So we went on vacation this week. Opting for a reasonably priced, somewhat local option (we were thinking about Hawaii earlier this year, but it's just silly since I'm pregnant), we spent a week chilling out at my aunt & uncle's vacation home in the Utah mountains. I wouldn't say we did a lot - we did some stuff every day, but mostly relaxed which was the whole objective.

They say it takes three days for a person to actually relax on vacation. What would that look like? I use sleep as a gauge. In which case, relaxing apparently took a while - in fact, having arrived on Friday night it wasn't until the following Thursday night that I got a good night's sleep. The night before we headed home. Pretty sad, huh? But part of the reason is, that three-floor house in the forest surrounded by the black of night instead of the sounds of the city is downright creepy when it's just me and DH there. Otherwise we love it to pieces.

But anyway, on to the subject of the day: living in tension. I've said that I have decided to embrace hope, and that is true. As evidence I point to my generally non-stressed demeanor and acceptance of this pregnancy. I'm not freaking out about things anymore, though I kind of avoid learning much about raising a baby just yet. It's trickling in. Too overwhelming right now.

We finally decided to let the larger world in on our growing secret this week. Yeah, it took this long (I'm 17 weeks now). Letting the cat out of the bag feels like I'm enabling it to run away. Is that a weird analogy? And.. I still haven't told anyone at my work (save for the few who know me on more than a water cooler basis). And I still don't want to. Though they're probably about to start taking bets so I should.

I think there's something publicly embarrassing or just very awkward about people knowing about such an intense and private loss. Not like when a family member dies, but something.. I don't know what it is. Shame isn't the right word, I know.

Maybe it's because our society has no idea how to grieve publicly. We're taught to lick our wounds in our caves on evenings and weekends so we can be sparkly and productive on weekdays. But real life isn't like that. It kicks and screams and demands to be dealt with when it's inconvenient and messy and ugly. It relentlessly hounds us until we have nervous breakdowns or failed relationships, or until we pursue counseling or medications - or sometimes all of the above.

If this pregnancy doesn't work out, I don't know how I would return to work. I don't know that I would be mentally capable for some time. But why do such thoughts even cross my mind? Why am I still waiting for the other shoe to drop? Everything in my body is 100% clinically proven to be normal. Normal! The scans and the chromosomal blood tests prove it. So what the hell is my problem?

Oh wait... it's been a couple weeks since I cracked open that Battlefield of the Mind book. Guess it's time to do some more reading.

Sigh... God's work in my heart is never done.

What Does Support Look Like for Me?

That's the question I have been asking myself this week. I realize I've posted a number of questions from well-meaning people that have inadvertently hurt or otherwise negatively affected me. There are others that I haven't bothered posting, because this blog isn't just a rant (as relieving as that can be at times). No, I really do want to focus on positive things and I know that others really do just want to express support but just don't know how. I mean, would I if I were in their shoes? Yeah, probably not.

Generally speaking, people's reactions have been a mix of awe and wonder and relief and even tears, not to mention absolute joy! Despite this plus the evidence so far of a perfectly normal pregnancy, we haven't made any bigger announcements. I don't know why exactly – twice bitten forever shy? It just feels right to tell people individually. I'll never post my ultrasound pic as my profile on my FB page. I'm happy to just enjoy what I can while I can in the context of a powerfully moving event. Of course, I seriously don't mind if a friend or relative leaks the info because they just can't hold it in.

Anyway, back to ways I can think of that are good ways to support me. First I'd say, ask me or DH how we are doing, and accept our weird answers. It's never a straightforward "fine!" or "great!" – it's always a mixture of optimism, hesitation, maybe a bit of discomfort, and other things that just make us human because of what we've been through and where we are now. It IS weird!

Second, I would say, is to be a cheerleader. Okay that sounds over the top, right? But you'd be amazed at how some people have reacted. Some can't help but have a negative (clinical, stereotypical) reaction since I'm such a geezer and statistically it's just so risky and the baby could have all kinds of problems and… right. Never mind the fact that there are societies where having children in the 50+ range is quite normal. If I had paid homage to statistics and didn't believe in the transforming power of the Holy Spirit, I flat out would never have tried again. And believe it or not, other people's enthusiasm actually lifts us up.

Eh, that's about all I can think of.

"Do You Want to be Pregnant?"

Hm.....

Hm.....

Had to think about this one for a while. DH asked me this after another bout of bitching and raving about exhaustion, indigestion, poorly fitting clothes, blah blah blah... Well mostly it's the indigestion. It's hard to be enthusiastic about anything if your list of edible foods can be counted on less than 10 fingers.

But anyway, back to my pondering. Here's why I don't want to be pregnant: the risk. The fear. The pain. The uncertainty. The checking of the underwear every time I go to the restroom (yes, still). The knowledge that anything can go wrong at any time, and really - we never run out of things to worry about. No real clearing of the woods, just milestones and minimizing risk and holding on to hope.

Here's why I do want it: To have the experience of giving birth just once. To see the joy on my husband's face when he holds his daughter or son for the first time. To realize the knowledge that it really is possible. To see my own flesh and blood running around the living room.

Part of me wants to give the big "ha! you were WRONG!" finger to the Specialist, but that's just dumb. Docs don't deal in absolutes, just percentages. So just what constitues a miracle in the eyes of a medical professional anyway? I can't prove anything to anyone. I can only tell my story and hope that it gives someone hope beyond their circumstances, to know that the end of something isn't the end of everything.

Last night I had a dream. DH and I were in a bedroom somewhere and I looked at a window. I noticed there was a recycling trash bin just below the window inside the room, which I thought looked kind of tacky. I looked again, and there was a mist of blood hovering over the trash bin. I looked again, and saw that the mist had been replaced by a slow-moving cloud hovering over the bin - I looked closely, noticing the nuances of the cloud as wisps curled around the edges. Then the cloud floated up to the ceiling. For some reason, I blew gently on the cloud. It began to dissipate, and then a small figure emerged from the cloud - it was a newborn baby, which was human but looked pale and otherworldly like the cloud. The baby began to float down, and I said "See? It's a baby!" to DH. He was leery, but the baby drifted down into the crook of my right arm. I held the baby, smiling. DH touched the baby's forehead, then its lips - and the baby caught his finger in its mouth in a gentle, sort of affectionate way. And then I woke up.

The next dream was one of those fast-action dreams with translucent tigers floating down a walkway in an Asian spa that changed plots every few minutes. Weird. Oh well.

Scan Day

It was a warm and clear night, and we passed the time watching a movie and getting in a 10-minute swim before the pool closed for the evening. Soon it was bedtime, and we felt a sort of peace that didn't make any sense. We had worked at letting go, at trying not to predict the joy or agony of a future we could not see. We had resigned ourselves to the fact that we have no control over the next day's news, and so we slept. Que sera, sera.

Morning came, too early for me, but I rose anyway. I ate half a bagel shortly after 6 a.m. since I was already starving, then hit the shower and began the routine of the day. Of course, this routine was interrupted by a morning visit to the doctor. This was the day of the big, fat ultrasound scan. The one that would tell me my future or at least the next year of it. I refused to project reactions and just prayed a little.

We drove to the doc's office, listening to music or talk radio or whatever, and still felt that peace. We walked through an adjoining hospital corridor and I remarked on how I hate the smell of hospitals. It scares me and makes me wonder if that is what death smells like.

We waited for several minutes in the lobby. DH went for a glass of water, and I was called back. Once inside the scanning room, DH showed up just after the technician who came in quickly and announced that she would do a belly scan. No wand necessary. I held my breath, reluctant to look at the screen. She was silent for a moment, getting the scanner into position.

Time stood still for just a moment.

The tech exclaimed "Oh, there's your baby!" And then... there it was. A baby squirming around in a sac of fluid, practically showing off to us to say "I'm still here!" Perfect shape, perfect heartbeat, perfectly measuring at 13 weeks, perfectly normal. I just laid there with my mouth open, incredulous at the fact that this was actually inside my body (except for swallowing the lump in my throat). Due date is somewhere near Valentine's Day. Nothing ironic about that, I'm sure.

The front view of the face, with the baby's still-translucent skin and visible skeleton, was kinda creepy. The tech gave us several photos. The doc answered what few questions we had. The assistant took blood (for the initial chromosome screening). And that was that.

Since I was hungry again, we stopped for a breakfast sandwich. Somewhere in that next half hour I decided - I am just going to embrace hope. I know, anything's still possible. But I do take comfort in those measurements, those movements, that heartbeat, and the fact that I'm officially in the second trimester. The facts are winning the argument over my fears.

Late this afternoon, DH opened a bottle of Cava (Spanish sparkling white wine) and I enjoyed a few sips. We toasted the (near) future, and I let him finish my glass. It was a good day.

Two More Days

Less than 48 hours from now, I will know. I will know whether this pregnancy really is viable, whether the fetus is growing normally, and soon after I'll know if there are any chromosomal abnormalities.

Yeah, we decided to do the preliminary blood test to see if there's a possibility for these types of birth defects. But I will not, unless my life is threatened, have an amniocentesis. I did not come this far to pretend that the life inside me is in my hands. I know better. It will only be information - knowledge of something to pray for.

According to the Web calculators, I should be just over 12 weeks now. Nausea is minimal, though I have my days. Food is still largely the enemy when it comes to heartburn as I play Russian Roulette with various foods (armed with Tums and Pepcid). Clothes are tighter, but I don't see anything resembling "the bump" yet. Then again, I do have a few somewhat toned stomach muscles so that could be why.

I'm obsessing about bad stuff way less. Thanks Lord! Dreams are still weird, though I'm trying not to take them as seriously as I might otherwise. I'm ridiculously forgetful (drove to a party yesterday evening only to realize I had shown up a week early! Thank goodness I didn't knock on the door).

Next week my MIL comes to hang with us for a week. I'm really looking forward to it. I am hoping, hoping, hoping that DH and I will be able to deliver wonderful news to her. Just once I'd like to see the look on a loved one's face as I give the news that, despite all we've been through, we are actually going to have a live one next February.

Or, I could be saying something else. But I'd rather not think about that. It does no good to try and solve problems that don't exist.

"Don't Worry [Stress Out, Get Your Heart Rate or Blood Pressure Up, or Otherwise Display Less than Blissful Behavior], You'll Hurt the Baby!"

I was relating my paranoid state of mind to a good friend a few weeks, trying to share what was on my heart about how tough this really is for me, and maybe hoping for some words of wisdom when she laid that one on me. My response was carefully constructed cynical laughter laced with an unexpressed middle finger.

Oh, okay! I'll just quit worrying, cuz otherwise I'll kill the baby! LOL No pressure there! Thanks, that's great advice.

WTF

May as well tell me not to think about white elephants no matter what I do or a bomb will explode every ten seconds. Oh, okay! No problem.

All sarcasm aside, I understand that a stressful emotional environment is not the best for a growing fetus. Which is why I do try to visualize positive things, pray every day and ask for peace, and recently started reading the book Battlefield of the Mind.

Yeah, I get it. Our thought lives do actually influence our external lives. But rather than creating a vacuum by trying not to think of spotting or having a bad ultrasound or any of the other nasties that can spell doom to a growing baby, I need to know what to replace the thoughts with and, really, how to do it.

And how to deal with the occasional nightmares. Like last night, in which I dreamed that I drowned a tiny kitten in a bathtub and shoved it down the drain. I cried this morning telling DH about it. I'm fine now, recognizing a dream for a dream. But still.

Any advice from those who've fought and won this battle?

Progress Report

Just got back from the doc – strong heartbeat, 2 hands and 2 feet, and we saw the little bub moving around in there (doc asked me if I wanted to break out the camera phone to record the heartbeat. I said "naahhh"). Looking more babylike and less bloblike. My next (12.5 week) appt. is Aug. 11 so we are looking forward to that.

We will celebrate by…exhaling.

You may return to your regularly scheduled blog viewing.

Only thing was... she took one quick measurement and it read 9.2 weeks, not 10.2 weeks like I should be. Then again, she admitted that the regular ultrasound operator may take a different reading that would show a different age estimate. What.. me? Worry? I'm going to not focus on that little blip on the radar. I will accept what I know for sure.

In the meantime, I ordered a copy of Battlefield of the Mind by Joyce Meyer. It's been around for several years but I think it's time I read it.

Angry and Doubtful: Hormones or Intuition?

Having a very hard day (and it’s barely 9:00 a.m. here). On a close friend's advice, I called my doc to explain my paranoia and they added an interim ultrasound – I go in tomorrow morning. My own doc is going to do the scan.

Meanwhile, I’ve been having some serious anger issues. I could chalk it up to hormones, but I have had at least four dreams in the past couple weeks where I was absolutely furious at someone for something. They were all justified in my dreams, but it’s still unusual. I told DH that I’m apparently really mad. I just didn’t know why. And when I’m not feeling mad, I’m not feeling much of anything.

This morning I woke up and realized why I’m angry: I’m angry because I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t going to work out, and I am sick to death of this no-man’s-land of not knowing the outcome. So my mind is constantly playing out scenarios of my reaction to another failed pregnancy, and none of them are good. In fact they kind of frighten me.

So there I was this morning, crying at the table with DH trying to soothe me as I explained this inescapable torment. It truly will be a miracle if I hear a heartbeat and see accurate measurements tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Milestones and Memories

Nine and a half weeks.

Not the ridiculous movie that came out in the 80s, but the mile marker on my journey. So why should I care?

In May of last year, I had my first miscarriage at 12 weeks. Ultrasound measurements at the emergency room confirmed that the fetus had stopped growing at 9.5 weeks. So I was walking around clueless for 2.5 weeks (so was the rest of my body, apparently, as I had no symptoms otherwise).

A quick check of the calendar confirms that I now have three weeks between me and that magical 12.5 week ultrasound. It feels like a long, dark tunnel of time. I want to forget - to numb out, fix myself a really big drink, distract myself, do whatever it takes to not obsess over this particular time period. But what can I do? I'm reminded every time I switch from my tight daytime bra to my goofy-but-effective nighttime bra. Every time I stick a cracker in my mouth to abate or prevent nausea. Every time I... well, breathe.

So, this week I'm going to a conference hosted by my church. Thursday night, Friday night, heck - maybe even the Saturday workshop. Something about living for a cause. I went last year and really got a lot out of it - that is, until we did this public outreach thing. That was not a good experience for me (I'll not bother going into details). So I'm really afraid of that part. Otherwise I'm looking forward to guest lectures and really awesome worship music and prayer.

Where are you, Sam? Is your heart still beating? Are you still growing? I wish I could know. My soul groans to know.

I'm okay

Feeling pukey today, having made the apparent mistake of drinking a glass of lemonade on an almost empty stomach (damn you, acidic foods - you're all good and I can't enjoy any of you!). Getting better now though. Wearing my Sea Bands like a good girl, hoping to get some exercise tonight. I'm turning into an ocean of expanding blubber.

Had quite an experience at church yesterday – in the last part, during worship, I sat down and started praying (I was tired of standing). I sat during the pastor’s benediction with my hands out, palms up in a receiving gesture (something we do at the Vineyard rather than assuming the typical prayer stance). When I stood up, a young teenage boy who’d been sitting behind us caught my attention. A bit embarrassed at first, he told me that, as I had sat down and started praying that he had a vision of Jesus sitting in front of me holding my hands, and that he felt like God wanted to let me know that he was with me and was listening to me.

I’ve seen that sort of thing happen with others, but it has not happened with me before. It was a beautiful, special thing.

Also, the other day I was driving and thinking about how hard all of this is. That, because of my experiences, I don’t get to just assume things are going to work out. Instead, I freak out and have trouble focusing on positive aspects of all of this since we’re still three weeks away from the end of the “danger zone.”

Suddenly, as if the Spirit had planted the thought in me, I remembered the Transfiguration (see Matthew 17:1). I considered what a pivotal, powerful moment that was and compared it to when God delivered me from fear that one day in peer counseling. I noticed the parallel. Then I remembered how Jesus endured 40 days of temptation from the enemy with no food or water almost the moment the Transfiguration was over. Me? I got pregnant almost right after my own encounter with God. So, I suddenly realized that the timing of my experience and subsequent difficult time follows what Jesus endured pretty closely. I can see that experience now as part deliverance from the past, part preparation for what I’m going through now.

All that is to say, I’m okay. Pukey, tired and bitchy. But okay.

I Consider it Good News

... that after having several tubes of blood sucked out of me, my obgyn confirmed that my hormone levels are normal enough that I do not need to take extra progesterone.

I know, it's still too early to start that baby registry. And yes, I still check for signs of miscarriage several times a day. But last year, with my first pregnancy, my progesterone levels were just low enough that I had to take this (all to no avail).

I will take good news where I find it. One less pill to take at night hopefully means a bit less of the urge to hurl. Maybe. I dunno.