Oh. Hai. I had a baby.

I started this post in early September, and not it’s October 1st. Yikes. My writing mojo is missing.

Well, yeah. Sorry I haven’t posted… I’ve been busy. Our newest tiny person was born 8/15 (a GIRL – we’ll call her Sweet Baby (SB) for short 7 lb 14 oz of perfection) after 5 days of stop start labor,  a transfer to the hospital and another unplanned cesarean. There was A LOT more that happened  but that’s not why I’m here today. I’ll post about slaying those dragons later.

I went back to therapy. I had many conversations and texts with my therapist during my long birthing ordeal, she was amazing and helpful and talked me off many ledges. (so did my midwives and my husband and my doula and my friends) But processing the birth wasn’t why I went back to therapy today. Over all I’m doing great. Emotionally I’m surprisingly even keel, I’m back in my pre-pregnancy clothes, and even though I’m only 3 weeks post major surgery, I’m feeling physically pretty damn good and can’t wait to get back to running. Baby #2 is surprisingly easy compared to baby #1. I know what to do with my boobs, and even when i hit a bump with that I didn’t panic but used all my resources and got things figured out. Baby is sleeping, eating, pooping and growing, all like a freaking rock star. BoC is also amazing,  taking this big sister gig and showing it who’s boss. She’s tender and loving and incredibly interested in her sister. She is pretty much blowing my mind.  Shockingly, I’m doing great considering all the big shit. Honestly, in the 6 weeks since Sweet Baby was born, we have seriously had every plague that hit ancient Egypt. Fortunately I have a fabulous sense of humor, or I might have cut a bitch. I laughed my way through lice, and stomach bugs and gall stones.

And then… someone says something that throws you under the bus. BoC’s former preschool teacher brought dinner to us in the first few weeks postpartum.  She was oohing and ahhing over baby when she said “Wow, she’s got quite a schnoz!” (she said this twice, who says a baby has a big nose? WHO???) then she said “She’s so distinct looking, who does she look like?”

Later I was remarking to S2 how the schnoz comment bothered me when he replied “Oh it’s cause she has her nose, the donor, don’t you remember it was broader across the…” and then he stopped because I had burst into tears.  I was completely blindsided by it. I did not expect to have my heart ripped out of me because she doesn’t have my nose. I knew it would come up and bite me in the ass, but I guess I didn’t expect it to be so shocking.

I know because of my history of infertility, loss and unplanned cesareans that I’m at a higher risk for postpartum depression, so  I’m paying attention to everything.  Truth be told, I don’t feel depressed, I have had no anxiety (despite the plagues) and in general I feel great. I’m ready to get back to running and now that I’m almost 7 weeks pp I can. The only thing that I haven’t done, is write. Writing is usually a balm to my soul, it’s usually how I process everything, even before I get into therapy. I wondered if my lack of writing mojo was really because i was depressed, and not just busy.  After letting this post sit for a month, and finally revisiting it, I realize that yeah, i was just busy, but also there are no monsters lurking under these feelings. There is a lot bubbling under the surface, but none of it is going to beat me into the corner and rip me from (whats left of my shreds of) emotional stability. I’ve unwillingly joined the ranks of many teams (infertility, birth trauma, autism mom) but I’m pretty sure I’m not getting picked for the PPD team. I count myself incredibly lucky, because I know and love many mamas who haven’t been.

So there it is.  She doesn’t look like me, and she never will. But I can guarantee that she is 100% mine, and I love her with more than I ever knew I had in me.

37 w 5 d

Bitches, I got this shit handled. This week in therapy my therapist told me I should take the next week of from her. I’m good. I feel strong. I feel ready. I feel like if I still end up transferring to the hospital and not achieving a home VBAC, I won’t lose my mind. I feel like I’ve done everything I can and now all I have to do is  GET IT DONE.

Confession? I’ve had a couple of hours a day of cervical cramping, and tonight two honest to goodness back to back contractions. I think i was just tired, but… I’m hoping this means I’ll have a baby before 41w 5 days like BoC.  I know that it still could be a few weeks, but… I’m hopeful. 🙂 I’m also an emo mess, crying at everything, or wanting to kill anyone who crosses me. good times, that.

What else do I say? I keep having to remind myself that this is a DE baby. I have no doubt that eventually it’ll kick me in the ass and I’ll have to deal with whatever feelings come up, but all i know is that soon I’m going to have a baby… MY baby.  It’s a little bit cray cray.

Brandi says it all: I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules, but baby I broke them all for you. Isn’t that how we get here? we cross every line we said we’d never cross, and we break every rule, and it’s worth every damn cent and every second of it to get to this point when we’re ready to meet our baby.

It’s a good month to be born. Let’s. Get. It. On. (tho I’m ok with waiting a couple more weeks)

30 weeks

Hi. It’s not that I forgot about blogging… it’s just I’m completely overwhelmed and am mired in trying to get to the finish line.

30 weeks yesterday. Everything progressing as normal. Baby growing as expected, no contractions, no bleeding, nothing but a perfectly normal pregnancy. I’m doing everything under the sun to have a different birth outcome than last time. Seriously.

Therapy: check
Chiropractic: check
Acupuncture: check
Massage: check
CranioSacral: check
Mayan Abdominal Massage: check
Yoga: check
Walking: check
High doses of Magnesium: check

I’m sure I’m forgetting something, but you get the picture.  The last thing I want is another 4 day labor with 13 hours of pushing that ends with me on an operating table losing my fucking mind.   So yeah, I’m busy with that.

Then you know, I’m parenting a special needs *almost* 6 year old. Honestly I have very distinct fears and concerns about how I’m going to parent two kids, especially my kid and a newborn. I don’t know how to put words to it yet, but I have another local autism mama who has a 7 year old and a 6 month old that has graciously agreed to meet with me and talk about these fears. I know I can do it, hell, I know I can do anything I set my mind to, right? RIGHT! BoC  is out of school in a few days which means my days of leisurely attending appointments during the day on my days off work are coming to an end. I have a niece in town who is out of nursing school for the summer, so I have an easy (free!) go to sitter, but it’s not the same. Besides, it’s my last summer with BoC as an only child, I want to have some special days with her. So I’m planning park days, and zoo dates and and and.

Then, you’re aware I run my own business, right? Yeah, well I do. I’m a Chiropractor, I work from home, and run a solo practice that is *very* busy. Well, as busy as I want to be working 3 days a week, and really? 40 patients a week is all I can do when I’m *not* pregnant. At 40 patients a week I’m booked from the moment I have open office hours to the moment I close the doors… and then I have to do the administrative work of running a business, which is easily another 4-8 hours a week, and that shit is NOT getting done right now. I have SO much crap to do, and no time or energy.  Once I finish patients, I either need to get upstairs  and wait for BoC’s bus or I am so exhausted that I can’t think straight. I can’t take maternity leave without getting all this under control, obviously.

(Case in point, I started this blog post 2 days ago)

The other little thing to figure out is… where will my patients go while I’m on leave? When I had BoC I wasn’t nearly as busy, my practice had just gone through a big change and was rebuilding so it was easy to slow down. While I was on maternity leave, I had a friend who was between jobs see my patients and it was easy peasy. Now that I work from home, the last thing I want is someone seeing patients in my basement while I’m trying to enjoy a new baby and help my 6 year old with Autism adjust to a huge new life. So, obviously I’m not bringing someone in… I’ll be sending everyone out. When I go on vacation (like we just went to Maui for 10 days, oooooh yeah) I usually just have a notice on my website and voicemail about who to call in my absence, but for 12 weeks (YES I AM TAKING 12 WEEKS! or at least i’m gonna try…) I’d rather have one go to person and a few back ups. The 3 docs I normally refer to are also busy so none of them could handle the volume I deal with so I have to hunt for a doc who isn’t busy. I think I found her, she also has a home practice and does similar work to me. We’re meeting on Wednesday to see if it’s a good fit, and if it is, she’s about to hit the newish doc jackpot. I have no doubt most of them will come back to me when I am back, but the 12 new ones I get each month? Well.. hopefully she’s good.

So after I find the right person, then there are all the logistics of getting people referred to her, changing my website, etc.  It’s not remotely as easy as calling HR and telling them what days I’ll be gone and passing projects off to a coworker. Some days I envy those that don’t work for themselves… but then I remember that I work 25 hours a week in the comfort of my own home and I STFU.

((it’s been 3 days since I worked on this post, do you see how this is going?))

I did meet the other doc, and she needs some mentoring, but I think she’ll be ok. Check that shit off the list.

So now, as I end this post, tomorrow I’ll be 31 weeks. I have yoga and grocery shopping to do, weeds to pull and want to clean the carpet on the top floor of the house because tomorrow night my mother in law, brother in law, sister in law and nephew are coming for 10 days. 10 days in which I will still work and entertain and probably cook dinner each night for all these people. Or maybe we’ll just fucking order pizza.

31 weeks. 7-11 weeks till we have a baby. A baby that I keep forgetting isn’t biologically related to me. There are so many layers wrapped up in prepping for this birth that I keep missing that little tidbit. Right now it seems like ancient history, but I have no doubt it’s going to rear up and bite me in the ass at some point in the next few weeks.

Add that to the list of things I need to do, cause clearly I’m not busy enough.

21 weeks

Over half way. I want to tell you everything is going great and I’m loving my pregnancy and excited about every little thing… and I am.

but last week in therapy we started talking about my birth with BoC just days after my midwife read some notes from my labor that sent me into a tailspin.

My therapist gave me homework to write about it… but I can’t. I can’t put words it. Quite frankly, my birth experience with BoC was the most traumatic thing that has ever happened to me.
Yeah… was it that bad? or was I just really lucky? Both, to be honest. and now here we are careening toward another labor and birth and I have SO much work through.

I’m forcing myself to publish this even though it’s a shitty post with nothing to say, because maybe tomorrow morning while I fold laundry I’ll come up with a way to really say what’s tearing me apart.

Hi.

What do I say? 16 weeks 4 days. I have a doppler in my living room and listen to the heartbeat daily. I feel bits of movement every day but not enough to be confident enough to put the doppler away. I’ve  had 2 midwife appointments and everything is progressing perfectly. I’ve had no more bleeding, and although I’ve had a couple of people I know recently experience miscarriages, I’m doing my best not to exist in a state of fear. It’s not easy, but honestly, the doppler helps.

As far as pregnancy goes, I’m feeling pretty good. Insomnia like a bitch, still occasionally gagging on food, and food aversions, but I feel good. I’m running once a week (trying for twice) and started prenatal yoga this week. I have plenty of energy, which is bizarre since I only sleep about 4-6 hours a night.

We’re planning a home birth. Yeah, I know that it sounds funny after the high intervention conception but… well that’s why. I’m 40, and a vbac, but otherwise I’m healthier than 90% of American women. A typical OB would consider me incredibly high risk but… I’m not. And I don’t want to be treated as such. I don’t want someone planning my c-section and pushing me to do tests I’m not comfortable with. My midwife respects our choices and knows that my body can do this. I couldn’t get pregnant, but I can BE pregnant and god dammit, I CAN give birth. Someday I’ll tell you all about my birthing experience, and it will make you laugh, and cry and think I’m insane for doing it again, but well… I am.

Next up, we’ll chat about how often I think about the donor, how often I think about the fact this baby growing inside of me isn’t genetically related to me. Short answer? Never.

This, this is how I feel this very moment.

I’m out

So, I told the whole world that I’m pregnant. I announced to my local face*book mom’s group after the first US, cause many were guessing, and many knew we were in cycle. My family found out at New Years. Around 10 weeks, after our second ultrasound I started telling many patients when they came in. It’s my damn business, no one can fire me for being pregnant, so I can tell when I want. I suspect some will feel bad about coming in in 5 months when I’m still working, but they will get over it. I worked till 39.5 with BoC and I plan on doing the same (albeit decreased hours) with this one.

It wasn’t a secret, but it was not public on face*book and I wasn’t blogging publicly about it. Every time I asked S2 when I could spill, he looked at me and said things like “face*book scares me”. I’m not sure why… because I have things on secure lockdown, but I guess he’s weird. So… anyway, after a weekend away with friends (celebrating the 6th birthday of a dear friends daughter who was born at 25 weeks and died 5 months later) he finally relented and said I could go public.

This blog isn’t about raising a child with Autism, and it probably never will be, that’s what my public blog is for, and no I won’t link you. However, since I’m guessing most people here don’t know what it’s like I’ll tell you a little about my BoC. She has language, but not a lot. She can answer questions, and ask them and talk to me (when she wants to), but she doesn’t have conversations. She’s emotionally, developmentally and socially behind her peers. She’s also amazing, and the most loving child I’ve ever met. At this point we’d talked about having a baby in front of her, but not said much specifically, and I’d never once mentioned that I was growing one in my belly. However, since my work is primarily with newborns and pregnant women, she’d seen plenty of them when she was in the office with me, or when pregnant friends would come to visit. So when it was time to go public, I had to tell this story:

A few nights ago I was putting BoC to bed. Usually she likes to lay next to me with her head on my lap, or holding my hand. This night she wanted to curl up in my arms. I was stroking her head, whispering “BoC, you’re going to be a big sister! we’re going to have a baby!” Without a word, she crawled off my lap, pulled my shirt up and rubbed my belly a few times. Then she leaned in, kissed where her future sibling is growing and then reached up and kissed me on the cheek. She curled up in my lap and went to sleep. 

Lets just say, it was well received. I’m out, and strangely it feels good. Of course yesterday I panicked and texted my midwife to come over for a heartbeat check (it’s all good) but I expect moments of fear/needing reassurance.

Thirteen weeks, three days. This is real.

Hello, can I get a hall pass, please?

Saturday marked 11 weeks. The nausea had subsided and the end of the first trimester was almost in sight. And then there was pink on the toilet paper. Ok, no need to panic, well I rarely panic so, I didn’t.

And then there was red on the toilet paper. I texted the midwife, told her I wasn’t panicking, but could we pop in for a listen? We went over late afternoon, before a quick sushi dinner… but at 11 weeks when you have a retroverted uterus, it’s not easy to hear a tiny little baby. We heard nothing. At dinner, the nausea came back and so did my confidence.

Sunday dawned with nary a drop of blood so I resumed my status as happily pregnant woman.

Monday, as I adjusted my first patient I heard a *snap* and realized my crane pendant had gotten trapped under an elbow and was broken. An hour later there was blood on the toilet paper. An omen?  Egads.

Every wipe left a trail of red, and by the third time, I reached for the phone and called my donor coordinator. It was 11:45, she was on the phone with someone else. I left a message, and less than a minute later she called me back. I had had what I’d hoped was my last P4 blood draw that am, and was hoping to never set foot in the office again, but when she asked me if I wanted to come in for an ultrasound the only thing I could say was “how soon.”

It was 90 mins before they could see me, S2 was unable to get out of a meeting he had to lead, and true to form, he was cool as a cucumber. He was convinced that everything was fine, and that the US would  show a happy wiggling baby. I did not feel the same way, everything felt wrong, and I did not have a good feeling.   I texted my BFF, but when I didn’t hear back I figured I’d just go alone… and then I felt the panic set in.

Did I mention that I rarely panic? I finally convinced myself to suck it up and ask a friend to go with me. If I was going to get bad news, I couldn’t hear it alone. All of those scenarios were playing through my head and I just couldn’t do it alone. I called my friend Meg and she said in 10 seconds “I’m on my way”. I ended up picking her up, as it was on my way and we headed over the river to receive my fate. On my way there, my bff Celeste texted me back and asked if she could meet me there.  AMEN.

The three of us huddled in the waiting room, nervous, making small talk. The two of them calm occasionally squeezing my hand to remind me that everything was fine. Finally i was called back, my donor coordinator met me in the hallway and put her arms around me. It pays to have a 4 inch thick file, everyone comes out when your success is threatened. My Doc was in the surgical suite this afternoon so my favorite NP did the ultrasound. I laid down feet in the stirrups and  we got down to business. Meg on one side, Celeste on the other. As soon as they saw a baby on the screen, the two of them burst into tears, but I knew better. I wasn’t going to breathe till I saw a moving baby and a heartbeat.

Blink blink blink blink. A flip of the hand, a wiggle of the foot. And mama can finally breathe.

Measuring 11 w 3 days, 1.9 inches from rump to crown, with a perfect beating heart, wiggling arms and legs, I give you the reason I’m not curled up in a ball on the floor.

She found a subchorionic hematoma  which seems to be the soup du jour for infertiles everywhere. It’s small, will probably resolve with time, and should be  relatively uneventful.  If I have spotting, I should take it easy, bleeding and I go to bed. I’d like the rest of this trip to be boring, normal, regular. I’ve paid my dues. I’m not asking for much, am I?

My baby

And so it begins. I had dinner and drinks with 3 friends the other night. Well I ate, they drank. These 3 friends know I’m pregnant, know all about the IVF, but don’t know a thing about where the eggs came from.
We were discussing pregnancy and loss and infertility and all those fun topics. One friend was talking about a straight couple she knew who had used donor sperm because the husband made none of his own. She was saying how even though she knew it was a donor sperm baby, and the parents knew that she knew, they always referred to the baby as his baby. She said something like “they could have been honest around me, cause I knew!!”

Gah. I muttered something about biology meaning nothing as to who’s baby it was, and there was the “yeah yeah yeah, but you know!” type of reply.

Obviously I didn’t come out of the donor egg closet that night. This is my baby. I’m the one who’s growing it. I’m the one who will birth it. I’m the one who will nurture it with my milk. This is my baby.

Right??

Fodder for therapy I’m sure!!

Holy Shitballs.

I’m actually pregnant. At this point my risks of miscarriage are 1-2% and according to my doctor, it’s not gonna get any better.

I am pregnant. And to my utter amazement, I think this one is a keeper. This, my friends in the computer, is fucking amazing.

Holy Shitballs!