Wow. When I look back at where this blog started, it's kinda mind blowing. In the course of the last year and a half, I have blogged through a pregnancy and devastating miscarriage, RPL testing, and a pregnancy and birth of our second son. From the darkest days of my life to some of the most fulfilling days I could have ever imagined.
So what is left for me to say here? Reality is, not much. I'm sure I'll continue to post here and there for certain milestones and random updates. But there is also a pain that comes with this blog that I need to largely leave behind. It doesn't matter how great things may be going on any given day, I can still look at a post from late 2011 and be a sobbing disaster in a matter of seconds.
So this isn't good-bye. But it is sort of an emotional separation.
Stick around if you would like. But it will probably be a lot less interesting around here indefinitely. (Unless of course we change our minds and TTC #3 at some point . . . )
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Happy Due Date Little Boy
Sigh. I'm tired. Really, really tired. So why am I blogging at 11pm? Because the little one is due to nurse in 15-30 minutes and catching a nap that short will just make me grumpy . . .
January 24, 2013. The day I spent the last 9 months anticipating. Of course I knew he likely wouldn't be born on 1/24, but making it to the end of pregnancy was the obsession I often wondered if I'd ever achieve again.
And while I didn't exactly make it to the end, I came close enough. I could not imagine January 24th being any more perfect than it was today. A cranky toddler. A gassy baby. And a tired mommy. Absolutely, completely, and totally perfect.
Happy due date baby boy. You have completed our lives in a way I could have never imagined. I am more in love with you and your brother (and your daddy too) than I even thought was possible. While the darkness of our journey to conceive you will likely never be completely gone, I surely feel like the luckiest mommy in the world today.
January 24, 2013. The day I spent the last 9 months anticipating. Of course I knew he likely wouldn't be born on 1/24, but making it to the end of pregnancy was the obsession I often wondered if I'd ever achieve again.
And while I didn't exactly make it to the end, I came close enough. I could not imagine January 24th being any more perfect than it was today. A cranky toddler. A gassy baby. And a tired mommy. Absolutely, completely, and totally perfect.
Happy due date baby boy. You have completed our lives in a way I could have never imagined. I am more in love with you and your brother (and your daddy too) than I even thought was possible. While the darkness of our journey to conceive you will likely never be completely gone, I surely feel like the luckiest mommy in the world today.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
39 weeks (LOL)
Today I should be 39 weeks pregnant. And instead I'm blogging from my phone while my perfect 17 day old snoozes on my chest. That's a damn good trade if you ask me.
He's up to 7lb 2oz and really seems to be filling out. Of course 5lb 7oz at the time we left the hospital was SO tiny that 7lb seems big. Hard to believe that my first son weighed 9lb 10oz at birth?!?!?!!!
The last 2.5 weeks have been a whirlwind. Unexpected early arrival. Unexpected surgery. And here I am, with my tiny baby who is already changing before my very eyes.
I never thought I was a newborn person. I much prefer the age where they are older and can interact . . . Or so I thought. But there is something so magical about this time. Maybe it's knowing how hard it was to finally be holding this blessing. Maybe it's knowing that he is probably my last baby. Maybe it's the Zoloft. But I am truly loving every single solitary second of these days that are passing to quickly. I just want to freeze time, right now. I don't want to ever forget these moments.
But it's not all enjoyment. There is guilt with this joy. I did not have this newborn euphoria with my first son. Not even close. Was it because he was a much more difficult baby? Was it because I had no experience as a mother? Was it PPD/PPA? A combination of everything I suspect. I would give anything to have those first 10-20 days back with him. To enjoy every baby squeak, the tiny fingers and toes, even the sour milk smell. I hate that I don't remember him in his newborn perfection (even if that did involve a lot of crying). My heart hurts right now that this time with my second son feels so natural and I've never felt this before.
My first son, without a doubt, is a VERY loved and very attached 3 year old. I don't feel like his life will suffer because I struggled emotionally through his first few months. Heck, he probably didn't know the difference. He was held, nursed, pampered, and babied as much as any infant could be - it just was so unnatural and difficult for me. And of course, I feel like that is some reflection on me as a mother. And the guilt is rough.
But as much as I want that time back with him, it's gone. Just like our new baby's first 16 days are gone. Time moves so fast. I just hope I'm able to spend many more of the upcoming days cherishing these moments with both my boys, instead of dwelling on the moments I've missed. I've never been very good at living in the present. Perhaps that is just one of *many* life lessons "baby brother" has taught me. I am a very very blessed mother to 2 perfect boys. I can't change the mother I've been over the last 3 years, I can just be a better mom today.
He's up to 7lb 2oz and really seems to be filling out. Of course 5lb 7oz at the time we left the hospital was SO tiny that 7lb seems big. Hard to believe that my first son weighed 9lb 10oz at birth?!?!?!!!
The last 2.5 weeks have been a whirlwind. Unexpected early arrival. Unexpected surgery. And here I am, with my tiny baby who is already changing before my very eyes.
I never thought I was a newborn person. I much prefer the age where they are older and can interact . . . Or so I thought. But there is something so magical about this time. Maybe it's knowing how hard it was to finally be holding this blessing. Maybe it's knowing that he is probably my last baby. Maybe it's the Zoloft. But I am truly loving every single solitary second of these days that are passing to quickly. I just want to freeze time, right now. I don't want to ever forget these moments.
But it's not all enjoyment. There is guilt with this joy. I did not have this newborn euphoria with my first son. Not even close. Was it because he was a much more difficult baby? Was it because I had no experience as a mother? Was it PPD/PPA? A combination of everything I suspect. I would give anything to have those first 10-20 days back with him. To enjoy every baby squeak, the tiny fingers and toes, even the sour milk smell. I hate that I don't remember him in his newborn perfection (even if that did involve a lot of crying). My heart hurts right now that this time with my second son feels so natural and I've never felt this before.
My first son, without a doubt, is a VERY loved and very attached 3 year old. I don't feel like his life will suffer because I struggled emotionally through his first few months. Heck, he probably didn't know the difference. He was held, nursed, pampered, and babied as much as any infant could be - it just was so unnatural and difficult for me. And of course, I feel like that is some reflection on me as a mother. And the guilt is rough.
But as much as I want that time back with him, it's gone. Just like our new baby's first 16 days are gone. Time moves so fast. I just hope I'm able to spend many more of the upcoming days cherishing these moments with both my boys, instead of dwelling on the moments I've missed. I've never been very good at living in the present. Perhaps that is just one of *many* life lessons "baby brother" has taught me. I am a very very blessed mother to 2 perfect boys. I can't change the mother I've been over the last 3 years, I can just be a better mom today.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Surprise?!?!?!?!!!!!!!
In an insanely crazy turn of events, and after a miserably uncomfortable Sunday, I went to bed Sunday night just hoping I'd feel better on Monday . . .
At 1230am I woke up to this uncontrollable sensation of wetting the bed. Within seconds I was pretty sure it was not pee - there was too much of it and I had no control of it. I woke up my husband, told him I was 99% sure my water broke, and called my midwife.
At this point, I had no doubt it was my water. My 36 week appointment to check for GBS was supposed to be Monday morning. Not knowing if I was positive or negative for that meant I needed to head into the hospital promptly for antibiotics. Possible exposure to GBS can make a newborn extremely sick. Particularly a pre-term newborn.
Having no contractions, and assuming I was going to be in labor for hours and hours, I called my mom who was our child care plan (and 2 hours away) and told her that she would probably need to think about getting on the road. I told my husband to go back to bed. I was taking myself to the hospital to start my antibiotics and what I assumed would be the SLOW labor process.
I get to the hospital, get hooked up to my IV, start the million questions they ask during admission, etc. And I finally get a bit settled with grand plans of getting a long hot shower once I finished my antibiotics...
And then the midwife intern comes in to introduce herself. Seriously, could someone be any nicer or sweeter? I liked her immediately. Until she took one press on my belly and asked, "We know he's head down?" Of course I told her that it was confirmed not once but twice with ultrasounds a couple weeks ago. She said, "Let me go get the midwife." I knew the concern - the intern thought he was breech again. Unfortunately, the midwife confirmed it with her own assessment and then an ultrasound for final confirmation. Frank breech.
Suddenly things became more urgent. When can your husband get here? This is NOT an emergency now, but should active labor start quickly, a breech baby with no amniotic fluid poses a very high risk for cord prolapse - a life threatening event.
Next think I know, I'm on the OR schedule for 5:30am to have this baby?!?!?!!!!
Making a long story short, my mom RACED into town. My husband RACED to the hospital. At 545am I was in surgical prep. At 628am they made the first incision. And at 637am, our absolutely perfect miracle was born. 6lbs 6ozs. And 20 inches long. A New Year's Eve baby.
Um, yeah. It's 3 days later and the whole story still feels surreal to me. I'm supposed to be uncomfortably pregnant growing another 10 pound giant. Yet, I'm going to be released from the hospital in the morning to take my 5lb ??ounce baby home. (He was 5lb 15ounces at last weight check. He's in the nursery right now for his last weight check before discharge in the morning.)
Post op was a whirlwind. I may blog more about my surgery later, or I may not. I haven't yet decided how I will best come to terms with some of what happened. But let's say that I was not nearly as numb as I think I should have been and the instant he was safely out, I was knocked out cold. So my memories of recovery are very vague - other than the puking - I remember lots of puking.
But more concerning during this time is that they couldn't bring the baby to me as he and his medical team were fighting to keep him out of the NICU. While 36 weeks isn't super early, Caucasian males have the slowest developing lungs of any neonate group and he was very grunty, not clearing his fluid well, not regulating his own temperature, and not maintaining his blood sugar. Any of those in isolation are fairly common, but all together meant they were having a hard time getting him to stabilize.
To say that I was a disaster hearing this news is an understatement. Particularly in my drug haze. But in hindsight of course, everyone was doing what was best for him and it was only about 4-5 hours after his birth before they brought him to me - stable and without needing a trip to the NICU.
And ever since that moment when I finally got to hold him . . . All has been right in the world. My nipples are sore. My incision hurts like hell. I'm sleep deprived. And I miss my 3 year old like crazy. But our perfect miracle is here. I look back at the journey of this blog. The heartache. The depression. The tears - oh, so many tears. And every step of this journey has brought me here. To this moment. With my second perfect little boy. A tiny (really tiny) human being with the most beautiful head of sandy brown hair you can imagine. Our son. Our miracle. I am one incredibly blessed mommy. Beyond blessed.
At 1230am I woke up to this uncontrollable sensation of wetting the bed. Within seconds I was pretty sure it was not pee - there was too much of it and I had no control of it. I woke up my husband, told him I was 99% sure my water broke, and called my midwife.
At this point, I had no doubt it was my water. My 36 week appointment to check for GBS was supposed to be Monday morning. Not knowing if I was positive or negative for that meant I needed to head into the hospital promptly for antibiotics. Possible exposure to GBS can make a newborn extremely sick. Particularly a pre-term newborn.
Having no contractions, and assuming I was going to be in labor for hours and hours, I called my mom who was our child care plan (and 2 hours away) and told her that she would probably need to think about getting on the road. I told my husband to go back to bed. I was taking myself to the hospital to start my antibiotics and what I assumed would be the SLOW labor process.
I get to the hospital, get hooked up to my IV, start the million questions they ask during admission, etc. And I finally get a bit settled with grand plans of getting a long hot shower once I finished my antibiotics...
And then the midwife intern comes in to introduce herself. Seriously, could someone be any nicer or sweeter? I liked her immediately. Until she took one press on my belly and asked, "We know he's head down?" Of course I told her that it was confirmed not once but twice with ultrasounds a couple weeks ago. She said, "Let me go get the midwife." I knew the concern - the intern thought he was breech again. Unfortunately, the midwife confirmed it with her own assessment and then an ultrasound for final confirmation. Frank breech.
Suddenly things became more urgent. When can your husband get here? This is NOT an emergency now, but should active labor start quickly, a breech baby with no amniotic fluid poses a very high risk for cord prolapse - a life threatening event.
Next think I know, I'm on the OR schedule for 5:30am to have this baby?!?!?!!!!
Making a long story short, my mom RACED into town. My husband RACED to the hospital. At 545am I was in surgical prep. At 628am they made the first incision. And at 637am, our absolutely perfect miracle was born. 6lbs 6ozs. And 20 inches long. A New Year's Eve baby.
Um, yeah. It's 3 days later and the whole story still feels surreal to me. I'm supposed to be uncomfortably pregnant growing another 10 pound giant. Yet, I'm going to be released from the hospital in the morning to take my 5lb ??ounce baby home. (He was 5lb 15ounces at last weight check. He's in the nursery right now for his last weight check before discharge in the morning.)
Post op was a whirlwind. I may blog more about my surgery later, or I may not. I haven't yet decided how I will best come to terms with some of what happened. But let's say that I was not nearly as numb as I think I should have been and the instant he was safely out, I was knocked out cold. So my memories of recovery are very vague - other than the puking - I remember lots of puking.
But more concerning during this time is that they couldn't bring the baby to me as he and his medical team were fighting to keep him out of the NICU. While 36 weeks isn't super early, Caucasian males have the slowest developing lungs of any neonate group and he was very grunty, not clearing his fluid well, not regulating his own temperature, and not maintaining his blood sugar. Any of those in isolation are fairly common, but all together meant they were having a hard time getting him to stabilize.
To say that I was a disaster hearing this news is an understatement. Particularly in my drug haze. But in hindsight of course, everyone was doing what was best for him and it was only about 4-5 hours after his birth before they brought him to me - stable and without needing a trip to the NICU.
And ever since that moment when I finally got to hold him . . . All has been right in the world. My nipples are sore. My incision hurts like hell. I'm sleep deprived. And I miss my 3 year old like crazy. But our perfect miracle is here. I look back at the journey of this blog. The heartache. The depression. The tears - oh, so many tears. And every step of this journey has brought me here. To this moment. With my second perfect little boy. A tiny (really tiny) human being with the most beautiful head of sandy brown hair you can imagine. Our son. Our miracle. I am one incredibly blessed mommy. Beyond blessed.
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