I guess this is what normal looks like

I've been terribly neglectful towards you lately. And I really have no excuse; I got pulled off of work a month ago for rising blood pressure (which, magically, lowered when I was no longer stressed out and running around on my feet 8-9 hours a day). I'm on "modified bed rest" which just means staying off my feet as much as possible. It is terrifically boring at times, although it's nice to just rest when I'm tired (which is most of the time).

Your brother is going to be here within the next two weeks; the doctor is going to schedule an induction at our next appointment (tomorrow!) unless I spontaneously go into labor tonight. I doubt that. He doesn't really seem inclined to leave, although I have definitely reached a point where I want him out.

I'm increasingly terrified of the birth. Your actual birth was overall surprisingly easy. You were already gone, so pain relief for me was unlimited. They put the epidural in before they even started the induction, since there wasn't any particular rush to get you out, and I didn't need to dilate fully anyway since you were so tiny. There was a several-hour period where the epidural came out and I felt every horrible contraction, but I didn't have fear of that before it happened. I didn't have any real fear of the birth, because I expected no pain. And because the concept of pushing your tiny 1lb 7oz self out wasn't particularly daunting.

Your brother is over 7.5lbs and still growing. And I've been having off and on contractions for two weeks--they aren't that painful and they aren't getting closer together or a whole lot stronger (dammit) but whether I am induced or just go on my own, I will be feeling the contractions for the first half of the labor...and there's distinctly more terror in how big he is.

I don't like to tell people I'm afraid because a lot of people actually will laugh when you tell them that. Or tell you horror stories. And the flipside--saying how tired and sore and miserable I am still being pregnant (particularly since the terror that, now that we're actually so close, that something will happen to him), they laugh and tell you how much easier it is being pregnant than having a new baby.

So I just don't talk about much of any of it except to the small handful of people I trust not to laugh. I just can't bear that good-natured teasing right now.

Even though I'm terrified (more each day) of the labor, I really just want it to start so we can get on with things.

This sucks.

I miss you so much today.

I got diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes today, which doesn't surprise me. My pregnancy with your brother has been endlessly difficult; from Hyperemesis Gravidarum to early Braxton Hicks to the pain in my hips and back, not to even mention all the fear and pain and anxiety that he'd be with you instead of with us. That's still there actually.

I try so hard to be bright and cheery about it; a lot of the time I fool even myself. Maybe I'm not fooling myself; maybe most of the time I am that glowing, bright pregnant lady.

Today I just feel like I'm slumped. I want to be on the other end of this. I want to stop feeling nauseous, worried, fretful, aching, sore, tired...I don't want your brother to come early or anything, but I sure wouldn't be all that unhappy if I wasn't able to work anymore--at least then I'd be off my aching, miserable feet.

This is one of those days where I feel the unfairness of having to go through an entire second pregnancy. I should already be done with this. I should be holding you, soothing you while you're cutting teeth, seeing you laugh.

And I'm so scared, so almost paralyzingly afraid that we'll lose your brother even this late, both because I can't bear the thought of losing another son and because the thought of yet another pregnancy makes me feel beyond hopeless.

I wish I could hold you. I wish this was over so I could hold your brother.

I wish.

Birthdays and Honeymoons.

So I feel like a terrible mother to you. I didn't have anything to write on your birthday. I haven't had anything to write since then either. It isn't like I don't think of you, or don't care. It's just...I don't even know what to say. Your brother is taking up more and more space in my body, and the farther along we get with him, the more he is moving to the center of our world.

And I feel vaguely like I'm failing you, even though I know that my time mothering you has past already. You feel farther and farther away...I can't think about where I was a year ago right now. That horrible empty ache that was my constant companion.

Your brother has been with me longer than you were. He is big enough now to distort the (increasingly enormous) roundness of my belly. Strong enough now that the impact of his kicks can be painful as well as startling. He kicks in places you never could reach. His presence is constant now.

Daddy and I took our honeymoon last week. I kind of expected to have moments of really missing you--I mean, we were meant to take almost this exact trip exactly one year ago. And yet...though you came up in conversation and certainly were not forgotten, it was like this trip was just for your daddy and brother and me.

I guess that's how life is supposed to go on. You stay the same and we keep walking. But it's hard to grasp. I feel at least as though I should feel more upset by it.

Time can be kind.

Am I doing it wrong?

Sometimes I think I'm doing this wrong.

Lately, in the weeks since your brother has become stronger and more active, as we are less and less worried about the defect that hurt you so badly, we are starting to become attached to this tiny manchild that still makes me throw up on a regular basis. This is still a very different pregnancy. I was trying to put it into words with Daddy today. It's as if I believed the assumption that I would have a living child by Christmas, but I never actually believed you would be born (and dammit, it still doesn't make sense). Never really feel like an actual baby would arrive, never really believed I'd be a parent. Lately, its the opposite. I actually am starting to believe that he will be here, breathing and pink and alive, but I can't just assume it will actually happen. Even though when I was assuming you'd arrive but I couldn't believe it.

I'm talking in circles, but I guess I'm thinking in them too.

I feel like I'm doing this wrong because I'm starting to get attached to him. Starting to love him and want him and prepare for him, in different ways than I loved you. I never had the luxury of really preparing for you to arrive. We found out you were a boy for sure the same day we found you were leaving us. I'm pragmatic and concrete, and I couldn't plan for a baby I knew so little about. Call me sexist for needing a peek between the legs before I could get anywhere, but its true. The idea that there's an entire person inside me is so hard to fathom that not even knowing if you were a boy or a girl was just one disembodying step too far for me to follow. Now that we know more about little E he's becoming more of a "real" boy to us.

Aren't I supposed to still feel all detached? Aren't I supposed to be withholding my heart to protect myself? Aren't I supposed to doubt until he's safely here? I look in the mirror and I see this glowing, joyous pregnant woman. I picture him in ways I never really pictured you. Isn't that wrong? Isn't it too soon? Isn't this premature celebration?

Could it be the coin toss is in our favor?

I feel like I should apologize. So much has happened and I've neglected this blog. I talk to you often, but I don't sit and organize my thoughts the way I should. Plus, there's that beautiful kitchen...
If I had "before" pictures I'd share them, but that damn kitchen was so hideous I never bothered.

But so much more than that has happened. We had the next ultrasound, and found that your little brother is doing beautifully. Thus far, he seems to have all of his parts. Unless something goes terribly awry, or some other horrible unrelated thing pops up, we are past the point of having to make any heartbreaking choices.

This has changed things for me. For one thing, I've finally started to connect with your brother. And to worry about him. Though he's been kicking even more than you did, he's still small enough that he can hide, and I'll go hours without any little thumps and flutters. And my mind fills with terrible images of him floating limply inside me, gone cold and silent just when things seemed to be going so well.

Another thing I've had trouble with is his name. I usually think of him as Edward, and feel like he's a very different little boy than you were. But sometimes your name comes to mind first and then I feel guilty twice over--once for not spending as much time talking to or thinking about you, and again for not being able to give myself fully to your brother.

Its very confusing. I'm happy and I'm guilty and I'm nervous and I'm hopeful. Hopeful! Is it really even okay to say that? Can we really say that your brother undoubtedly has fingers and toes, even if we have to wait for him to get bigger to count them all and make sure they're in the right places? And he was a very good boy--he stretched out his hands and wiggled and squirmed and showed off.

I never know what to feel anymore but I seem to be feeling EVERYTHING. Often at once.

At Least I'm Getting A New Kitchen Out Of The Deal

I haven't posted in a while because I've completely involved myself in remodeling the kitchen. Well, remodel is probably the wrong word. Cleaning and repainting and refinishing the cupboards and adding a wallpaper border...it's been a lot of work. For two weeks our kitchen has mostly been in the living room and the kitchen itself has been covered in newspaper, drop cloths and blue tape. It's bewildering and somewhat unpleasant. Tough to live with pots and pans overtaking the sofa (and then covered with clean laundry, as neither Daddy nor I have the energy to put it away.

But today is better. The kitchen still has no doors or drawers, but everything else is pretty much done and most of the stuff has been put back in. Organized, too, which my pleases my slight tendencies to Obsessive-Compulsive disorder. The rest of the house still looks like it's been bombed, but we'll make more progress tomorrow.

Mostly I think I'm working very hard on not feeling much. The next, and possibly the biggest, ultrasound is on Tuesday. The new baby is kicking and squirming more each day. I'm still sick as a dog, but I'm still getting on.

Not Looking

The first big ultrasound is today.

I feel completely outside myself today. Work was normal--I was my bright, cheery self. Got everything done that I needed to, and now that I'm home I am getting housework done. (Not at the moment, obviously, but I'll be back to it soon). And I feel like I'm just standing next to this bustling, smiley person.

I feel nothing. Barely even a stab. I can't even really think about it--it's like I get distracted and wander off inside my head.

This first look...we have no idea what we're dealing with yet. None. Daddy and I can't talk about it much. We both have been busy around the house, getting things done (sort of), and there's this vague feeling like we are battening down for a storm. Same kind of cheerful-but-nervous kind of undercurrent like when you pick up bottled water and some extra canned foods when there's a windstorm. (This might not make sense to people who haven't lived on the Oregon Coast, but trust me.) Every now and then I'll say (and it's always me) "if things go bad on Monday, we'll need..." such and such. I think Daddy doesn't like being reminded that things might go bad. He frowns every time.

And on top of it he's been sick all this week--he's at the doctor now. Just a cold that isn't leaving, but he wanted to get checked out in case it's Strep or something. Because we need that to worry about too...

Only a few hours left.

Optional Finger And Toe Expansion Pack

I'm feeling anxious about the new baby today. This is the week that it's fingers and toes should separate, assuming it has any. Next week we'll have another ultrasound--the first one where we play Lets Count The Bones.

I'm terrified.

I don't know why it's upsetting me right now. Especially since fingers and toes are actually the smallest part of our worries. Weird, to live in a world where we consider fingers and toes to be luxuries. Much worse if it's major bones or entire limbs missing. The pelvis. The risk of cleft palate (no one in the family has it, but it is associated with the general disorder). So very many bones that could get lost or stunted along the way...

And I've kept rough track of the baby's development--not like I did with you, though. With you, Daddy and I were excited to read every day what exactly we were growing. I never really spared a thought that something might not grow correctly for you. And as this new baby has gone through its early development, I've tried to...well, I never know what to call it. "Praying" is definitely the wrong word, and "meditating" is still off the mark. Well, whatever you call it, I've done it while the baby is (hopefully) growing arms and legs and all its major parts.

So why the little freak-out about the fingers and toes? Such tiny details...

Every now and then the relentlessly hopeful image of ten fingers and ten toes bounces through my consciousness. I never let it get far. I don't know if it feels like I'd jinx things or that I'd somehow be being ungrateful that thus far this has been a very healthy pregnancy (fetus-wise, that is. Been a bit rough on Mommy). Slaying that thought the instant it arises is the only way I feel "safer." In that hollow, whistling-in-the-graveyard pretend-control way.

I'd say to keep your fingers crossed, but I can't decide if that's heartrendingly optimistic or horrifically dark.

Easter

I really miss you today. We don't really celebrate Easter much, but we probably would have if you were here. Instead I'm nauseous and tired and impatient.

I have been sort of curling in on myself these few weeks. I just can't seem to manage being social and talkative. I'm fine with your Daddy, but otherwise I just tend to be more quiet than anyone would expect of me. I'm not writing much either. It just drains me so much to keep up the energy at work I just don't have any left for home right now.

Framed.

Yesterday I went to bed at 11 in the morning and didn't get up until this morning at 3.

Granted, I woke up every few hours or so. But it was a sick day; I threw up several times and had a screaming headache--and kept throwing up the Tylenol. The only thing I could bear was lying still in a dark and quiet room. So I did.

Better today; by the afternoon I was eating normally again. Felt like death warmed over all morning though. It's hard to deal with. I remember how awful I felt those first few months with you--I remember feeling just as dreary and miserable, even though I wasn't nearly as sick then as I am now.

We made our first demonstration of faith in this new baby. We framed the baby-like blob in the ultrasound picture and put it out in the living room. I can look up from where I'm typing and see it. I don't look at it often; it's too scary. Admitting there's a baby in there means admitting I could lose it as easily as I lost you. That there might be something worth mourning if things go wrong. Its opening myself up to hideous agony.

But the picture is sitting right there. Snapshot of my own defiance.

Odds and Ends

I'm doing much better. As long as I take my meds on time I don't throw up and can even eat fairly normally. I'm still nauseous most of the time, but it's doable. But I get the feeling that a couple people I work with think I was faking it to get extra days off. This. Makes. Me. Angry. I can't help that the morning sickness came on fast and furious. And I should think people would be glad that I'm not running off the floor hourly. I'm pretty damn relieved that there's something to make life livable during these months.

We had the first ultrasound yesterday. First little peek in at what hopefully will be your brother or sister. Already looks different than you did; your shape was unclear and we couldn't make out any baby parts. This one, we could see arm buds, a clear head and a spine. We will be peeking in on this one regularly--the next US is in a few weeks.

The US wasn't as terrifying as I thought it would be, mainly because in my phobic state I wrote down the wrong date for the scan, which is totally out of character for me. The office called asking where I was, and I was lucky enough that they could still fit me in if I hurried. So there was no time to even fret about it; I made it to the waiting room and before I was even half a page into the intake paperwork (first visit with this pregnancy) they had me in a room, on a table, and in seconds there was the new baby on the screen. There was a single awful moment of seeing what looked like my empty uterus up there on the screen, but then up bobbed this tiny, squirming, baby-like thing.

One, two, three measurements and they had me unplugged and finishing off the paperwork. And then the Genetic Counselor came in and filled out the rest of the pages for me (all the stuff about my history and you). So it was easy. In, out, with a picture of an amorphous blob (honest, it was much clearer on the screen) labeled BABY and a return appointment card. And a tiny wedge of hope.

Small rays of hope

So far I haven't thrown up since leaving the hospital. I've kept down a bit of solid food and am no longer feeling about to die. I'm a long way from well but seem to be mending a little. Hoping this trend continues.

Sick

This has become a survival situation.

I don't know how I can possibly be this ill and weak and still be vaguely functional. I'm still going to work, but I'm throwing up almost every hour, if not more often. By the end of my shift I am so weak and shaky I can barely drive home. Once I'm home, I sleep until Daddy gets home from work, simply because I can't do anything else. When he gets home I get up and curl, miserable and shaking, in the corner of the couch--only getting up to barf some more. I'm retching so hard that I'm afraid I'll pass out, and I find myself actually praying for mercy.

My knees and hips hurt from kneeling, my back and shoulders hurt from hunching. My chest hurts from heaving. My stomach hurts constantly, my throat is raw and my voice is starting to fade. Even the underside of my tongue feels strained.

I can't drink more than tiny sips, and I can't hold down any solid food. My life has deteriorated into a game of getting enough liquid and calories into my wretched body that I will neither die nor have to go to the hospital for IV fluids.

I cannot imagine how I can make it another month (or more) as sick as I am. Every time I wake up there are a few blessed moments before the waves of nausea hit me. And then the daily cycle begins. Each day I can't imagine how I'll make it through work. But I do. Each afternoon I wonder how I'll get through the evening. But I do. Each night I am only grateful for the hours I blessedly don't feel the pain, the aching, the constant hot and cold flashes, or the endless rounds of heaving.

I feel like I'm in a war.

So Much for Secrets

I wasn't going to tell very many people, but I'm pregnant again.

Of course our little family knows, and a very small handful of friends. That was all we planned to tell until we knew if this little one is going to stay. I hid it pretty well for the first couple weeks.

But this one won't be hidden away. Aside from a couple of people who have actually looked at me and guessed, the morning sickness struck with such violence that hiding this from my coworkers is flat out of the question. I managed to hold off all day on Thursday at work, only to lose it as soon as I got home. Friday I got hit a couple times, and Saturday I lost count. Today was my first day back at work since it hit like this, and I threw up almost hourly.

Like I said, hiding this is difficult. It does not go unnoticed, me dashing from my register to the ladies room.

When I carried you, I only threw up three times the entire time. Oh you made me plenty sick, and there were times I wished I'd just throw up so I could feel better. But now I know that it doesn't make me feel better anyway. I've barely gotten any food down at all. Lucky for me your Daddy went out and got some Ensure for me.

I don't feel anything with this one (other than that whole throwing up constantly thing). With you I felt dazed and happy; with the last one I felt determinedly optimistic. This time? Dull worry that I'll have to go through this kind of morning-sickness hell again after this.

Daddy's a little more excited than me. He doesn't show it much in the day, but a couple times I've woken in the night to find him awake, petting my belly. In his sleep his hand finds that already-a-little-larger bump almost as soon as he starts snoring.

And I'm putting some real effort into not snarling at him constantly. I'm not proud of it, but I was pretty grumpy the other two times. to put it mildly. This time I'm less pissy in general, and I guess I've learned to control that crazy irrational hormonal rush that used to make me flare up. It also helps that he's being so tender and gentle and loving to me since I've been so sick (Is this the silver lining?)

One of the things I don't feel anything about is that this baby is due almost exactly when you were. You were officially due on November 4, and this one is due November 5. I know there's pools of terror and anxiety deep under all this nausea, but for right now, I'm really glad I can't feel it yet.