An anniversary of sorts… I started this blog after I lost my baby. I started it as a form of therapy and it worked. The more I wrote, the more connected to a community I became. It is not a community one wants to be a part of; pregnancy loss, but being a part of it has been cathartic and rehabilitating, I was able to express thoughts and feelings that couldn’t be understood by anyone else in my day to day life and it allowed me to connect and feel less alone. For that, I am so grateful. Writing after my my loss and through my subsequent pregnancy allowed me to process my emotions and express myself without inhibition and grace. It helped me come to terms and deal with the bereavement. It helped me heal…
I recently started new blog: a blog of trials and tribulations of parenthood. As I began writing from this new perspective, I was reminded of my beginning. I will never forget the baby that made me a mother. The baby that I hold only in my heart. The baby I only new inside of me for a few months, but loved and wanted so desperately. I would like to hope that her spirit was brought back to me through my two living children. The thought is personal and one that has given me some peace.
If you are in the right headspace and can relate to obstacles of parenthood, especially those that arise from potty training and a strong willed child visit: When in doubt, whip a boob out.
I don’t remember the last time I updated this blog! Well- we welcomed a baby boy, Jake, on November 27th. He came into this world via c section after a full 2 weeks of contractions and almost zero progression. At 41 weeks- they wouldn’t let me go any longer and I had to have a repeat section. I was upset and only as of recently have I accepted the delivery as it was meant to be. I didn’t bond with Jake right away like I had with Olivia. I am attributing that to the disappointment in delivery. I had this idea of a natural birth, immediate skin to skin, and delayed cord clapping in my mind. I know it sounds ungrateful, I should have been lucky to just have my baby. I was. I just think I needed to process.
Jake is a wonderful little man. So far he is relaxed, happy, and dare I say easy? My daughter is a tyrant. She’s strong willed and can be a bully. I feel like we deserve Jake to be the polar opposite!
Today I am 20 weeks. Roughly half way. Friday is our anatomy scan. The next major hurdle. When you read so much about pregnancy loss and what if’s, you tend to view the scan with dark clouds looming overhead. Hopefully this baby will be checked off as healthy and we can proceed through the rest of this pregnancy relatively optimistic.
Olivia is obsessed with my belly. She pulls me down so my stomach matches her height and demands to kiss ‘the baby.’ I doubt she fully grasps the concept and how her life is about (hopefully) to change.
I felt the first full on kick a few minutes ago. I suppose that prompted me to update the blog. I have an anterior placenta, so I know feeling movement won’t be as plentiful as if was with Olivia.
Sometimes I am still in disbelief. Some moments, when I am literally running after my daughter who is playing cat and mouse, I forget. In those moments, free from my anxiety, feels nice.
Today I had the fearful NT scan. My anxiety started last night. I cried. I don’t remember the last time I actually had, but once Olivia was asleep, I had an adult meltdown. This morning I was more of a wreck. I walked to my in laws to drop Olivia off because I need the fresh air. After she gave me a sweet hug and kiss I was off.
Waiting in the waiting room was hard. Tears flowed again. My husband told me I was being ridiculous. Maybe he was right? I took a deep breathe and brushed them away.
We get called and the minute we enter the room, I can’t control them. They flow and I explain, very vaguely my history. ‘I’ve had bad news with this test before.’ She understood. She was sympathetic. The second the wand was on my belly the heartbeat was detected. Hurdle one. She did a short scan and then told me someone else was coming in: cue- freak out. She assured me it was nothing and that everything looked good, she, however, wasn’t skilled enough to measure the nuchal fold. Fine. Second lady walked in, she was definitely briefed on my psychosis. She was lovely and told me everything that she saw. The baby wasn’t cooperating and wasn’t in the proper position. I drank some juice. I ate some cookies. I walked around. Then we were good to go. She immediately identify the Nuchal fold as being thin before even measuring. To be exact. It measured 1.9. We were good. The baby is good. Whew.
I feel like a weight has been lifted. I know I will be anxious with the anatomy scan, but at least I jumped the first hurdle. So I guess I am really having a baby?
A week from today is the dreaded NT scan. The scan that triggers anxiety, stress and an epic meltdown. I have such a clear picture of that first NT scan, with the first baby that made it to 12 weeks…
As we approached the hospital, I stopped dead in my tracks, held my stomach, turned to my husband and questioned ‘what if something is wrong?’ He brushed away my worry, without words, telling me I was being a nut. In my gut, I had known something was awry. I shook off the doubt attributing it to this being the ‘first’ pregnancy (or one that has made it this far). However, as much as I tried to reassure myself, I knew something wasn’t right. My biggest fears were confirmed. I remember the color of my nails, the clothes I was wearing, the silent ultrasound sound tech who refused to answer any question or reassure my fears, the color of the doctors hair, the sound of his voice and thick accent, his body language as he entered the room, and the unforgettable feeling of finding out something is terminally wrong with your most wanted child.
This day becomes clearer as we approach this baby’s NT scan. I am prepare for a slow increase of anxiety as the day approaches and most likely an epic, two year old style meltdown as we enter the room.
Boy, would I love to know what innocence and ignorance feels like. I have been robbed and it doesn’t get easier, even after a healthy pregnancy…
I’m pregnant again and I have an insane amount of anxiety. I am anxious about the pregnancy and the prospect of another child. However, I won’t even let my mind wander to the idea of another baby because I am pessimistic. So, my anxiety has manifested in calculating the probability of a miscarriage daily, checking my pants for blood, and agonizing over any twinge or lack of morning sickness.
I thought I was ready to do this all over again, but I can’t catch my breath I am so anxious.
It’s been awhile. I am currently trapped under my sleeping, feverish baby. My baby who is technically a toddler with a strong personality and will. She came down with a bug yesterday and has been battling a temp ever since. There is nothing worse than your baby being sick. You worry more and your mind goes to the worst places; where did she get sick from?, didn’t she just have a fever? Does this mean something more significant?, was it the 5 mosquitoes that attached her on Monday at our pkaydate? Was it the play date??, could it be the vaccines she got last week? Why didn’t I space them out more?. Basically you torture yourself until the thermometer goes back to 98.6 and you are reassuared that their little bodies are doing their job.
I know she won’t need me like this always, and until then, I’ll enjoy her clinginess and the extra cuddles.
Before I had Olivia and even the short days following her birth I would often hear people discuss how their appreciation for their parents, especially their mother, grew after becoming parents themselves. I don’t want to say that my appreciation waiverer, however, I have developed an anger, or better yet, that anger has resurfaced with a different cause.
As I am raising my daughter, my own insecurities are coming to the forefront. I am sure there are other variables, but I can’t help but want to blame my mom for not empowering me more, encouraging me to believe in and value myself and teaching me social skills that would allow me to flourish. I left childhood feeling like I could never live up to her expectations and I wouldn’t ever be good enough.
These melodramatic feeling faded in and out throughout my last 31 years, but recently they have intensified. This could be because I am in a relatively new area and I have yet to my find my niche. New is definitely relative, because it’s been two years and I feel isolated and lonely. I have to find a friends here because we are permanently calling this place home in less than a week… so my question is: how do you make other mom friends when you can barely face yourself in the mirror because of your anxiety and situational (I hope) depression? Yup… I used the D word.