35 weeks: Preeclampsia?!

Last Thursday I was sent home from Hoag when they were able to calm my contractions down with an increase in dosage of Procardia and a 48-hour Magnesium devil drip. I wasn’t too happy with the idea of going home, because even with the risk of picking up MRSA (hospitals are very dirty!), it was nice having breakfast, lunch, and dinner brought to me while lying in bed all day watching Ghost Whisperer. Just kidding. Sort of.

Anyway, when I wasn’t living in a fantasy world of pretending to be a rich person staying at a luxurious fat farm in Newport Beach, I was comforted by the fact that me and Baby Girl were being monitored 24/7. However, things stabilized and they sent me home with instructions to come on back if labor started.

Well, after a three days of finally getting a little more comfortable at home, I noticed that my blood pressure started creeping up a tiny bit every few hours, even with all of the medication I was taking. This was a new development, and because I am hypervigilant (translation: EXTREMELY PARANOID), I started paying more attention to other things that seemed a little out of the ordinary: an increasing sense of irritation with everyone and everything around me (actually, this is pretty common for me these days, but I realized I was getting out of hand after having a 5-minute heated argument with the kitchen table simply for being in my way); a dull headache that wasn’t really painful – just THERE – flickering on and off like a low wattage light bulb in some Eastern European underground human trafficking holding cell; and some funny looking pee even after drinking 4 liters of water a day.  

The good news is I haven’t gone into labor. The bad news is that they suspect I have preeclampsia due to abnormal lab results and the other things I mentioned above. My OB has told me that they are now just looking for any reason to deliver, which, even with 35 weeks still being a little early, I’m ok with. I simply do not trust my body to do the job it’s supposed to be doing anymore. If it’s safer for Sweetest Pea to be outside than in, so be it. As for me and the risk of stroke and organ failure – meh. Not really worried. It’s possible I’ll have to do Magnesium again, but that just means I’ll get to follow up with the Male Model Phlebotomist on what his latest life plans and goals are.

I know I’ve been a hot damn mess during this pregnancy and there have been many, many times that my faith has been shaken to its core - not that it was strong to begin with because of what we went through with Ligaya. I still get very angry about that. I mean, COME ON -  how much do people really need to be tested in life? But I’m trying to take a different approach on things. Instead of feeling abandoned by a higher power, I’m thankful that He/She/It has blessed me with the knowledge, ability, and confidence to realize that when things don’t seem right, you need to get that shit handled right away, no matter how crazy people may think you are. Had I not gone back to the hospital on Sunday after a blood pressure reading of 171/117 and just decided to sleep it off, this story may have a different ending. Trust your gut, people.

So here I am, back again at Hoag in the 35th week! Less than 2 weeks away from our scheduled c-section, but not quite sure we’ll actually get there. The doctors have all assured me that if she comes now, she will be ok. I know that all babies are different though, so I won’t fully believe that until I actually see her with my own eyes and hear her cry. Even with this latest development, I’m still thankful that we’ve made it so far. I know people who have struggled with preeclampsia at much earlier gestations. We’ve come a very long way.

Nate continues to be my shining star, even if he did balk at the idea of helping me with a bedpan every night in the likely event I was too tired and lazy to get out of bed to pee.  We’ve compromised, though. Now he just has to get up every few hours to unhook me from the machines and help me navigate my way to the toilet in the dark. He’s so sweet - the other night when we thought delivery was a real possibility, he suddenly darted off to the bathroom. He came out clean shaven saying that he wanted to look presentable to meet his baby girl. I thought homeboy was about to put on a suit and tie. My heart melted in that instant, and I was no longer mad that he chose to eat a burger in front of me earlier in the evening when I was told I needed to hold off on eating anything for a few hours. Baby Girl stayed put, so we ended up watching a terrible Keanu Reeves movie on Hulu instead. That’s 1.5 hours of my life watching Keanu struggle desperately to find the right emotions to get across on screen. Painful (although he is still quite handsome). But you know what?  It was also 1.5 hours of my life laughing with Nate, forgetting my worries for a little while, and feeling my Sweetest Pea kick every inch of my nether regions to let me know she was ok. I’ll take it. 

35 weeks...and it's basically any day now.

34 weeks: A piece of cake

Years ago, a coworker told me about a friend of hers who owned a chocolate themed dessert place called “The Bar of Chocolate” in Portland, Maine. Never one to discard random food suggestions, I tucked that information into a dark recess of my mind reserved for places I would run away to FOREVER in case real life ever made me mad enough one day. Yeah, I know that’s weird, but I have a whole list (and yes, they’re all food establishments strategically located around the globe). Anyway, I was able to cross that one off the list when of my best friends got married in Maine about a year later. Serendipity.

Maine is a beautiful state, made even more so by the fact that the best damn German chocolate cake I’ve ever had in my entire life exists there. It took us almost an hour to get to this place, but forcing Nate to drive there on that dark and cold late autumn night was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Man, this cake! Jesus wept. I wept. I sat there in a corner savoring each little bite with tears streaming down my face thinking I would never taste anything that good ever again. I even shared some with Nate, which says a lot because I’m a terrible food sharer. He said it was “pretty good”. I slapped him.

With nothing but time on my hands here on bed rest at Hoag Hospital in my 34^th week of pregnancy, I keep thinking about that perfect slice of cake. I wish life could always be as simple and as good as that. I also wish I had access to that cake 24/7, but no – I’ve got Hoag’s Sara Lee version here and it’s the palest colored turd in comparison.

You know what’s not a piece of cake? Pregnancy is not a piece of cake. At least to me it isn’t. It’s a 10-month continuous mental, physical, and emotional Iron Man race (40 weeks = 10 months – I still don’t get it). Unless you’re one of the normal/lucky ones who can lift weights, run, and do yoga like Alec Baldwin’s wife who ALWAYS seems to be doing weird fucking pregnant yoga poses half naked, it’s not an easy thing to go through. 

There’s a whole floor of us here at Hoag who can attest to that. Some of these girls have been here for months and months and months. I’m looking at about 3 weeks, IF we’re fortunate enough to make it to our c-section date. My uterus may have a different opinion on things. It’s still an angry beast, and the doctors have thrown everything they can at it to calm its petulant ass down: multiple IV bags for hydration, an increase in my dosage of Procardia which now drops my blood pressure to crazy low levels, and finally, the last line of defense – a 48-hour drip of Magnesium Sulfate, which essentially can be described as Satan himself taking an extra-long burning beer piss directly into my vein. Now that we’ve exhausted all of our options, we wait and see what happens.

At 34 weeks, they told me they won’t stop labor. They’ve assessed the risks versus the benefits of delivering early, and with my blood pressure issues, advanced maternal age, permanent cervical cerclage, and previous classical c-section scar – they’ve decided that delivery would be the way to go if active labor begins. Baby Girl has been protected as much as possible in that she’s received 2 rounds of steroids for her lungs. Also, the magnesium is known for neuroprotection in preemies. She would still need some time in the NICU but we’ve been told she will most likely do very, very well. I truly hope so – the idea of her being in NICU is scary, but compared to our last experience at 24 weeks, we have come a world – no, a UNIVERSE - away from the complications that Ligaya would’ve faced had she survived beyond those few precious hours we had with her. It’s still terrifying though.

When I first got here, they placed me on the delivery floor and I could hear all of the activity going on. When a newborn suddenly coded and everyone went running to save the day, I had a mental breakdown. In that instant, I was transported back to four years ago. I felt so much for that mom – that tornado of helplessness, hopelessness, and hope hitting full force from every direction. Four years ago, as the team of doctors worked on Ligaya trying to save her life, I remember begging God to take ME, not her, but that didn’t happen. My heart…the weight of it. There are no words.

Thankfully, the baby ended up being ok, but it left me shaken. You truly never know what will happen, and it is THAT – the inability to control every aspect of this experience – which I’ve struggled with since the beginning. All I can do is trust that the doctors know what they’re doing. They’ve assured me that they’ve been at this for a long time and that I should just let them do their jobs already. Ooooh burn.

The staff here have a really tough job, especially the nurses who’ve had to deal with all my questions and requests to study our toco strips (I’ve convinced myself that I know what I’m looking at in terms of fetal heart rate variability in relationship to the number of contractions I’m having). They aren’t big on showers while one is on bedrest, so as usual, I’m stinking up a storm here and they just grin through the pain and suffering of constantly having to adjust my monitor bands while inhaling my body odor. They are wonderful.

If there’s one suggestion I could make it would be that male supermodels should not be allowed to draw your blood at 4am when you flat out just smell like shit. On a 48- hour Magnesium drip, they take your blood every 6 hours to make sure you’re not hitting toxic levels. Like I said, that stuff is the plaything of the devil and makes you NOT YOURSELF. I suddenly turned into Chatty Pregnant Stinky Lady when this dude walked in:

Male model phlebotomist (MMP): Hi, I’m here to draw your blood.

Me: Wow. Anytime. You do this a lot?

MMP: It’s my job.

Me: You are the best I’ve ever had.

MMP: ………………………………………

Me: You have a real future in this.

MMP: This is not the end for me.

Me: You can do anything you want in life. What are your hobbies?

Nate (who was sleeping in a corner of the room): What the hell?! SHHHHHH! It’s 4 in the morning!

So here we are at 34 weeks! Dreaming about cake, thinking a lot about life, and wondering what’s going to happen next. We’re probably a lot closer than we thought now. Every single day makes a difference in Baby Girl’s development, so we really are down to having every second count. I can’t believe we’re almost there. As difficult as this journey has been, I know it’ll all be worth it in the end. I’ll do whatever it takes to get her here safe and sound. I’ll suffer all the pokes and prods, the magnesium drips, and days on end without a shower or solid poo. I would’ve done the same for Ligaya. I did it for as long as I could with her. I’ll do it for this Baby Girl too. I would do anything.  

This is a piece of cake......

                                                                                and this is just fucking weird......

33 weeks: Tears for fears and the tale of the busted toe

Baby Girl had excellent appointments last week and today for her first and second NST’s. Her heart rate accelerated at the right intervals, and in both ultrasounds, we were able to see that she was already practicing her breathing. My amniotic fluid level is good and she seems to be thriving in there. Little Pumpkin had hiccups today, which are super cute.

So why am I sitting here crying? Again? This is new, by the way. The crying fits just started a few days ago. EVERYTHING has been making me cry, and it takes a lot for that to happen. Nate is actually more sensitive than I am and often compares me to a robot when it comes to matters of the heart (while I have been known to cry over food, I guess this doesn’t count as a matter of the heart, unless we’re talking about myocardial infarction). I call it self-preservation – which becomes exhausting after a while. When we lost Ligaya, our bereavement group therapist told us that in order to get through the grief, you have to GO through it. You have to wade through all that shit to get to the other side. I’m still wading.

Part of it is because it doesn’t matter how many times someone will tell me that everything will be ok. When you’ve been programmed to expect the worst because of a past trauma, it’s nearly impossible to rely on blind faith alone that things will all work out. It’s so much easier said than done. Oh, I try my hardest – God, how I’ve tried - but the fear is always there. You think I want to feel this way? That I don’t want to Law of Attraction myself into a more positive mindset? How does that even work? If we could attract everything we wanted in life just by thinking about it, wouldn’t starving people in third world countries just think real hard to make burgers and fresh water appear on the table? I’m not starving in a third world country, but that sounds pretty good to me.

I don’t want to be this way. But it’s so embedded into every fiber of my being that it will take years of therapy and quite possibly medication to untangle the mess. Everyone is different. We all have our own stories, pain, hopes, and fears. Most of us try to deal with difficult situations as best as we can. Considering I’m not face-deep into a whole chocolate cake every night or ass-up somewhere in a crap hotel on Harbor Blvd. selling my body for some meth, I think I’m managing alright. If there’s anything I know, it’s that it’s quite possible to be both happy and sad all at the same time; and that it is with equal parts relief and terror to feel able to breathe, but also feel like your lungs will never completely fill again.   

Anyway, the rest of the tears are most likely due to hormones and too much of the show Call the Midwife. EVERY episode makes me cry. It is such a good show and I’ve gotten Nate onboard. In EVERY episode he often interrupts to ask why I’m watching when it makes me cry or get scared, but there are just as many happy stories as there are sad.  Besides, I’m over all my other shows at this point.

Unfortunately, Nate’s toe became a casualty of one of my fits last night.  He had opened the window and blinds to catch a glimpse of Disneyland’s fireworks, which we can see far off in the distance from our place in Costa Mesa. I had just gotten out of the shower and since we possess no towels big enough to cover my girth, I was exposed to the whole world (well, the Vanguard soccer field, the site of so many of my failed attempts at soccer player man-fiction). Standing naked as the day I was born in front of an open window caused me to yell at him and throw myself behind a door in a most dramatic fashion. Startled by my behavior, he immediately shut the blinds and walked over to pick up some laundry he thought I had tripped on. But instead of picking it up, he decided to kick it out of the way like Rambo (more like RamNO)  and ended up kicking our very heavy dresser instead, which busted open his toe. This made me cry even harder because I am NOT about seeing anyone else’s pain and blood, which then caused him to throw himself to the ground and start mumbling that my complaining and crying was driving him to insanity. The. Nerve.

I did feel bad though, Even with a bad toe, the man continues to be a winner. He put together the crib over the weekend and moved decorations and furniture around in the nursery, which is finally coming along. He puts up with the crying, the midnight food requests, and holds my hand during every NST. We got this. Together, we can do anything.

33 weeks and REALLY close now. Come on, Time – let’s get a move on it. And as for you, Little Pumpkin – keep being ok. We love you more than you could ever know. 

Sweetest Pea - this is your Dad. He puts up with a lot of Mommy's doo-doo. He loves us very much. 

   

32 weeks: We've come a long way....but there are still miles to go before we sleep

I’m sitting here looking out at what I think is my living room. Covered in mountains of tissue paper and Amazon boxes, bags and bags of baby clothes, blankets, diapers and baby gear, an explosion of pink from wall to wall...I am both overwhelmed with gratitude and…well…just overwhelmed. Nate and I have been incredibly blessed to have such wonderful family and friends who have showered us with not only love and prayers, but with gifts from the heart to let us know they’re with us on this journey and can’t wait to meet our Little One. We are so very, very grateful that she has everything she needs for at least the next 5 years.

We are in the final stretch now. 32 weeks, can you believe it? I can’t. Looking back, I can honestly say it’s gone by really fast (and I can’t believe I just typed that). It’s true, though. Even when the days felt hopelessly interminable, the weeks really did fly by…not without the help of A LOT of good TV this summer, thank you very much. When I first announced my pregnancy, I was around 19 weeks. Wow! That seems like a lifetime ago…even though the finish line still feels terribly out of reach.

I still try to take things with a “one day at a time” attitude. I’m only about 4 weeks away now from my scheduled C-section, but the road suddenly seems longer than ever. Why is that? Once we crossed 28 weeks (biggest milestone), I was able to breathe a bit easier, but anxiety never really did leave the building. It still occupies a substantial amount of square footage in my tired brain. I have my irritable uterus and blood pressure that can’t make up its mind whether or not it wants to get high or stay low to thank for that. You’d think I’d relax even more now being at 32 weeks, but EVERYTHING is cause for alarm: Why is she kicking so much? Is that good? Why isn’t she kicking as much as yesterday? Is that bad? Is she ok in there? How and where can I purchase my own ultrasound machine? Craigslist? I don’t want to get killed. Will I ever be able to control my bladder again? It’s all so maddening.

Time, for me, is now measured in 4 hour blocks. Every 4 hours I take a pill to calm my uterus down. Unfortunately, in combination with my other medications, it lowers my blood pressure too much, so that’s another thing we have to monitor. Too high a blood pressure is bad, but so is being too low. Why can’t I just be normal? I recently saw a girl who looked to be about 15-years old sporting a huge ass pregnant belly while wearing coochie cutter shorts - just out and about looking as healthy as a small horse with her 20-year old gang banger boyfriend. See? Normal. Sigh.

Anyway, back to the 4 hour blocks. In 4 hours, I can manage to watch several episodes of Call the Midwife (of ALL shows, why did I pick this one to get hooked on for the last mile of this journey?!). In 4 hours I can watch 2 bad movies on Netflix. I can start unwrapping the rest of the presents. I can begin organizing the nursery. There are a number of projects I can complete in 4 hours, but my mind seems better accustomed to doing research and always preparing for the worst. Crazy, I tell you.

It will definitely help that we start fetal testing as of tomorrow. I’ll be going to the hospital twice a week for non-stress tests, while seeing my regular OB and MFM for check-ups on Wednesdays, as well. Every time I hear her sweet heartbeat on the monitor, I am able to rest a bit easier, which is incredibly hard these days because I can’t get comfortable at night anymore. Countless trips to the bathroom, waking up every 4 hours for medication, and crippling left hip pain have made sleep damn near impossible. But you know what? It will all be worth it in the end when I take this girl home. I won’t care about all the sleepless nights of feeding and taking care of her. I look forward to it SO MUCH. I just want that chance so bad. 

Like Wilson Phillips said, Hold On....for like 33 more days. 

Over the weekend, my blood pressure spiked, then took a tumble within a short amount of time. We went to Ikea to bring it up a bit. Even in a non-pregnant state, Ikea makes me want to punch people in the throat and kick them in the face, so it worked (probably a little too well as my BP then jumped to 170/105 a little while later). I requested a wheelchair and the girl at the front asked if I needed a larger one to accommodate my size. Say what? I've only gained 4 lbs! Actually, that didn’t bother me that much, but Nate bumping me into every damn piece of furniture on the floor sure did. I like to think that Baby Girl was laughing at us on this awkward family outing (I know Ligaya was) – and I'm pretty sure that she thoroughly enjoyed this chocolate cake, which made the whole trip worth it.

I LOVE YOU

31 weeks: Showers and Baby Showers

I spent the majority of last week at the hospital being monitored for my blood pressure and contractions. Actually, I spent the majority of last week in the hospital trying to find a few potato wedges that went missing in my bed after my first night’s dinner there while also trying my hardest to trap gas in a blanket every time someone walked in (impossible because a blanket can only contain so much). My timing was impeccable – the second I felt comfortable enough to let one rip, some poor unsuspecting nurse or Eucharistic minister would walk in. Occasionally, and not without a fight, Nate would agree to take the fall, but he wasn't always with me. 

As my uterus grows, the more irritated it becomes. I’ve mentioned before that I’m not allowed to go into labor because of my special cerclage and the risk of uterine rupture due to a previous classical c-section scar. This is scary business, but in all honesty, I wasn’t afraid while I was at the hospital because if something were to happen, well – it’s the best damn place to be. The good news is that the doctor doesn’t think I’ll go into labor anytime soon (there’s a test for this called an FFN and mine came out negative), but we do still have to keep an eye on my blood pressure and the contractions. As for my cervix – it’s still being a Michael Phelps – long and strong.  

I had a pretty uneventful stay (thank God). I pretended I was staying at a resort in Newport Beach, which really wasn’t too far off from reality. Hoag is a really nice hospital and I had a beautiful view of my favorite fried chicken place and a glimpse of the water. I got to pick out breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day (including dessert for almost every meal!). The food wasn’t all that great (except for the chocolate cake), but I appreciate the care the nurses and doctors provided. They never once made me feel crazy with all the questions I asked.  They never turned away in disgust and instead chose to lie to my face about me not smelling completely rank from not being able to take a shower for 2 days. They were afraid I'd faint due to my blood pressure dropping too low from all the meds I was on.  I was able to hear Baby Girl on the monitor whenever I wanted, which is the music of my heart that keeps me going every single day. It was a good stay.

I didn’t know they would keep me for that long though, so I was a bit worried that I wouldn’t make the baby shower my family had planned for Sunday. Luckily, everything checked out ok and my doctor felt confident I was ready to go home after 4 days.

My family threw an amazing celebration for me, Nate, and Baby Girl. It took me a really long time to be ok with the idea of a shower – those of you who’ve been reading my posts for the last few months know how terrified I’ve been about planning for the future.  I’m so glad I agreed to it though. They did a beautiful job! The day was filled with good food, friends, and the most wonderful family anyone could ever ask for. There was so much love felt that day. It was a true celebration of life -  a way to honor this baby girl growing inside of me. She is so very, very loved and loved by so very, very many.

I won’t lie and say I’m not afraid we’ve tempted fate, but I’m sticking to the game plan of taking it one day, one breath, one step at a time. That’s what keeps me from losing my mind. 

We are at 31 weeks! Next week we start fetal testing at the hospital. I’ll be going twice a week for that and still be getting my shots, as well. It’s all worth it though – I’ll do whatever it takes to get her here safe and sound. We’re almost there.

A few nights ago, I even hopped in one of those motorized shopping carts like every lazy body in the future uses in the movie Wall-E. In a rare outing to Target, my uterus demanded that I stop walking and use one. I’ve always been curious about them, but too embarrassed to try one out because laziness is not a valid reason to do so.  But seriously - as soon as my ass hit that seat, the heavens parted, angels started singing and I realized I’ve been missing out in life! Wow, they’re awesome! No wonder you see so many people using them at Disneyland! Nate, the most anti-lazy person I know, ran away every time I backed up and the reverse warning system would start beeping super loud throughout the store, but I chased after him at 3 mph yelling at him to wait for me. The nerve.

Anyway, 31 weeks and going SO STRONG! We are on our way, Baby Girl. On our way. 

Every day it's a-gettin' closer. Hang on, Little Love Bug...and stay calm, Uterus. 

Turning 40 at 30 weeks - God grant me the wish of my heart

The other night, before entering a popular pizza establishment, I asked Nate if my pink maternity belly band was visible over my fat yoga pants and his response was, “You’re concerned about your fashion choice today?” Ok, Mr. Skinny Jeans, just stop. Anyway, this band – you’re supposed to wear it under your clothes, but I like to buck tradition (plus, it’s super uncomfortable against my skin). Well, joke’s on me because that damn thing decided to buck me. Really buck me.

After polishing off my own personal pizza and getting ready to exit, I felt, then heard, the velcro in the belt start to give way. Slowly, at first, like the build-up of a tsunami.

Uh-oh.

With my left hand holding one edge of the band and my right fighting to keep my fat pants up, I thought I could make my escape without anyone noticing. However, all attempts at keeping myself together within the confines of the band proved futile because that sonofabitch suddenly let everything go in one thunderous rip. It was as if it couldn’t escape from me fast enough. With a mind of its own, it exploded off my body at the foot of a Victoria’s Secret model pushing a $1200 stroller I’d eyed online one day while imagining I was a rich housewife of Orange County. My only consolation was knowing that I’ve gained just 4 lbs during this pregnancy, so really, how different could me and this woman possibly be? Ok, so maybe I had 50 lbs to lose prior to pregnancy. 60. Anyway, I picked up my belt and the zero shits I had left and walked out of there.What an excellent start to a birthday weekend! 

Ah, another birthday.

The day I turned 30, my coworkers decorated my desk with an array of geriatric gag gifts that sent me into a slow mental wall slide of grief. 30? How the hell did that happen? I had just graduated high school like…the day before. At the time, all I wished for was that the time machine I had painstakingly constructed in my mind would hightail my ass back to 1990. OMG such good music then.

And now I’m 40. How the hell did this happen? I seriously just graduated high school like…yesterday. Where did the last decade go? Now, all I want, is for this day to be just another successful day on our march to 36 weeks. No complications, no worries, no issues – just another day in the books. Maybe some Olive Garden too because I signed up for their e-club and I get a free dessert or appetizer (actually, I signed up everywhere a long time ago to get all the free birthday perks, but I can’t collect on all of them in one day like I’ve done in the past. Seriously, I used to make it like an Olympic event).

Back in December for Nates 40^th, we took a big trip to Spain and Morocco. It was an adventure I will never forget. Ditching my fear of relieving myself outside the comfort of my own home, I shat in a box in the middle of the Moroccan desert. It was HUGE. My progress, I mean, not the shit.   We rode camels over sand dunes, shared sandwiches and tea with complete strangers on midnight trains, and ate churros with chocolate dripping down our faces (ok, just my face) in small, dimly lit, romantic cafes while talking about plans for my own 40^th birthday. 

• A trip to Petra? Screw ISIS.

•  A trek to Everest base camp? Who cares that I hate walking uphill and cry when using unfamiliar toilets - it’s Everest. I actually did buy an 11 lb weight vest to wear on our weekend practice hikes to get ready for such a trip. I wore it only once on a hike that took exactly 10 minutes before I declared it a grave mistake and threatened to throw myself, weight vest and all, off a very small cliff face.

•  Perhaps an African Dream safari? And then I saw the price and promptly emailed the company back with an all caps message of “YOUR PRICING IS INSANE.”

Well, we never got around to finalizing our plans because I got pregnant and that’s all I’ve been focusing on for the past 30 weeks. Once Baby Girl is here, our lives will be very different in terms of travel. I know that, and I’m ok with it. I’m thankful for all years that Nate and I have gotten to explore the world and for all of the adventures we’ve been on. 

I dream of the day that we'll be able to bring Baby Girl along. Maybe not right away to Petra or Everest, but someday. In the meantime, while she’s little – I look forward to taking her to the library where I hope that she, too, will learn to love books as much as I do.  I may not be able to take her on an African Dream safari (who are they kidding with those prices, DAMN), but I can create one in my mind and bring it to life in our living room until I can afford a real one. We’ll imagine and create a million different worlds within the universe until she’s old enough to discover her own.

I’ve asked for so many ridiculous things throughout the years on my birthday: the forever body and metabolism of a 24-year old who works out every day without me actually having to work out every day; to win a contest that grants me unlimited access to free wings at Wing Stop for life; and a billion dollars. But this year, I don’t want any of that stuff. I just want to bring my baby girl home safe and sound. Actually, the other wish of my heart is to have Ligaya here with us too, but I know that’s a gift waiting for me somewhere on the other side of this lifetime.

Please, if there truly is a God who dispenses blessings in a world that appears to be both broken and so incredibly beautiful all at the same time, I ask just one thing for my big 4-0. Give me my girl. Please. There is nothing else I want more. 

30 weeks! We're almost there, Little Foot...can't wait to meet you.  

Turning 40 at 30 - God grant me the wish of my heart

The other night, before entering a popular pizza establishment, I asked Nate if my pink maternity belly band was visible over my fat yoga pants and his response was, “You’re concerned about your fashion choice today?” Ok, Mr. Skinny Jeans, just stop. Anyway, this band – you’re supposed to wear it under your clothes, but I like to buck tradition (plus, it’s super uncomfortable against my skin). Well, joke’s on me because that damn thing decided to buck me. Really buck me.

After polishing off my own personal pizza and getting ready to exit, I felt, then heard, the velcro in the belt start to give way. Slowly, at first, like the build-up of a tsunami.

Uh-oh.

With my left hand holding one edge of the band and my right fighting to keep my fat pants up, I thought I could make my escape without anyone noticing. However, all attempts at keeping myself together within the confines of the band proved futile because that sonofabitch suddenly let everything go in one thunderous rip. It was as if it couldn’t escape from me fast enough. With a mind of its own, it exploded off my body at the foot of a Victoria’s Secret model pushing a $1200 stroller I’d eyed online one day while imagining I was a rich housewife of Orange County. My only consolation was knowing that I’ve gained just 4 lbs during this pregnancy, so really, how different could me and this woman possibly be? Ok, so maybe I had 50 lbs to lose prior to pregnancy. 60. Anyway, I picked up my belt and the zero shits I had left and walked out of there.What an excellent start to a birthday weekend! 

Ah, another birthday.

The day I turned 30, my coworkers decorated my desk with an array of geriatric gag gifts that sent me into a slow mental wall slide of grief. 30? How the hell did that happen? I had just graduated high school like…the day before. At the time, all I wished for was that the time machine I had painstakingly constructed in my mind would hightail my ass back to 1990. OMG such good music then.

And now I’m 40. How the hell did this happen? I seriously just graduated high school like…yesterday. Where did the last decade go? Now, all I want, is for this day to be just another successful day on our march to 36 weeks. No complications, no worries, no issues – just another day in the books. Maybe some Olive Garden too because I signed up for their e-club and I get a free dessert or appetizer (actually, I signed up everywhere a long time ago to get all the free birthday perks, but I can’t collect on all of them in one day like I’ve done in the past. Seriously, I used to make it like an Olympic event).

Back in December for Nates 40^th, we took a big trip to Spain and Morocco. It was an adventure I will never forget. Ditching my fear of relieving myself outside the comfort of my own home, I shat in a box in the middle of the Moroccan desert. It was HUGE. My progress, I mean, not the shit.   We rode camels over sand dunes, shared sandwiches and tea with complete strangers on midnight trains, and ate churros with chocolate dripping down our faces (ok, just my face) in small, dimly lit, romantic cafes while talking about plans for my own 40^th birthday. 

• A trip to Petra? Screw ISIS.

•  A trek to Everest base camp? Who cares that I hate walking uphill and cry when using unfamiliar toilets - it’s Everest. I actually did buy an 11 lb weight vest to wear on our weekend practice hikes to get ready for such a trip. I wore it only once on a hike that took exactly 10 minutes before I declared it a grave mistake and threatened to throw myself, weight vest and all, off a very small cliff face.

•  Perhaps an African Dream safari? And then I saw the price and promptly emailed the company back with an all caps message of “YOUR PRICING IS INSANE.”

Well, we never got around to finalizing our plans because I got pregnant and that’s all I’ve been focusing on for the past 30 weeks. Once Baby Girl is here, our lives will be very different in terms of travel. I know that, and I’m ok with it. I’m thankful for all years that Nate and I have gotten to explore the world and for all of the adventures we’ve been on. 

I dream of the day that we'll be able to bring Baby Girl along. Maybe not right away to Petra or Everest, but someday. In the meantime, while she’s little – I look forward to taking her to the library where I hope that she, too, will learn to love books as much as I do.  I may not be able to take her on an African Dream safari (who are they kidding with those prices, DAMN), but I can create one in my mind and bring it to life in our living room until I can afford a real one. We’ll imagine and create a million different worlds within the universe until she’s old enough to discover her own.

I’ve asked for so many ridiculous things throughout the years on my birthday: the forever body and metabolism of a 24-year old who works out every day without me actually having to work out every day; to win a contest that grants me unlimited access to free wings at Wing Stop for life; and a billion dollars. But this year, I don’t want any of that stuff. I just want to bring my baby girl home safe and sound. Actually, the other wish of my heart is to have Ligaya here with us too, but I know that’s a gift waiting for me somewhere on the other side of this lifetime.

Please, if there truly is a God who dispenses blessings in a world that appears to be both broken and so incredibly beautiful all at the same time, I ask just one thing for my big 4-0. Give me my girl. Please. There is nothing else I want more. 

30 weeks! We're almost there, Little Foot...can't wait to meet you.  

29 weeks: Well, you can forget about us naming her Ellen

Months ago I tried to get on the Ellen Show for her Mother’s Day Special. I applied twice, but didn’t get selected. It was probably the pictures I chose for each entry. I thought they wanted a real, authentic depiction of pregnancy, but maybe the fat yoga pants, uncombed hair, half eaten bag of gummy worms, and bewildered expression on my face didn’t fit the look they were going for in their studio audience. You’d think I’d have tried two different photo approaches – perhaps included one where I looked calm and maybe a bit more clean -  but no, I just switched t-shirts. What do they expect? I’m almost 40-years old with the body and stamina of a pregnant 70-year old and the mind of a simpleton.

Honestly, I’m not sure I would’ve gone anyway. Back then at 14 weeks, I was still a mess of tangled thoughts and incessant worry, and the future didn’t look quite as bright as it does now, so really, who knows? (YES, YES I WOULD’VE GONE BECAUSE SHE GIVES OUT A LOT OF FREE STUFF)

The hardest part with all of that was I that wrote about my experience with Ligaya and how even with the loss of her, I still considered myself a mom. I wrote about how this new pregnancy was terrifying, but such an incredible blessing, and how I recognized that they were two different experiences.  Perhaps that was what sunk my chances. The show was for “first time moms”, and maybe I stressed too much that I was not a first time mom.

I’ve had to deal with this a lot over the past several years – “Do you have any kids?” It comes from every direction - random people that cross my path, or when having to fill out forms asking for the number of children I have, or with people I haven’t connected with in a long time. It’s all harmless, and while my initial reaction isn’t an immediate defensiveness anymore, or the burning urge to spill the contents of my broken heart over the phone to some poor Time Warner Cable operator, it still feels like a fine sprinkling of salt over an open wound.

I never deny the existence of my beautiful Ligaya, even if she is no longer here. I’ve had to come up with creative ways to explain myself, but I always acknowledge her in my heart and in my words.  Now, the only time I get ready to sharpen my shank is when well-meaning people say things like “It was God’s plan” or “She’s in a better place” or “At least you know you can get pregnant again.” Please…just stop. That doesn’t make me feel better. I would do anything to have both of my girls here at the same time.

Anyway, I’ve since stopped following Ellen on Instagram and Facebook (TAKE THAT, DEGENERES). Yeah, I’m sure she feels the weight of my absence. I’m just frustrated because not getting on the show just makes it that much harder to figure out this crazy ass baby registry! My God – there are so many things that confuse me…so many things that a baby needs, or doesn’t need. It’s quite overwhelming and it makes me want to punch myself in the face, but….

It’s also FUN, and it’s a HUGE improvement in my mental state that I’m even doing this. It means that I have hope – that I feel confident this is all really happening. 

Wow, the amount of stuff that’s out there is astounding though. Now I wish I had spent more time researching safety ratings on cribs and strollers and car seats instead of focusing on pregnancy complications, watching an incredible amount of TV, and creeping out the soccer players outside my window by pressing my face and big belly against the glass to get a closer look.

Nate offers a little help here and there with the registry, but he knows nothing about baby stuff either. He has two preferences for baby items – animals and the color white.  I’m just glad his flirtation with the Pokemon Go craze was brief so he can go back to helping me knock this out. Intrigued by the concept, he made ME (the person on modified home bedrest) download the app. Walking around in circles inside our house didn’t yield any Pokemons, so he took the game outside where he promptly gave up after walking around in circles out there for 15 minutes. Ain’t nobody got time for Pokemon. Or Hulu…or Netflix...well, there’s always time for those. Let's not completely lose our minds here.

Well, we’ve hit 29 and we’ve got a lot to do in the next few weeks. Time to get crackin’.

Baby Girl - your dad made me pose with this big bag of almonds he bought me from Costco....because these are the kinds of pictures we like to take. Hang in there, little pup.

28 weeks: Started from the bottom now we're here

Well, we’ve finally made it to 28 weeks!!! I’ve been dreaming of this milestone since the very beginning of our journey. Back in 2012 when I was placed on strict bedrest with Ligaya starting at 20 weeks, our first goal was to hit 24, which was viability. 28 weeks was gold, but it was so far away, and we knew the odds were not in our favor. I eventually ended up delivering her at exactly 24 weeks.  Our precious Ligaya survived for just a few hours. Those were the darkest days of my life.

Reaching 28 weeks has now brought on a whole range of emotions – relief, gratitude, joy, a growing sense of confidence, guilt, and of course, fear – an endless raging current that fights to be my constant companion at all times. In the beginning, it was the fear of miscarriage. During the 2^nd trimester, I worried about my cervix doing a repeat performance of 2012. And now that I’ve started the 3^rd trimester – well, I just don’t even want to put those thoughts into writing, they’re so terrifying.

You know -  I truly envy those who feel pregnancy is a walk in the damn park and are able to do it over and over again. IN HEELS, EVEN. At my last appointment, I started studying a very pregnant young lady in heels and a tight dress sitting across from me. Since I no longer know how to converse with people in the outside world due to being on modified bed rest for so long with only a diverse group of TV characters as my conversation partners, I was only able to imagine asking her how she was able to feel comfortable in such an outfit. I rage-applaud those who can. As for me, were I to try such a look, one burp or mistimed fart would cause that dress to explode off my body leaving me exposed to all of God's creatures. I'll stick to my fat pants, thank you very much. 

  

Without a doubt, the mental struggle is too real, and for the daily and nightly occurrence of excessive and explosive gas alone, I would strangle Nate, give him CPR, then strangle him again if he casually suggested we should shoot for more. Nope – I’m happy with my girls – one who watches over us from above, and one who will be joining us in about 8 weeks (God and the universe willing).  

Because of all my risk factors, the doctors and I have been working closely together since the start. A number of measures have been put into place to keep things running smoothly (TRANSLATION: I am on a shitload of meds and am at the doctor’s office every single week). One of the things that keeps my body in check is progesterone. The purpose of progesterone is to help my uterus stay relaxed and keep it from contracting too much. See…labor is not an option for me. It would be dangerous due to my previous classical C-section scar and my transabdominal cerclage, which are the permanent bands around my cervix that keep it from crapping out on us too early again. Uterine rupture is NO JOKE.  Anyway, the shot helps me mentally and physically. I’ve been getting one every week since 16 weeks, a nice change from the way I used to get my daily dose of progesterone throughout the 1^st trimester – (adios, vaginal suppositories)

A few weeks ago, Nate came with me to the doctor’s office for my shot. I wanted him to learn how to do it so he could start giving them to me at home. I figured that might save us a few extra visits and didn’t really think it would be a big deal. After all, homie used to be a medic in the Army Reserves over 20 years ago and would practice drawing blood on himself and his friends at the kitchen table. My 17-year old self thought that was SO HOT at the time. The hell?! The Me of today is somewhat confused by the Me of 22 years ago in this regard.  

Now usually when I get the shot, my favorite nurse jams it in my bum, releases the miracle juice slowly, and gives me a little circular rub as a happy ending before sending me on my way. I’d never actually looked at the needle before because it always was so quick and easy. BUT(T) THEN:

Nurse: Ok, you have to switch cheeks every week so she doesn’t get a knot. I put it in this spot here…she has a little scar, so just use that as your guide.

Nate: Wow! You know her butt better than I do. (chuckle chuckle from Mr. McChuckler over there)

Me: OH, I SEE. YOU GOT JOKES. You got jokes now.

Then I turned around and saw it – a cartoonishly large syringe filled with viscous liquid.

Sonofabitch.

And in that very instant, I decided that my husband, with all his nervous energy and his restless leg syndrome way of life, would never be getting anywhere near me with that thing. Add that to the list of things Nate will never get to stick in my butt.  

So that was that. He does continue to support me in other more important ways, though – mainly by burping me every night like a 200 lb baby.

Ahhh, 28 weeks! Baby girl is doing so well and is almost 3lbs. She doesn’t let us see her face as often as we’d like in her ultrasound pictures, but we have a lot of shots of her little feet. I love her so much.

One day at a time we continue to knock out the weeks.  We are so close. I can almost picture myself crossing the finish line with arms outstretched to carry our baby girl home. That is the biggest hope and wish of my heart.

The wait is down to single digits now, Sweetest Pea. Hang in there. 

Well, it just wouldn't be the same without our awkward selfie of the week

27 weeks: Apocalypse NOT now

As I sit here at 3 am, burping into the earliest hours of the morning due to an unfortunate dinner decision of a bean burrito many, many hours ago, I’ve had some time to look back on my life. Now, this is a much bigger improvement over me burping into the earliest hours of the morning while Googling a bunch of terrible shit, so consider this progress. The combination of gas, exhaustion, and hormones have put me in some sort of weird reflective state, so I apologize in advance if I manage to offend more than usual.

I’ve come to the realization that I was a weird kid. A good kid, but a little strange. I lived in my head A LOT (still do). Not that imagination is a bad thing – I was just a bit much. Often picturing myself in a variety of situations where I was either: A) responsible for saving the world from the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse or B) starting the Apocalypse itself, I now realize I’ve had control issues from the very beginning. Putting the “G” in OMG since day 1, apparently. Sorry, God.

I chalk it up to reading and probably a touch of mental instability that has followed me all the days of my life thus far. I started devouring books by the truckload at around 4 years old and just never seemed to stop. All the money I was given for birthdays or for pimping myself out as the Filipino people’s answer to Annie by belting out the song “Tomorrow” at family parties, went to books, books, and more books. I’m happy to report that I no longer harbor any resentment for not being the first minority Annie on Broadway and still buy lots of books (Nate is DEAD SET AGAINST me buying more these days though, not because he is an enemy of the written word, but because we simply have no more room to house them).

I still, obviously, live in my head. The narrative is just a bit different. Instead of being the star of the Bible’s final chapter “Revelations”, I’ve toned it down to a more mature version of Are you there, God? It’s Me, Margaret (minus the wanting to get my period on account of being pregnant and all).

Holy crap, I’m still weird.

Anyway, back to my control issues. I’ve stated in the past that I tried to control everything in my first pregnancy with Ligaya, and learned the hard way that it was simply impossible to do so. There are things that can be fixed, and there are things that can’t. Life happens. Bad things happen. Terrible shit can happen. Look at the world in the last few months...weeks, days...even. Jesus. 

In the rational part of my brain, I understand that in this pregnancy, but that doesn’t stop me from often going off the deep end. However, nothing bad has happened. In fact, everything has been really, really good, and baby girl is doing fantastic! My formerly errant cervix continues to astound me. I am in the best hands and both teams of doctors are ready to tackle whatever comes our way. They’ve rejected my offer to join their practices, so that hurts my feelings, but I’ll get over it. In time.

Suffering is a choice. Today – at 3 in the morning, I choose not to mentally suffer anymore (this is not to say that at 6 am or even 8 pm tomorrow or the next day the thoughts won’t start creeping in again, but I will make an active effort to stop the madness). 

I am 27 weeks pregnant and have spent the last almost 7 months worrying and being afraid that this blessing will be taken away at any moment. And you know what? It can be taken away – I’m not stupid enough to believe that bad things can’t happen twice in a row, but all I can do is my best. All I can do is hope. Why not try to enjoy the experience? (BECAUSE IT’S HARD). I can try, though.

27 weeks. My goodness.

Thanks to some beautiful people who I’ve come to regard as family – week 27 has started off with a bang. Yesterday, for the first time in a really long time, I left the house for a few hours to visit with some friends we hadn’t seen in a while. What I thought was just a little get together turned out to be a surprise baby shower. And while I really haven’t looked at any baby related items because of my intense fear of what fickle-ass Fate will do by me dangling a fat, juicy carrot in its face, this was just what I needed to start feeling – dare I say - normal. Like THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING, that in about 9-10 weeks (hopefully), we will be bringing this baby girl home. The taste of confidence is so unfamiliar in my mouth at this point that I’m struggling to put all of these emotions into words.

Nate and I met this wonderful group of people under the most terrible of circumstances back in October of 2012. All of us lost our children.  Every Tuesday night we would gather together in a small community center room at Hoag Hospital to lay our broken hearts out on the table and tell our stories, recite our babies’ names, and honor and grieve for them. This bereavement group was me and Nate’s saving grace at a time when we so desperately needed saving. While none of us attend those meetings anymore, we’ve still maintained our relationships and forged ties that cannot be broken. All of them have had their rainbow babies. We are the last of the group to get pregnant, and through all the years of waiting and praying, they have stood by us and given us hope that we, too, will be blessed. I am so grateful for them.

27 weeks.  Wow!!!  We have one more week until we make it to our biggest milestone yet.  I told Nate that once we hit 28 weeks, I would start reading baby books and buying things to get her ready to come home. Now I wish I hadn’t spent so much money online buying useless crap this whole time because seriously, what the hell am I going to do with those 50 miniature wooden doll figures that I never got around to painting? And all that yarn that I never ended up knitting? The Kylie Kardashian Lip Gloss that I hate myself for buying (WTF on this one for real, man)…  

Speaking of money, I started looking into ways of maximizing my income from a reclined position. Since we continue to lose at Super Lotto and Mega Millions every week, I need to think of something quick. Other than pregnancy porn (WHICH IS A THING, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT) and making crooked cranes with my fat sausage fingers, there doesn’t seem to be much out there that matches my current set of skills.  I tried my hand at writing some college soccer player fan fiction and it didn’t go so well…think 50 Shades of Hey, Look at Me Up Here Looking at You Playing With Your Balls Down There. When random thoughts associated with the words “juicy loins” have nothing to do with sexy times and everything to do with specific cuts of pork and beef, it’s time to go back to singing songs and making awkward Facebook videos.

27 weeks – hang in there, Sweetest Pea.

Baby girl - your mom and dad are terrible at taking selfies. Just wait...you'll see. 

26 weeks: And the gold is so close

While watching the U.S. Olympic gymnastics trials this weekend, I realized a couple of things:

1. My chances of making the U.S. Olympics gymnastics team at some point in the future have essentially dropped to ZERO, no matter what my brain tries to tell me.

2.  Obviously, it’s time to give up the dream of making the U.S. Olympics gymnastics team, no matter what my brain tries to tell me.

Hey, you already know my mind is my biggest enemy these days. It tells me ridiculous things (you CAN make the US Olympics gymnastics team) and scary things (you will never bring your baby home) every single day. Considering the options, I’d rather delude myself into thinking I still have a chance at winning the gold than the other terrible thought.

Why is that? Why is it so damn hard to believe that everything will turn out ok? Every doctor’s appointment has been great – baby girl is doing fantastic, my cervix is the Simone Biles of cervixes, my blood pressure is stable, and yet I still gravitate towards the dark side of Google – the mommy boards, specifically the category of “Complications”. It's frustrating as hell. Why can’t I permanently change the narrative in my head? My doctor thinks I am suffering from PTSD and need to start seeing a therapist. I’m sure she’s on to something.   

Anyway, we are at 26 weeks now, and in between gymnastics and praying for a solid bowel movement and any movement at all, I spend a lot of the day watching Lifetime movies. I know it’s not exactly Emmy Award winning material, but at least that shit’s predictable. I like stories that have a nice and tight ending, where the good guy wins in some type of heroic fashion all within the span of two hours.

Seriously – if you’ve ever watched an LMN movie, you know it’s the same thing almost every single time – crazy person unleashes hell on some poor, unsuspecting fool because he/she’s either:

A) in love with that person’s husband/wife 

B) wants to steal that person’s child

C) is a stalker. 

The formula remains the same, just with different actors rotating through. So why do I watch? Because in a world full of tragedy and uncertainty, I find the predictability of a Lifetime movie’s happy ending comforting. The good always wins, and there is always a clear distinction between the good and the bad. I wish it were that easy in real life. I wish we could all have our happy endings.

So, in addition to watching gymnastics and LMN, I continue to keep busy by writing songs and watching a lot of Sex and the City, which I didn't really follow while it was on. But thanks to Amazon Prime, I can watch the whole series every day! In order! It all makes sense now!

As silly as it all is with the incredible amount of sex and luxurious lifestyles they have (sweet Jesus!), it is definitely a welcome escape from the mommy boards. Although...I realized I should probably pick up another distraction when at my fasting glucose test last week I made an awkward attempt at a joke with the phlebotomist:

Tech: Ok, you’re going to have 3 blood draws within 2 hours.

Me: Wow – 3 pricks in one day? That’s a personal best if I do say so myself.

Tech: ……….

(Talk about life not imitating (f)art. And by "another distraction", I don't mean watching the college soccer dude outside my window handle his balls every day. He has...like 50...of them that he chases around in his non-traditional sporting gear. First it was really tight leggings. Now, as summer has progressed, he's graduated to what can only be described as underwear. For real. I even showed Nate one day. I tried to take a picture, but he caught me standing at the window like a creeper just as I was about to immortalize him in my blog)

26 weeks! Two more and we meet our next milestone of 28. That’s HUGE. It's been a dream for so long to get to that gestation. We’re almost there. I'm happy and relieved and so thankful to have made it this far already. I'm constantly on pins and needles, but constantly trying to take the crazy down a notch. It's a struggle.

Almost there, baby girl – keep on keepin’ on and I will too.  

 

26 weeks, and I need a therapist

And hope, though it may be a scary thing - - - it's everything: 25 weeks

They say that at 18 weeks of pregnancy, babies can start to hear sound, and that by 25-26 weeks, they start to respond to the noises they hear in the womb. My heartbeat, and most assuredly my unfortunate and explosive gas situation, is what she is used to hearing now, and it is my voice she will remember and respond to once she has vacated my premises. This certainly does not deter Nate from shaking a Mexican rainmaker and talking as loud as he can to my belly every night. I’m sure she will know him, too.

I talk and sing to my girl as often as I can – interspersing lullabies with silly low and high pitched humming sounds from deep within my diaphragm because I think she may find the noises soothing. But what the hell do I know? She may find my whale inspired sounds disturbing, probably my mooing, as well. I'm guessing the yodeling could be classified as audibly offensive at times, too.

As a side note: In a not so long ago life, I used to sing – like in front of people. Songs with actual words, some of my own, even. Weddings, parties, funerals, bookstore events, and National Anthem performances for the Angels, Dodgers, and Orange County Sheriff’s Department – I loved it. However, once I got pregnant, I decided to stop due to problems with my blood pressure. Because as much as I love singing at Angels Stadium, there’s nothing like standing in front of a crowd of 40,000+ people to make me want to crap myself – just absolutely crap myself right there behind home plate – before I open my mouth to sing. Doesn’t matter if I’ve done it for the last 12 years. The nerves never go away until I start singing. It is such an honor to be asked back every year, and I just always want to do my best.   

I was sad to cancel my performances for this season, but the Angels organization was so understanding of my situation, just as they were when we lost Ligaya in 2012.  They’ve invited me back for next year and you can be sure we’ll be bringing our Little Sesame in full Angels gear. With baby headphones on. Vaccinated. In a protective bubble. With a sign around the bubble saying “DO NOT TOUCH”. Because you know me and my phobia about germs. Just kidding. Or maybe not.  

Anyway, giving that up is a minor sacrifice for something so great. And like I said earlier, I still sing – just in my own weird way. I’ve also started writing songs again, and even shared a video on Facebook last week of one I wrote called “Little One”. I was so amazed at the response it got! The love and support and feedback truly helped me get through a really tough 24^th week. Thank you to all who watched and listened and shared the video. You have no idea how much it meant to me.

I’m trying to write more music, but it’s such an emotional process. It helps me work through the anxiety and fear of this pregnancy (even though I end up crying most of the time). Music and writing are some of the only ways I am completely able to express myself without fear (or shame, as evidenced by my appearance last week). Try talking to me in person and you’ll see the difference:

You: Hi, how are you?

Me: I love fried chicken. I have gas. And urinary incontinence. Thanks, bye. 

Focusing on music definitely beats spending the day on freaking Google. Trying to veer away from all of the reading material that focuses on the multitude of terrible things that can occur in pregnancy (infections, preterm labor, placental abruption, uterine rupture, pre-eclampsia, the devil I know - incompetent cervix, cord accidents, stillbirth, and so very many more complications I can’t even wrap my mind around), I’ve also started testing out the waters in other more positive areas, like promoting foreign language acquisition while she’s still in the womb….BECAUSE THAT’S EASY. No, I’m just kidding again. Anyway, I only managed to get through 8 French lessons before being put on modified bedrest, and trying to study and have a conversation en Francais with my bubs is really hard. Especially because I only managed to get through 8 French lessons and she’s not exactly in a position to answer me back.

For all the jibber-jabber and musical outbursts, I just want her to know me, to know that I love her, that I acknowledge and honor her. That’s why Nate and I sing and talk and read out loud so much. I do it in case something bad happens because those are the places my mind sometimes takes me, and if something did occur, at least she knew me for a little while. I try to make her feel my love every second that I am breathing.

As we continue the journey, the march to 28 weeks being our next big goal, I find myself starting to let more of the light in. It’s better to stand in the light. I know that, but the darkness came on so quick four years ago, it’s so hard to believe it can really be different this time. The days when I’m optimistic are a victory.  Even with every good doctor appointment we have, I still have that inner snake voice that tells me not to let my guard down. What a dick.

Baby girl is doing SO GREAT as of her growth scan last week and my cervix is clearly redeeming itself this time around. I wish it had done its job the first time too…but we are here now, and that’s what I have to focus on.

25 and we’re alive - just keep swimming – and singing her home to me.