20 weeks and holding that damn door....I mean counting

I once read that there’s nothing like being scared shitless to really make you feel alive. For the past 20 weeks I have been living this truth.

The first time I was pregnant in 2012 I was not only filled with excitement, but dread. Beneath the beautiful song that played in my heart was a constant hiss, an underlying static that kept me from truly reveling in the miracle of that whole experience. People could feel the anxiety radiating from my every pore, and no amount of rational discussion could quell my fears.   I knew something bad was going to happen, and it was only a matter of time. In my 6^th month of pregnancy, I went into preterm labor and delivered via c-section a beautiful baby girl who survived for just a few hours.  

I don’t know what to call it other than a mother’s intuition.  I’m certainly not psychic because it’s not like I’m constantly winning at everything in life.  No…I just knew.

Besides the baggage of grief that I carry in my heart for our precious girl, I took away a valuable lesson from our loss.  What I learned is that no matter how much I tried to control the situation – through the countless hours of research I spent investigating incompetent cervixes before I even knew I would have an incompetent cervix of my own – I simply could not stop the train from coming. While my mind was fully prepared to fight through an eternity of back labor, the crushing belt of nails cinching around my waist with every contraction – my body simply could not hold on. It was completely out of my control. Everything was out of my control at that point. Oh, and trying not to become attached in order to protect myself emotionally? Please. I was already in love from the moment I first saw the bright light of her little lion heart flicker on that ultrasound screen at 5 weeks 6 days.

There is nothing that can prepare you for the emotional carnage of watching your child die, of burying them and living with that loss until your own time comes to pass. Nothing. You think you can steel your heart against that kind of pain? No. You simply learn to carry the load and hope to grow stronger in time under the weight of it all, not break from it.

So here we are. I am 20 weeks pregnant. In 2013 I had surgery to turn my poor excuse of a cervix into a bionic one. It should hold this time, and with a 95% success rate, I’m fairly confident it will. However, it doesn’t eliminate the possibility of other random bad shit from happening, and does put me at risk for some other complications that require me to have an early c-section. I have a great team of doctors though – 2 teams, in fact – plus one cardiologist. I see them every week for cervical checks and we get to peek in on our little girl and hear her heartbeat. Am I still scared? OF FUCKING COURSE. Every cramp, pain, spike in blood pressure, and Braxton Hicks contraction threatens to push me over the edge, and believe me – I am standing right there already. Is my cervix holding? Am I going to stroke out? Am I in pre-term labor? Who is going to be our next president???  JESUS, TAKE THE WHEEL. MY ASS IS TIRED.

  and clearly in need of some Chapstick and eyebrow attention

The first time I saw our little girl on screen, the fissures in my fractured heart filled with something I never thought I’d feel again. Hope. This little life – this very, very active girl who, with every kick, literally gives extra weight to the meaning of “vaginal pressure” – reminds me so much of Ligaya. But…I know that she’s not Ligaya. She is her own little person. Her heart booms like thunder as her sister’s did, but it is her own heart, and the sound of it is just as sweet to my ears as Ligaya’s was.

Little Sesame is not a replacement for our firstborn. She is a force all on her own brought here to make her mark in this world. She is our rainbow. 

Do I have that intuition that something will go wrong? I don’t know. It feels different somehow. I’m definitely scared – really, really scared – but I’ve also allowed myself to hope that things will work out for us. Nate keeps trying to tell me to just appreciate this time because we are already so blessed to have her. That’s something I CAN do. The rest is out of my hands.  While I admire him for his positivity, and the fact that he wrote a song for her that we sing to my belly every night – I still battle the dark side of “BUT WHAT IF IT HAPPENS AGAIN?” on the daily. I consult Google like it’s a partner in my home medical practice…since you know…. I’ve bestowed upon myself honorary medical degrees from Harvard and Yale. It’s so hard, but I’m trying to keep those mental demons behind closed doors with the only strength I have right now – love, and the understanding that this is a different pregnancy, a different experience for which we are better equipped to handle this time around.

Long road ahead of us. The days feel long, but the weeks seem to be flying by with every Game of Thrones episode I get through.  

20 weeks and holding/counting.

Poor Hodor!