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.