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.