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.