Pardon my rambling..

So... I was talking to my neighbor yesterday. Before I go into this, probably I should mention that she's a decent person and I do like her. Sometimes she just doesn't fully engage her brain before her mouth opens. Or maybe she's just prone to voicing things that other people only think, and wouldn't actually say out loud. Either way, she's not a bad person. Hell, I have those flaws sometimes too. Ok, a lot of times.

Anyhow, Neighbor was holding P'Bean and mentioned that she's been thinking a lot about whether they should have another baby. P'Bean is (naturally) a perfect babe and inspires these thoughts in people. people other than me I mean. her very perfection fills me with terror - what if I've achieved the pinnacle of reproduction and anything more would be pushing my luck?

As it turns out, my neighbor is also worried that asking for a third perfect child would be too much, seeing as how she's already got two perfect kids. I kinda misunderstood that one. I thought she was worried because she's got two really well-behaved children and hell, that doesn't really happen three times, now does it?

No, as it turns out my neighbor is worried about genetic perfection. Because, you know, she's just turned 30 and her risk for Down syndrome increases after 35. I swear, this woman keeps forgetting that I'm older than she is. Apparently she also forgets that her longest period of 'trying' for a baby was 3 months. Because she's worried about a theoretical risk five years in the future.

I know that this is one of those things that women worry about. (although maybe not as vocally or as horrified as Neighbor.) With all the talk about 'advanced maternal age' and 'risks' and all. Like there's some switch that gets flipped at midnight on the eve of a woman's 35th birthday whereupon her ovaries turn into that proverbial pumpkin and the uterine fairy godmother runs off with Prince Charming leaving this poor advanced-aged woman's reproductive organs adrift and directionless, I guess... but this just doesn't seem like a Big Fear to me.

It's a 'potential' and not an 'actual'.

I'm working extra-hard this year to only worry about the things that are actualities, and not stress over potentials. Most of us have enough actual problems that we don't need to worry about the maybes.

I know an awful lot of people that have been struggling to wrap their minds around their children's individual challenges lately. Things that seem small to an outsider (or at least not Big, if not exactly small either).

It's something that I've been struggling with lately. G has a few quirks that can be difficult. Maybe they're not as obvious to the general public as Down syndrome, but they are as obvious to me as if they were branded on his forehead. I just want his life to be easy. I want him to fit in and to be one of the kids.

Most recently, I've been struggling to wrap my mind around G's speech problem. Seems like a small fear, doesn't it? I mean, he's bright and healthy, his physical development has been perfect.. but he just can't seem to make his mouth work the way his brain does. We've made great strides in his communication and he can generally get his point across to the people who matter.. but I learned a long time ago that 'speech' and 'communication' do not mean the same thing. Or, as his speech therapist summed it up: he compensates well.

True that, he does. If he can't be understood he will go into a torrent of descriptive phrases and charade, expertly combining words and pantomime until his audience can figure out what he's trying to say.

Problem is, this only works if the audience is as determined as he is. Other kids, they aren't generally so persistent. If they can't understand him, they go one of two ways: either they give up on talking and just play without too many words, or they give up on him.

That is not what I want for my son.

What may seem like a small fear to others has become a big deal in my everyday life. It hits like a physical blow when I hear people comment on G. Most commonly I hear things like "what's wrong with him?" .. although there was that one memorable little boy at the park who wanted to know if he was speaking Chinese. Kinda makes me want to scream.. see, G's speech problem is almost exclusively with articulation. His vocabulary is above-average, his receptive language is just fine.. in English that means he understands every damn thing people say about him.

During one of his evaluations, the psychologist mentioned that before G starts kindergarten, she wants me to bring him in for an IQ test so that I will have actual numbers to bring to school because the schools have been known to make assumptions about intelligence based on ability to speak. That hurt, too. I expect that from random kids at the park. I don't like it, but they're not exactly trained professionals so hey, it's not like they know better.. but his school? Sigh...

They have warned me that his school will expect less of him.. that he will have problems reading because of his speech.. that this will be a long uphill battle that will take probably years of intensive therapy to conquer... and will likely involve therapy for his self-esteem as well, as this will all take a toll on him..

What the hell? It's a flippin' speech problem!

When all this started I figured he'd get a little speech therapy once or twice a week and in a few months things would be just ducky. He got speech once a week for the first six months. Twice a week for the next year and a half. They've just increased him to four times a week (two group sessions, two individual) with plans to increase that to five times a week (two group, three individual).

My saving grace is that they expect he will overcome this obstacle. Some day he will talk and be understood. I don't expect he will ever completely blend in to the crowd (because his personality doesn't encourage that sort of thing... but I love that he will have that option if he wants it. I realize that is a gift.

.. and while I'm doing all this realizing, I realize that if anyone had told me years ago that I'd consider a speech problem a Big Deal, a Life-Altering struggle, I'd have rolled my eyes and called 'em an ass-hat, as I am wont to do.

So really, I guess every fear is a valid fear... but my couple-weeks-late resolution still stands: valid or not, I will not worry about things that have not happened.

That said... I know that as Big as G's speech problem seems, it would not have stopped me from wanting him. Perhaps we have achieved reproductive perfection in PB. Perhaps any future child would have a newer, scarier Big problem.. perhaps he-or-she would have a known Big problem. Or a known small problem. Or not. I'm not going to let that make my decision for me.. when B comes home (in just a few short weeks!) we're planning on starting the pre-trying trying*.


*I'll explain that phrase in my next posting. this one has been exhausting to type out, and I'm not really in a mindset where I can switch gears to another new topic immediately.. this got a little more involved than I'd intended for announcing that we'd decided to bite the bullet and consider attempting another baby in this lifetime. this decade even. no matter how scary it seems.

Holy ass-hat.

I saw my GP the other day so that she could tweak my meds 'cause my blood pressure is still too high. First, instead of just increasing my dosage, she switched my blood pressure meds because she didn't think the one I was taking was safe for a breastfeeding mom. No problem, it's not like it was really working for me anyway, right?

Then, she started in on my zoloft. I believe her exact words were "you do realize that your baby is getting that, too, right?" .. in this tone of voice like I was being selfish for needlessly exposing my baby to medication.

Pardon my language, but what the fuck?

I had just finished telling her that my OB prescribed the zoloft for postpartum depression... so she knew that (a) this was something the OB prescribed (and presumably they should know about lactation) and (b) I have postpartum depression.

She didn't ask me about the severity of my PPD (not very), or if I had discussed the risk vs. benefit with the OB (I had), just snapped off that little remark.

It scares me to think that some day this ass-hat might make the same judgmental comment to a mom who is suffering from severe PPD, who hasn't done the research to confirm that her medication is safe.. who decides to stop taking necessary meds based on one nasty GP who seems to think that PPD isn't worth treating. Or maybe it was the breastfeeding that she thought should go, rather than the treatment. Either way, her information was inaccurate.

I've complained about her, and I hope that someone in her chain of command can educate her. She is, after all, a military GP.. statistically speaking, military wives are more likely to suffer from PPD. She should already know how this works.

Ass-hat.

4 months today.

No, that's not P'Bean's age it's how long B's been gone.

I am so ready for him to come home.

I'm having such a hard time with the holidays this year. Mel had a great post the other day about the emotional minefield of Christmas during IF. Or rather, the emotional minefield of IF during Christmas... so true. It's a tough time of year whenever your family isn't complete... or is complete (enough) but isn't together.

Tonight, G was marveling at the neighborhood lights. He thought the lights meant that it was Christmas.

No, not yet. People put their lights out early because they're excited that Christmas will be here in a few weeks.



.. and then he asked why we didn't have any lights outside our house.

Because, sweet boy, that's your dad's thing*.


And maybe because your mom is not all that excited.



It's a huge reminder of everything that B's missing.



For the first few months, I just didn't think about what B was missing. I couldn't think about it.



.. and he couldn't think about anything else.



He has missed PB's first smile, laugh, and her first tears. G's first day of pre-k, that sweet and indefinable moment where he pulled out his independence and stood on his own as just one of the big kids, and the everyday moments of two little ones learning how siblings interact.



G started pre-k the day before T'giving. I emailed B lots of pictures, and happily reported that no one had cried.



He emailed me back with just two words "except me".



Ouch.



That's what I think of every time someone tells me that it must be hard having him gone... yeah, it's hard - but it's nothing compared to what he's going through.

_ _ _

ok, I wrote all that last week, with the intention of actually finishing it. I had sorta even planned on working in the point I actually sat down to write - which was that B & I had that always-fun 'state of the union' discussion re: family planning... and I've been trying to write about it ever since. Twice I've sat down to work through it in my mind and my keyboard.. and twice I managed to write an entire post without once mentioning the actual subject I'd intended to discuss.

Obviously it's not an easy thing for me to think through (else I'd have written the #$^&! post and published it and been done already) .. so .. maybe next time?

* Usually we have enough lights strung around the front yard to qualify us for the Hall of Shame.

'D' is for drummer

Every flippin' time I think I'm going to blog more, life happens... and then all the great anecdotes and topics I think of just fall outta my head before I've even had a chance to type 'em.

So G started pre-k last week (better late than never, right?) word of advice - if you attempt to enroll your child in pre-k, and said child marches to his own drummer, and the pre-k even breathes the words "wait list", just find a new school.

It is exceedingly difficult to teach a nonconformist to conform... and once you're three months into the school year and all the other kids already know the rules and ropes, the honeymoon period is over and conformity is expected.

It's been a fun week... G's starting to get the hang of some things, but he does still like to do it his own way. His homework* yesterday was to write the letter "d" .. he was ok with that, but he didn't want to write it on the line.. and when he asked why he had to write it on the line and the best answer I could come up with was "because that's what they said to do", I figured screw 'em, he's four. And if he wants to write his d's sideways and under the line, so be it. This week, we're working on why a nap mat isn't a wrestling mat - surely where he writes his 'd' is small stuff in comparison. Besides, I like that he has his own opinions and questions the status quo. Tonight, while picking the d's out in the book we were reading, he pointed to a 'p'. I dutifully pointed out that it was a 'p' and not a 'd'.. and G flipped the book over to show me that it was, indeed, a 'd', I just had to look at it a little differently.

.. and after all, isn't that one of the reasons I wanted to be a parent? To learn to see the world in a different way, through my child's eyes?


Rock on, my free-thinking little man..




*yes, homework! in pre-k! wtf??

Merry Flippin' Holidays

For weeks, B has been bugging me to send him my measurements because he's trying to order my C'mas present and needs this information. Why yes, I am pretty sure that said present is going to be tiny, see-through, and more for him than me, but that's practically a tradition in the Grail household. Some day I'll tell you the story of how he wanted to get me a bikini wax for C'mas. A Brazilian wax.

.. and he cannot imagine why I haven't been jumping up and down with eager excitement, breathlessly emailing him those numbers.

So tonight, I decide to bite the bullet, and shut his arse up cheerfully send him my information.

Do you know they make tape measures that only go up to 36"??

Yeah. And I own one of them.

It's going to take some serious retail therapy to get over this. Or maybe cupcakes... which, I admit, may be part of the problem.

I can't believe that when I finally gathered up the courage to confront my jiggly curvaceous body, I couldn't stretch the tape measure around it.

I am simply too much woman for that f'ing thing tiny little tape measure, I suppose.



Oh hell, it's not that I expected to be under 36" anywhere. It's just the idea.

I've outgrown a tape measure (!!)

So...

I found this nifty link in a friend's myspace blog the other day:

Look-alike Meter

Upload kid-pics and parent-pics and it will tell you which parent the kid resembles more*.

So, it was fun to play with, but it got me thinking... the physical stuff is pretty easy: G inherited my grandfather's eye color and B's everything else, P'Bean got the sweet little double chin I had as a babe,** her father's blue eyes and long toes... it's fun looking at parts and picking out who got what from whom...

.. but that always leads me to wonder which child inherited what bad genes from us, too.

Some of it I know already, some of it I just worry about. G inherited my quirky mindset, my tendency to worry too much and his Dad's ADHD. I worry that he's inherited the double whopper of B's dyslexia, but that's one that will have to wait unless/until he's old enough to sit still and learn his letters. They tell me that his speech delays will cause him problems with reading anyway, so it could be a moot point.. my bright child will likely struggle in school.

Because of the things he's inherited from us.

P'Bean is still largely unknown. She's just too little for me to know yet. I worry that she'll struggle with PCOS, or high blood pressure, or some other problem that will creep up when she's an adult. Something I gave her.

.. if I hadn't spent so much time worrying about my genetics, and wondering if our IF was a cosmic hint not to have children, I probably wouldn't even be having these thoughts.

.. and ya know, whatever their struggles, difficuties or genetic quirks, I wouldn't change either of them. I adore them just the way they are.






~edited to remove photo~






*I make absolutely no claims on its accuracy, as it said my stepson looks more like me than his dad.



**truth: I had a triple chin. P'Bean only has a double chin, but it's chunky enough that I have to floss her neck at bath-time.

Survival of the what-est?

First, I am still alive and around. I'm still reading blogs but I'm finding it a bit difficult to comment for some reason. I've been dealing with a bit of postpartum... something. It's not depression, but it's something - I would definitely say my emotions are not on an even keel.. I do have the appropriate pharmaceuticals to hopefully pull things together sooner rather than later, but until they take affect, I'll probably stay quiet.

That said.... here's what I was thinking about today. It's a bit stream of consciousness. so forgive me if it jumps around - that IS really how my mind works.

I read a lot of blogs. The majority of them are IF blogs, but there are a sprinkling of other genres in my bloglines. Today I read an interesting commentary on the latest Duggary addition, written by a woman who is a diehard childfree. You think the IF community has fun stuff to say about the Dugg*rs? You should check out what the CF community has to say.

At any rate, the blog got me to thinking about overpopulation. First I thought "at the rate that IF is spreading, I don't think we need to worry about overpopulation.. we need to worry about extinction" (hey, I'm allowed to get all melodramatic and extremist in my own mind). .. from there, unbidden, the following thought skittered across my consciousness "nah... we won't go extinct - plenty of uberfertile crack ho's and morons out there, they'll make up for the infertiles".

.. and then I realized - holy shit... IF doesn't affect the ignorant and just plain stupid*. Every single IF woman I know is intelligent and articulate. I spent a few moments debating with myself whether or not that was because the majority of the IF community that I 'know' is in the blogosphere. Initially I thought perhaps that was because bloggers tend to be articulate and intelligent, but I threw out that theory when I remembered reading a few (non-IF) blogs that have been written by the truly dense. So I concluded that bloggers in general aren't more intelligent than the average population... just that IF bloggers seem to be.** Interestingly, the same holds true for those who are childfree.

So here we have two growing subsects of the population who are experiencing subfertility, either by choice or by sheer bad luck... while the lower rungs on the food chain are experiencing what seems to be a population explosion.

Does this bode well for the future of mankind?

Clearly, Darwin had it backwards.





*Seriously... do you know any morons who are infertile?

**lest I sound all egotistical, no, I'm not including myself in that generalization. Lord knows I can be a giant doofus in real life.

Thursday, where I put on my rose-colored glasses and get sappy..

So... B's been gone a month now. Yesterday we got to do a supercool video conference* with him. While waiting for our allotted 10 minutes, we got shuffled into a holding room with the other spouses and children. Several people asked me if it was the first time B would be able to see Princess Bean.

Well, no, PB was a week old when he left, so he was there when she was born...

One woman commented that she definitely wouldn't want to birth while her husband was deployed and said something along the lines of "I'd never let him do that" .. by 'that' I'm assuming she meant knock her up at a bad time.. hahaha.**

Ohhh yeah.. I love that stuff. Good ole Family Planning.

Remember that discussion?

I know I shouldn't get offended when people say things like that. Nobody knows better than I do that PB's birth could have been timed better... but I also know that the alternative could be not having Bean. If we'd decided that last October would produce an unbearable due date (and you know that discussion was on the table), then I wouldn't have Bean. I might have someone else, but it wouldn't be Bean. I might not have anyone at all. I am starting to believe that early fall has some sort of mythical fertility-enhancing properties for B.. so skipping the 'undesirable due date' cycles might just have meant missing our chance last year.

So when this discussion comes up, I want to stand up and scream that we're not stupid, or careless, we knew that getting pregnant in late October would mean that our baby would be born right before he left, but we just couldn't take a chance on skipping that cycle and missing our opportunity. And hey, thanks for reminding me how sucktastic it is that B only knows his daughter through pictures and emails. Or that PB knows her father's voice on the phone, but not the feel of his arms holding her, or the smell of his chest as she snuggles up there for a nap. Fan-freaking-tastic reminder.

Just before we were called back to talk to the B, another wife arrived carrying a baby approximately Bean's size. So... are you infertile also or just careless/stupid? I was so tempted.



.. and then there's the "ohh.. you have your boy and girl, how perfect". Yep, we think they're perfect also. We'd think they were perfect no matter what. It's no secret that I wanted Bean to be a girl... but it's also no secret that I'd have been thrilled if Bean were a boy.

There is often some asshat who assumes that G really wanted a brother (he did not, he was hoping for a sister from the beginning) and tells G that sisters can be fun, too. It's pretty common for this to prompt G to explain that he has a sister AND a brother. Recently one particularly ass-hat-ish person informed me that I needed another so we'd have two boys and two girls. W..T..F..?

That was seriously way more insulting than all the other 'next one' comments put together.

Just the thought of having another child some day is an emotional minefield. One that I'm certainly not prepared to discuss with a tactless stranger in the grocery line.. assuming, of course that I even knew how I felt about it. The farthest we've gotten at that discussion so far is the debate over whether we need birth control until we figure out what we're doing some day.

It is such a relief to be content. Years of charting, months of time being broken into two-week increments, so very many emotional highs and lows.. I like where I am now. Very much.

I guess that's my whole point. All the comments that point out to me that (they think) I should regret the timing of my Bean's birth, or the comments that imply that I'd be less happy with a boy-Bean, or even the people who think I should be looking ahead and thinking about 'the next' .. they make me realize more than ever that I'm at peace with circumstances, content where I am, and yes, downright happy about it. I know what it took to get to this place in my life and it is so wonderful to be able to really enjoy just being here.










*there's nothing that'll make a hormonal chick cry like watching an I-miss-my-daddy four year old get to see his dad and play a little paper scissors rock when they're thousands of miles apart.

**ohhh, she was such a new wife. veteran wives know that not all deployments are planned and that no matter when you 'plan' to give birth, underways happen, too.. so if you want to make sure that your military hubby is home for a birth, better wait til shore duty.. and even then, you gotta hope that an IA deployment doesn't pull him away for parts unknown. In short, there IS no planning for when he's home, just planning and hoping he'll be home then.

Older than my years...

As promised.. how I started to feel downright old...



I was at the grocery store the other day.. as I was wrangling the kids through the aisles, we happened to wander down the beer aisle*... and passed a man who was perusing the beer.. It made me remember the days when a friday evening trip to the grocery was to pick up beer and cigarettes... ahh.. nostalgia!



Not this particular Friday night, no sirree. I had a cart full of junk food. G & I had had a Very Bad Day and I wanted to celebrate the end of that Very Bad Day with a chocolate chip cookies, popcorn and various forms of junk food. Only since we didn't have any chooclate chip cookies (or chocolate chips to make 'em!), or popcorn OR junk food, we had to run to the store. So as I wheeled my whiny charges past the beer man, I contemplated the differences between a beer-soaked Friday night, and a Friday night where G & I will get hopped up on grape soda and potato chips.



And then I loaded the kids, and the sugar, into the minivan and headed home, singing along to the 'retro' 80s night on the radio.



Part of me misses the beer nights.



Most of me enjoys my grape soda and cookies.



But it does make me feel old.



This feeling like a grown-up, it's pretty new. I know that technically, parenthood makes you grow up.** And I did kinda grow up after having G. I did, after all, give up tequila shots and dancing on tables after his birth, so that's something, right?



But I still didn't really feel like a grown-up.

Somehow, that part happened some time after Princess Bean was born. I have no idea why, what changed that made me suddenly feel older than my years. I'll have to think on that part, and get back to you. For now, I'm going to go crank the oldies station and headbang along to a little retro 80's music, ok?




*what kind of grocery store puts the popcorn in the beer aisle? we spent 20 minutes wandering around before we found popcorn. I guess that's what I get for going to an unfamiliar grocery store. And being old.

**well.. it should, at least

am i that old yet??

"maybe some people can't get pregnant for a reason"

That's really high up on my list of ass-hat comments... but I confess, over the last few weeks, I've thought it more than once.. I was thinking it about myself (I'm not that big of an ass-hat that I'd justify it for anyone else), but still..

I've spent a lot of time thinking about my health, and feeling pretty old. The way-too-young resident at the emergency room a few weeks ago made the comment "wow, you've got a pretty interesting medical history" .. I hadn't really thought about it before then. I had just finished listing my chronic conditions, and allergies... there's a few of each of those, and it seems like with each year I age, I'm getting a little more added on to my list.

It didn't help that when I was talking to my mom, she commented that I'm on a lot of the same meds that my dad is on, or has been on. He's an overweight diabetic in his 50s, I'm a reasonably healthy not-too-overweight in my early 30s... and we're taking the same medications. He keeps a list of all his medications because there's too many to remember. If I were actually taking everything they prescribed for me* I'd need a list too. Damn.

On the bright side, my blood pressure has returned to normal. If you define normal as prehypertensive, that is. I can get my systolic number into normal range, but my diastolic is stubborn. I should be thrilled about that. The downside to that is that it's high-normal on medication. My doc, he wasn't kidding about wanting me on blood pressure meds long-term. At my visit the other day, he renewed my prescription for the next three months, and suggested I see a cardiologist. Ya know, when the doc starts throwing out terms like "cardiologist", I start getting depressed.

And then yesterday I watched one too many TV shows where otherwise healthy (and young!) people suddenly dropped dead from rare but serious complications of blood pressure. Listen to Dr. G lecture about how high blood pressure is a silent killer, often with no symptoms, and you too can question your mortality.

So it made me wonder for a short minute if perhaps the reason I had difficulty getting pregnant was because my body wasn't sure if could handle gestating the Bean... and then I looked at her, my sweet princess, and realized.. I wouldn't change it for the world. My docs aren't concerned for my health, they're looking at all this as manageable, no serious consequences. Probably, I should just appreciate what I've got, and stop worrying that every ache or twinge anywhere near my chest is a heart attack waiting to happen.


Hey, I wouldn't be me if I didn't worry endlessly, and for no reason...

Coming soon: More musings on my elderly status, complete with my thoughts on how it feels to be that woman who listens to the oldies station while tooling around town running grown-up errands in a minivan.


*I'm not advocating skipping necessary prescriptions. I just got sick of taking a dozen pills, and I was questioning just how many chemicals I wanted Princess Bean ingesting with her breastmilk. So I ditched the ones I no longer needed.

.. give it a vacation!

I read a lot about how American people work too hard/too much and don't take enough time off.. but no one ever seems to acknowledge the plight of the poor overworked uterus.

Hey, I'm totally not one of those slave-driving ute-bosses. Mine gets time off for bad behavior (courtesy of the anovulatory pcos cycles), and even with that, it negotiated an agreement where it only has to put in pregnancy-induced overtime every few years and then gets a year off afterwards (we call that the "lactational amenorrhea treaty").

You'd think it would treat me better, under the circumstances.

The Duggars use and abuse the ute, forcing it into gestation every other year or so, with barely a break in between.. and yet, it's still there practically jumping up and down waiting to be wrestled into service again.

Some day I'll figure out how they're doing it.

Coming up for air...

I'm not usually one to publicly post pics of the family, but... since so many of you held my hand, sent emails and supported me through the more neurotic parts of my pregnancy, I wanted to show you my Bean.. the baby formerly known as RiceCake:

I didn't give many details when I announced her birth, so here's the short version - she was born after about 16 hours of labor (not constant - it stalled out a few times); the induction never happened, I went into labor a few hours before it was to start. I did get my v*bac, although I also got a lot more medical intervention than I thought I wanted. In the end, I really didn't care. Bean was 7 lbs, 2.8 ounces and 20" long (a full inch and nearly a pound more than G was, she still looked incredibly small to me). All those times that I worried during pregnancy because she wasn't moving much... that's just her personality. She's mellow and easy, and sleeps incredibly well - by a week old, she was sleeping a 6-8 hour stretch at night. I'm am in love, and in awe, and so very glad that she's here. I won't say the anxiety has completely disappeared, but it has changed.

In the week and a half since she was born, I've been pretty scarce. While I'd like to say that I was busy basking in the glow of new-motherhood, and being so overwhelmed with love for the babe that I was just unable to type, that would only be half of it. The other half:

~ We spent the first week busy with family stuff, trying to cram in as much baby-daddy time as we could before B left. He sailed on Monday, and it was so much harder than even I had imagined. Watching him kiss Bean goodbye was just heartbreaking, knowing that by the time he sees her again, she will have grown so much that she will be an entirely different child. It's not the first time I've ever seen B cry, but it was one of the more painful times.

~ after that, G celebrated his 4th birthday. This is the first time since his very first birthday where he had both his dad and his brother here. Come to think of it, it's the first time since then that he's had either of them here for his birthday, let alone both. He was as thrilled with that as he was with the transf*rmers that he got.

~ next... Bean's umbilical cord fell off early. Apparently it wasn't entirely healed, because yesterday it started to bleed. Since her pedi can't see her til next week, they suggested I visit the acute care clinic to have it examined, and Bean was introduced to the wonders of a walk-in medical clinic. It was my first solo trip with two kids. It was so much fun (ha!) that I am dreading tomorrow's scheduled trip to the grocery store. I never realized just how high-maintenance G really was til I had someone else to compare him to. Of the two, the newborn is far easier than the four-year-old. Never thought that would be the case.

~ and finally... When Bean was six days old, I started having some trouble with my blood pressure. That's still not fixed, but I'm learning to live with the perpetual headache, the random visual disturbances (it's like clomid all over again!) and the annoying feeling of something being 'not right'. This is nearly the exact same thing that happened after G's birth, although it went away much faster that time. At any rate, my trip to the ER today produced some real results - somehow, they found me an appointment with a real OB on Friday. Since the doc I saw last week wasn't an OB, she prescribed me the smallest possible dose of medication that might help me - it's not helping, but since I'm breastfeeding, I can't seem to get a prescription for anything stronger out of a non-OB. Hoping for better luck on Friday.

The good news is that they ruled out postpartum pre-eclampsia, and/or HELLP syndrome, so it's just my blood pressure. The bad news is that they think I'll need to be on blood pressure meds long-term this time. At this point, I just want to feel better... and hey, if I'm really searching for a sliver lining to this, I do have to admit that it's really taken my mind off of B leaving... and anything (that isn't life-threatening) that can make week 1 of a deployment easier is a welcome development.

Still, we're hoping that the upcoming week will be a little less eventful.

RiceCake arrived safely on Saturday evening.

She's beautiful.

I have a little update... I had my appointment this morning. I have had absolutely no cervical change in the last 5 days. RiceCake is comfortable and doesn't seem to be going anywhere. I'm ok with this.

Actually, feeling a lot better than I was last night (for some odd reason, I have a 12-24 hour adjustment period before new ideas or decisions feel ok to me).

Thanks for the comments. It definitely IS a victory that I've carried this baby to term. A year ago, I'd have given a limb to be in this position. I'd have volunteered for the section (and offered up the limb at the same time - save my insurance a little $$ in anesthesia costs) just for the privilege of being full-term.. looking at it that way, this really isn't the end of the world. It's small stuff. I can handle small stuff.

marie-baguette... the timing of this birth is tricky. I have at most 5 more days. My doctor doesn't allow anything past 41 weeks. I'm not comfortable waiting that long. Ordinarily, I'd be all about waiting til babe's ready, and letting things take their natural course, but I do have other things that need consideration at this point. We have very few days left before B leaves. I will be on my own with a newborn and a super-active 4-year-old. Knowing that I already have a high chance of a repeat cesarean, I just don't think the potential benefit of cooking RiceCake for an extra few days balances out the risk of not having time to recover before that. I wish things were different.. but they're not. I have to do what I can with the options I've got... and unfortunately, given the time restrictions placed on me by my doctors, and the fact that this babe appears to be in no hurry to be born, it's not so much a question of if we will evict him or her, but when.

.. and dd... I heart you. Reading your comment made me realize that this isn't about perfection, or what I want, it's about finding that peace with what is... and about understanding that each scary piece of the puzzle is just that - one piece.. and I need to take each one individually and deal with it on its own. That's something I struggle with in so many areas - all the little stuff overwhelms me until I can't see that I'm taking many tiny things and making them into one giant thing that is bigger, and scarier than it ever should be.

p.s.. you coulda just given me a swift kick in the arse, you know - I'm pretty sure I deserve it after last night's whine-fest... but you didn't. I'm going to remember that next time you're thinking you're not a kind person...

Importantly, I am at peace with the decisions we made today.

.. and speaking of those decisions... we're going in for an induction tomorrow. I know that inducing reduces my chances for a vag birth, but I'm ok with that. I've dealt with the little emotions, and while I'm still apprehensive about the possibilities, I'm determined to take it one day at a time. If I need to, I can handle one hour, or even one minute at a time... and I'm going to worry about things if they come up, rather than pre-handling all my angst at once. I don't expect I'll be totally successful at that (since, you know, worrying just in case is sort of a hobby of mine), but I'll just keep trying til I get it right... if I can be half as stubborn as the babe I'm baking, it shouldn't be so hard.

40w, 2d

In just about 12 hours, I have an appointment.

It looks like I'll be asking to schedule a c-section at that appointment.

I can't even really express how upset I am about this. It seems like such a stupid thing to be upset about.. carrying a baby to term (and beyond) is hardly a bad thing, right?

... but it feels like my body has failed me.

Again.

I couldn't get this babe in there without help, and now I can't get him/her out on my own.

I've said all along that my biggest fear was having a cesarean just before B deploys. If I wait any longer, that will be exactly what happens.

Nobody ever promised me life would be fair.

Nobody ever promised me that reproduction, birth or parenthood would be easy.

So why does it bother me to find out that it's not?

... and in the middle of the night, when my house is quiet and it's just me sitting here with my thoughts, I can admit this - I'm scared to death of dealing with all this on my own. I've had a lot of time to prepare, but I'm just not ready for B to leave. Admitting that we need to make this decision now means admitting that he really is going.

I can do this.

36w, 5d

.. and I'm so over being pregnant.

Not for the usual reasons, tho.

So far, things have been very uneventful, fortunately.

I never did get morning sickness, or boobs too sore to breathe on, and even the third-trimester aches and pains have been pretty bearable...

.. but the closer I get to my due date, the more I wish I had some v@lium. Or something.

So I panicked again this morning.

Rice really wasn't moving.

Which shouldn't surprise me - this babe is not a morning person lately, and rarely moves between breakfast and lunch.

.. but I still totally freaked.

I was thisclose to going in to get checked out (no sh!t, I even had G dressed and we were on our way to the neighbor's to see if he could hang there for a couple of hours) when Rice got hiccups and I felt a little better. But only a little.

I'm still on edge. I'm ok when the babe is active and moving, but every time there's a lull in that pattern, I start to worry again.

.. which is why I can't wait until s/he is born. I just can't handle much more pregnancy.

I really, truly wanted to be able to relax and enjoy this time, but that's so much harder than I expected.

I wanted to be able to be 'normal' and prepare and plan and go nuts over tiny little clothes and things.. but every time I buy something or make something for this babe, I get paranoid all over again. Yesterday I went shopping for a few last-minute things. Today I woke up convinced I might not need any of them. It sucks, and it's exhausting trying to talk myself out of being scared.

I had to step away from Dr Google, and now the 'net is not my friend. It's filled with scary stories and possibilities and improbable things for me to worry about.

I just want to be done. I want to be able to hold my babe in my arms, and see that she's ok, and know that if I'm worried, reassurance is just a few breaths away, rather than the interminable amount of time it takes me to try and interpret a heart rate on a doppler... because just hearing it isn't enough any more - I need to hear if there are the right amount of accels, if they coincide with movement, and if things sound the same as they have yesterday, and the day before, and the day before.

.. and I have weeks of this stretching ahead of me. Only a few weeks, but even those weeks seem long. I have stopped taking things day by day and have started looking at them hour by hour. When it it particularly rough, it is minute by minute. Each new minute can bring with it new worries...

I can get through this, I will get through this... but I do not think it will be easy.

What I need to do is step back.. stop overanalyzing, and just do what I can to be busy enough that my mind is not worrying.

.. and to do that, I need to step back from my blog. I know it seems like I already have, because I have certainly not been posting as much the last few months.. but the truth is, it's not the posting as much as the publishing that's been difficult for me. I have put my thoughts down often, and stopped just shy of clicking that publish button.

I blog to work out the problems and issues in my mind so that they won't take over my life. Now that I've reached the point where the time I spend blogging serves just to reinforce my fears, it's time for a break.

See you in a few weeks...

someone found some patience

I just wanted to update on the doctor situation - I called my clinic (again) this morning to try and make an appointment for next week. I was told (again) that they had nothing open and I should call back tomorrow after 1:00 and see if anything came up.

I hung up with the clinic and called the hospital's patient advocate, who promised to look into it and get back with me.

Got a call back this afternoon from the clinic's head scheduler, who had miraculously created an appointment tomorrow at 9AM.

It's earlier than I wanted - I'm supposed to go next week, not this week... but I'll take what I can get.

The even bigger miracle was that when I called the hospital day care, they had a slot open for tomorrow morning... I can actually get my beta strep test without G's prying eyes checking out my cervix.

Now that, my friends, makes for a good day.

Sweet Katie...

The last few days I've felt jittery and unsure about this pregnancy. Not quite paranoid, but sincerely worried.

I couldn't figure out why... until I realized the date.

Today would have been the 14th birthday of my first niece.

Tomorrow marks the 14th anniversary of her death.

I'm glad I remembered... although it makes me sad to think about her, I would be more sad to think that I forgot about her.

I have no more f'ing patience.

"We appreciate your patience.. your call is important to us..."

Uh-huh. That's why I've been on hold for the last 12 minutes?

I would never have thought that making a doctors' appointment would be so nerve-wracking. I've been calling since last week, and the earliest appointment they had last I checked (well, last I actually had a person on the line to speak with) was July 10.

I'm usually pretty flexible with this kind of stuff, but I'm getting a little fed up here. I can't exactly wait til July 10th. I'm kind of hoping to actually give birth before then. Or right around then.

Still on hold.. 15 minutes and counting...

Lots of people complain about military medicine. Mostly, I don't have a problem with it. I like it, even. I haven't ever been denied coverage for anything (forced to jump through a few hoops maybe, but that happens with a lot of insurance companies), I've never had a doctor who was dangerously incompetent, and only a few minor issues with attitudes... but this is really tweaking my last nerve.

18 minutes... finally got someone on the line.. and there are no appointments until July 11.

Is it too late to switch to a different doctor?

.. and oh yeah...

I had my official MD appointment earlier this week. My blood pressure had dropped to the lowest it's been in months, my swelling was virtually non-existant and things looked great. Looks like I might get that V*BAC after all.