tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55507052621754482712024-03-12T20:13:55.909-07:00Loretta's VendettaMusings on the everyday absurdities of my life. Love, marriage, and whatever comes next.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.comBlogger95125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-67456243885951907472010-05-27T13:34:00.000-07:002010-05-27T13:41:06.047-07:00No longer a fetusCleitus arrived on May 15 at 5:20 pm weighing 6 pounds even. After two days of labor, three days in the NICU, and a sleepless week at home, the only coherent thought I have is LOVE. He's perfect. Stories and pictures will be forthcoming.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-80903700944973142072010-03-18T09:13:00.001-07:002010-03-18T09:19:37.722-07:00Still pregnantThank goodness. Cleitus and his cord are looking the same. My fluid is a little high, because I really did need one more thing to worry me. Evidently if my belly dramatically increases in size overnight, it is BAD and I should call the doctor. Because I do not trust my perception, I have taken to measuring my belly every morning. Which is really fantastic for my self-esteem. <br /><br />
I'm heading home tomorrow for my baby shower. I'm looking forward to some Carolina sun and seeing people I like a lot.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-5313030325814226462010-03-16T12:58:00.000-07:002010-03-16T13:01:21.566-07:00I only write when I have something exciting to reportI suck at blogging y’all. It’s been over a month and when most of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bloggers</span> in my Reader go over a month without blogging I usually say, “BU-BYE!” with the click of a mouse because I’m impatient that way. But if you’re still around, here’s the news. <br /><br />
-I had mastitis. Yes, that’s the boob infection that breastfeeding mamas get. (Um, and it SUCKS). Apparently my lefty was SO ANXIOUS to be part of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">milkin</span>’ mamas club that she up and contracted their illness. It’s like joining a cult, except instead of drinking <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Kool</span>-Aid you turn red and hot and hurt like Hades. And I was all, “Lefty, why <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">couldn</span>’t you just squirt milk out down my shirt like the other boobs that want to join the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">milkin</span>’ mama club?” So she has started doing that too. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Righty</span> is chilling for now, trying not to get too anxious or act like a poser. She knows her time will come and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">doesn</span>’t need to be jumping the gun. I’m sure the peer pressure will get to her eventually. <br /><br />
-I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ve</span> given up swearing for Lent. And hopefully for good. Which is totally why I said SUCK and HADES in the prior paragraph instead of…other things. I have been putting $1 in a jar for every time I slip, and so far I owe God $19…sounds like a lot, but considering I would often swear 19 times in one day, I think I’m doing pretty well. I had originally said I wanted to stop swearing before I turn 30 (in August) but with little <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Cleitus</span> coming I decided to push up my deadline by a few months. I’m not Catholic, but I figured they’re pretty good at the guilt thing so Lent would be a convenient time to enact the change. <br /><br />
-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Cleitus</span> is getting big! And active! And uncooperative! <br /><br />
Last week I went to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">perinatologist</span> for a growth scan. We had hoped it would be our last foray into high-risk land, but alas, it was not to be. As far as growth he’s right on track but the doctor noticed something called an umbilical <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">varix</span>, which is sort of like a varicose vein in his cord. It makes the blood flow turbulent and can lead to a blood clot in the cord which is bad for obvious reasons or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">hydrops</span>: a condition where fluid accumulates in his organs (also very very bad). Evidently, none of these things happen very fast, so I am being monitored every Wednesday to see if something bad is developing. If so, they’re going to deliver. Like, right then. As in, ON ANY GIVEN WEDNESDAY I COULD BE RUSHED INTO AN EMERGENCY C-SECTION. <br /><br />
Holy shit, y’all. <br /><br />
(That’s $20, and oh so worth it). <br /><br />
I’m 29.5 weeks right now, so if <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Cleitus</span> does need to meet the outside world he should be ‘okay’. But me? I am definitely not okay. For one, I definitely don’t want my sweet little boy to have to spend the first weeks of his life in an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">isolette</span> at the hospital. Also? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">OMGIAMSONOTREADYTOHAVEANOUTSIDEBABY</span>!!! I’m supposed to have another ten weeks, at least. I need to nest, to get uncomfortable and start doing crazy things like eating spicy foods, scrubbing baseboards, and having sex with my husband (because that? Is crazy) to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">jump start</span> labor. <br /><br />
And now it seems like none of those things will happen because even if I don’t get whisked away for an emergency c-section, the chances are good that they are going to want the baby out by 36 or 37 weeks. <br /><br />
I don’t care what your math teachers told you, six and seven are WAY less than ten. <br /><br />
<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Eeek</span>!Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-91678695638290327832010-02-12T12:26:00.000-08:002010-02-12T12:38:51.278-08:0025 Week LetterDear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Cleitus</span>, <br /><br />
Today you are one week past "viability day" which means that if you decided to make your world debut you'd have a 50% chance of surviving. As much of a relief as that day was to me, I do not want you to even think about leaving your current home for another 12+ weeks. You've got lots of growing to do and you'll be much more comfortable where you are. <br /><br />
<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cleitus</span>, you become more real to me every day as I can now feel you kicking and flipping. You seem to have some favorite things that really get you going: namely, orange juice and Kylie <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Minogue</span> music. I hope your penchant for Australian <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">blonds</span> is short-lived because your mama is intent on you finding a good Southern girl to marry when that time comes. While your kicks have gotten stronger and are sometimes uncomfortable, I secretly love them because they remind me that you're a real baby. MY baby! I can put my hands on my belly and feel you and think about how wonderful it will be to really touch and kiss you. <br /><br />
Even though I can feel you quite often, I still get very scared for your safety, especially on days when you're not as active as usual. I can't imagine how much scarier it will be once you're out in the world and not right with me all of the time! I'm sure that in several years I will drive you crazy with my worrying. But just know that it's all because, even now when I haven't even seen your face, I can't imagine my life without you. <br /><br />
Love, <br />
MamaLorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-24503970494466040992010-01-28T09:00:00.000-08:002010-01-28T09:08:58.820-08:00Obeying the lawI'm having one of those <s> days </s> <s> weeks </s> fortnights where I wish I had not created the first commandment of Loretta's Vendetta: Thou shalt not blog about work. Because y'all, I could make you laugh, cry, and shriek with horror all in one post. <br /><br />
I feel like my life outside of work has been temporarily (I hope) sucked dry, leaving me with nothing even remotely interesting, humorous, or inspirational to say. I am tired, irritable, and my back hurts. <br /><br />
Please send cheeseburgers and earplugs.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-6028627470940978292010-01-15T06:48:00.000-08:002010-01-15T06:51:24.873-08:00I Think That's What They Mean by "Pregnancy Brain"Hairstylist: So have you had a shower yet? <br /><br />
Me: :wondering why hairstylist is inquiring after bathing habits: <br />
Um, I took one this morning... <br /><br />
long, awkward pause <br /><br />
Me: Oh, a BABY shower! <br /><br />
Considering how the prior fifteen minutes had been spent discussing pregnancy, this sort of shower makes much more sense.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-69496171030356936392010-01-08T09:15:00.000-08:002010-01-08T09:30:39.738-08:00Happy Half-Baked Day, Cleitus!<a href="http://s3i.dotphoto.com/i2A095FC3-266D-4A78-97B6-5EE4D3DAF6C0.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 282px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 206px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://s3i.dotphoto.com/i2A095FC3-266D-4A78-97B6-5EE4D3DAF6C0.jpg" border="0" /></a> <br /><br />
I haz a belly! And it's almost as big as my butt! <br /><br />
And now I would like to discuss pregnancy shirts. Not <em>maternity</em> shirts, but pregnancy shirts which in some (generally inane, overly cutesy) way allude to the mama-to-be's condition. While I certainly don't think pregnant women need to walk around in mu mus or billowing empire-waist shirts to disguise their ever-expanding mid-section, the modest part of me doesn't really find it NECESSARY to broadcast the growth with actual words. In fact, I might go as far as calling it tacky. So there. <br /><br />
All this brings me to my promise of a picture of the MOST AWESOME CHRISTMAS GIFT EVAH. And by awesome, I mean that I was filled with awe. But not the good kind. More like the kind that I deemed necessary to conceal in order to be a gracious recipient. <br /><br />
<p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 327px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 194px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://s3i.dotphoto.com/i802996E1-9EA9-4AB3-A537-3AB9498C7E5B.jpg" border="0" /></p>
<p><br /><br /></p><p>Sadly, the ubiquitous glitter occludes the writing under the "BABIES RULE" slogan, but imagine lots of descriptive words about babies that are also written in silver glitter. When I went to the store to return this shirt the clerk was having difficulty because apparently the exact same shirt had been returned at least once in the past. Fancy that! I do hope that by sending it back this shirt will one day find it's true owner who is most likely 15 and four months pregnant without even realizing it.
</p>Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-86686557726933752482010-01-07T09:13:00.000-08:002010-01-07T09:15:58.716-08:00What, That's not Romantic?Victor: I was thinking Friday night we could have date. Whatever you want. We could go to dinner or go see a movie...<br /><br />
Me: Okay, I want you to clean the office while I lounge on the bed and give you instructions.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-32730669179862556032010-01-06T09:45:00.000-08:002010-01-06T09:49:43.019-08:00It's Been a WhileSince I've shaved my legs. And more relevently, since I've written anything. <br /><br />
The holidays were wonderful, I'm glad we've entered the year our baby will be born, yadayadayada. <br /><br />
More posts will be coming soon. Along with a picture of the Worst. Christmas Gift. Ever. Stay tuned!Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-38597257260148097632009-12-12T08:04:00.000-08:002009-12-12T08:26:20.417-08:0016 Week LetterDear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Cleitus</span>, <br /><br />
Ever since we found out about you back in September, I'd had a feeling that you were a girl. I chalked my feeling up to women's intuition and felt validated by the scores of other people telling me they also thought you were a girl. <br /><br />
Well babe, I can tell you now that women's intuition = FAIL. You're a BOY!! And we are so, so excited. The ultrasound technician made the mistake of showing us your boy parts right away so we then had to wait for an hour before we could share our joy with our families. The whole time I was thinking, "Who cares about his KIDNEYS? I want to tell everyone about his PENIS!" However, I'm happy to report that your kidneys, along with everything else, also look great. <br /><br />
I'm sure you are relieved to learn that I will not be posting a picture of the "proof" that you're a boy on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">interwebs</span>. Oh no, I'm saving that picture to show at the rehearsal dinner the day before you get married. (Just kidding). (Maybe). <br /><br />
Even though I had mentally prepared myself for a girl, I get more excited every time I think about you being a boy. Little boys and their mommies have such special bonds and I can't wait to watch you grow up and see what you will become. You will have such wonderful influences around you that will teach you about how to be a good, smart, Godly man. Your daddy is itching to sing you songs about calculus, physics, and school you in Carolina basketball while your grandaddies are likely scheming to teach you the fight song for NC State, just to spite us. Your uncle Jordan has promised that you will know all about Western harmony. You'll learn loyalty and generosity and strength from all the men who you are lucky to have as family. <br /><br />
And as for me? I'm going to love you with all my heart, no matter what. Even if you do become a State fan. <br /><br />
Love, <br />
MamaLorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-77712198968494227002009-12-07T12:35:00.000-08:002009-12-07T13:07:36.075-08:00Nobody's gonna go to work today, she's (or he's) gonna make them stay at homeThis morning, as I was leaning over the toilet, trying to evade the vomit that was splashing back up at my face, I learned something about my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">preshus</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">wittle</span> fetus. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Cleitus</span> does not like Mondays. <br /><br />
(As an aside, Frosted Mini <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Wheats</span> are one of the least offensive foods to puke up, semi-digested.) <br /><br />
(Also, I have a strange love of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Don">catchy ballads about psycho chicks killing innocent children</a>. Don't judge.) <br /><br />
I don't particularly like Mondays either. When I was a kid I'd <s>play</s> feel horribly sick on Mondays more than any other day of the week. One time my mama remarked to me that my (fourth grade) teacher was going to think I partied every weekend. (Sorry teach, couldn't make it yesterday, that seventh Capri-Sun was making me pay). I'll even confess that maybe I've taken more <em>mental health days</em> on Mondays than I should have in my adult years.
<br /><br />
But now, in my pregnant state, I don't have to pretend because my fetus is making me sick. My baby is already taking after me! Oh <s>shit</s> joy! However, unlike in elementary school when you could miss up to 30 days of school without any major <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">repercussions</span> (I kept track), my company only gives me six sick days each year. There are WAY more than six Mondays in a year people! <br /><br />
Which leaves me wiping the puke off my face, trying to brush my teeth without setting off another <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">episode</span>, and trudging off to work with a look of martyrdom on my face. And making a mental note not to leave the room when I take my kid's temperature. Because I totally knew that trick about how to fake a fever. <br /><br />
</s></s></s></s><s><s><s><s></s></s></s></s>Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-29831880822234106162009-11-20T09:21:00.000-08:002009-11-20T09:40:51.635-08:0013 Week LetterDear Cleitus, <br /><br />
It's been a while since I've written to you, but CHILD, you have scared your mama and daddy to pieces over the past month. It started with a little bit of spotting followed by that thing on the back of your neck. That 'thing' is gone now and you look amazing, and for this we are so, so grateful. <br /><br />
Cleitus, I'm going to tell you something that may make you think your mama is a little crazy. I believe God healed you over those few weeks. I don't have any proof other than two ultrasounds that look dramatically different from one another. And the doctors <em>did</em> say that sometimes nuchal translucencies resolve on their own. But baby doll, I don't think it was random. There were so many people praying for you. Your grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, cousins, friends, and of course your daddy and I were praying for you constantly. <br /><br />
I also have to confess that at the beginning, I wasn't praying for a miraculous healing. I was praying for the translucency to mean something not-too-severe. I was praying for you to live. I was praying for strength for your daddy and I. But then, the day before we went in for the CVS test, it hit me. God is SO MUCH BIGGER than what I could imagine. God could make this whole problem go away! God could make it so that I wouldn't even need the test. A tiny part of my mind wanted to stop thinking these thoughts because I didn't want to be disappointed, but I held onto that hope and prayed fervantly for it that night. And my prayers were answered, so directly. The joy I feel is overwhelming and I can't help myself from telling everyone what happened. <br /><br />
And Cleitus, I'm writing this down because one day I want to tell you. I cannot wait to tell you how much Jesus loves you and how amazing He is. I canoot wait to tell you, a child of God, that He can do more than we ever ask or imagine. I cannot wait to read you Bible stories with miracles and to tell you about your own miracle. I just cannot wait. <br /><br />
Love always, <br />
MamaLorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-28046411775382061582009-11-16T12:29:00.000-08:002009-11-16T12:49:14.948-08:00The Good, The Bad, The InsaneI got a call from the genetic counselor. The results from my NT scan show a 1:10,000 chance of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Down's</span> and a 1:2088 chance of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Trisomy</span> 18. Both of these risk levels are way lower than what one would expect based on my age, so it's great news. <br /><br />
The not-so-great news is that my free beta <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">HCG</span> levels are in the 0.5 percentile. Low. And apparently this result puts me <em>at risk</em> for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">pre</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">eclampsia</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">pre</span>-term labor, miscarriage, placental 'issues', growth restrictions, and clinical insanity. I've already started developing the latter. Because, it seems that it is just one thing have another. After the bleeding episode, I walked around for several weeks terrified that I would miscarry at any moment. And just when I got more comfortable with this pregnancy and this baby we had that fateful ultrasound that cast us into fear and sadness for another few weeks. And NOW! After getting some AMAZING news I can't even relish it for 30 seconds without learning that DUDE, I am one high-risk mama. <br /><br />
I DO thank God that so far all indications point to a healthy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Cleitus</span>. But I wish that I could really love this pregnancy. That I could, upon telling a friend, not feel a stab of fear that I might have to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">untell</span>. That I could buy maternity clothes without wondering if I'll need to shove them in the back of a closet to avoid seeing them. That I could be happy that I don't have a doctor's appointment for 3.5 weeks (the longest I've gone since my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">BFP</span>!) instead of wishing I could go in to hear the heartbeat every week. And that on the mornings I wake up without feeling <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">nauseous</span> I could be happy instead of poking my boobs to make sure I still have some pregnancy symptoms. <br /><br />Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-67762339796560974222009-11-11T05:51:00.000-08:002009-11-11T06:08:07.963-08:00JoyMy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">CVS</span> test was scheduled for yesterday. I had taken two days off work and my mama had come up for the 'occasion'. They started with an ultrasound to determine the best route for the test and as soon as we saw the baby I knew something was different. It didn't look the same as the last two times. <br /><br />
After a few minutes of squinting at the picture I asked the technician, "so, um, where is the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">nuchal</span> translucency?" She replied something vague about needing the baby to move and then after a few moments went to get the doctor. I laid there, silent. Trying not to say anything that might get my mama excited. Trying not to let myself get excited. The doctor came in the room. Eleven days ago the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">nuchal</span> translucency was 4.2 mm. "Normal" is under 2 mm. Now, it was 0.8 mm. <br /><br />
THAT'S LESS THAN A MILLIMETER INTERNET! <br /><br />
As she talked about my options I half-listened and half-restrained myself from jumping off the table, screaming, crying, or grabbing the ultrasound wand as a fake microphone and singing some ecstatic song. I knew my options. I knew what I would do. I had gone over this scenario a million times in my head. I had hoped and prayed for this scenario. And now, it was here. <br /><br />
I declined the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">CVS</span>. I let them go ahead and do a proper NT Scan. All the other measurements look perfectly normal. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Cleitus</span> has a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">prominent</span> nasal bone and is measuring right on time. We'll hear about the blood results in a week or two. <br /><br />
The doctor and genetic counselor were careful to say that we're not out of the woods yet. That there WAS something there and it COULD mean something. But me? I'm not letting reality step in the way of my joy. I believe in miracles. And I believe that I've got a healthy baby in there.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-54951517208822120642009-11-04T10:28:00.001-08:002009-11-04T10:44:52.348-08:00Are You There Loretta? It's Me, GodThe days are dragging until we can have the tests that will tell us more about our precious baby. I'm scheduled for a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chorionic_villus_sampling"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">chorionic</span> villus sampling</a> next Tuesday and we should get some preliminary results a few days later. <br /><br />
We are scared, but coping. We have friends, family, and creepy Internet strangers (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">mwah</span>!) praying for us and I have never in my life felt God's presence as closely as I have over the past few days. It became clear to me when I walked into church Sunday and saw that the sermon's title was "Anxiety over Loss". The pastor talked about Psalm 23, a passage I've memorized, but never internalized. I've started reading through the Psalms and have begun to identify with David's fear, but also his faith that he served a God who saves. <br /><br />
I feel hopeful. Hopeful that our baby WILL live, hopeful that the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">nuchal</span> fold is signalling that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Cleitus</span> has an issue that is not serious or easily treatable, and better yet, hopeful that nothing at all is wrong. <br /><br />
And when I DO get down and start thinking about the scariest scenarios? The scenarios that end with me delivering a baby that does not survive? I feel peace. Sadness, yes, but also peace. And still more hope, for the future. Hopeful that our lives and our baby's life will serve to glorify the God that created us, no matter how short those lives may be. Hopeful for our family's happiness. <br /><br />
I am being blessed with a hope that is kicking <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">despair's</span> butt.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-46612904225620504492009-10-28T09:29:00.000-07:002009-10-28T09:42:38.933-07:00Walking the LineThere's a fine line between getting your hopes up and staying positive. I do not want to delude myself, thinking that everything will be okay, only to find myself cast into a deeper despair if the test results are bad. But I also do not want to prematurely assume the worst. Because that? I can't handle right now. I cannot think THAT until there is nothing else to think. <br /><br />
I'm trying to find a balance. I'm trying to quash my questions and fears until we know more. My inner Girl Scout is screaming, "but what about THIS? I need to BE PREPARED!" And the doctor told us we should be prepared, but "don't get too depressed yet". How can I prepare myself for terrible news about my baby without getting depressed? <br /><br />
I have no idea.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-88414520448342250312009-10-27T07:49:00.001-07:002009-10-27T07:53:23.641-07:00No wordsI had a little bit of brown spotting yesterday. Because of the previous bleeding the nurse had me come in for a sonogram. We saw the heartbeat right away, but the technician told us she saw a "very large" <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">nuchal</span> translucency on the back of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cleitus</span>' neck. It could be a marker for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Down's</span> Syndrome or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Trisomies</span> 13 or 18. The latter two are almost always lethal. <br /><br />
I'm not sure how to breathe, how to move, how to speak.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-25956867654025626382009-10-23T12:22:00.000-07:002009-10-23T12:43:21.139-07:009 Week LetterDear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Cleitus</span>, <br /><br />
We told your Great-Granny <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Collum</span> about you last night. It was her birthday and we wanted to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">surprise</span> her with some good news. When I said the words, she screamed and laughed. She was so happy, just like your Granny was when we told her several weeks ago. I know that as we begin to tell other people about you over the next few week, we will hear many similar reactions, especially from the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Collum</span> side of the family. <br /><br />
And while some people might look at that kind of excitement and yelling as a little bit crazy, I know that it means that you, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Cleitus</span>, are a very lucky little baby. You are SO LOVED. Already. Before anyone knows anything about you other than your penchant for changing your mind about craving mac and cheese after your daddy bought four boxes of it. It doesn't matter if you wear pink or blue, inherit your daddy's curly or your mama's straight hair, have a Type A or Type B personality, or prefer science or literature. You are loved and you are being born into a family full of love. You may not realize it, but that feeling you'll get when you walk (or are carried, because I guarantee that your relatives will rush to the car to get you) into your Great-Granny's house is Love. It's a love that gives, forgives, inspires, and comforts. And I cannot wait for you to experience it. <br /><br />
Love always, <br /><br />
MamaLorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-53502768237324803582009-10-12T09:52:00.000-07:002009-10-12T10:05:18.401-07:00Pregnancy Symptoms: Repressed White Girl VersionIt's common in pregnancy to have steamy sex dreams. It's also common in pregnancy to have cramps and gas pains. What I've NEVER heard was common in pregnancy is to wake up with severe cramps and gas pains every time you have a sex dream. Every time, usually when things in my dream start getting <em>good.</em> And these aren't just mild pains either, no, they are hobble to the bathroom and spend 15 minutes laying on the floor moaning pains. <br /><br />
I've come to the conclusion that something in my subconscious is telling me that these dreams are BAD and making me suffer for them. God may kill a kitten every time YOU touch yourself, but I'm afflicted with paralyzing pain every time I think about touching someone else. Including my husband. Which is totally not fair because I can't actually DO any touching do to doctor-mandated pelvic rest. <br /><br />
(Actually, I <em>could</em> <em><strong>do</strong></em> the touching but I'm lazy if I don't get anything for my effort). <br /><br />
I'm blaming my stiff fundamentalist Norwegian relatives for this one.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-70980970554942151022009-10-06T11:04:00.001-07:002009-10-06T11:31:13.094-07:00Fear and Hope in a 24 Hour PeriodAt church on Sunday I started having intense pain in my lower stomach/pelvic area. It was so bad I walked out and went to the bathroom where I discovered red blood. Lots of it. I ran back to get Victor and told him we had to leave. As soon as I got in the car I started sobbing. We drove to the closest hospital (in retrospect, an extra 5 minutes of driving would have probably saved us a lot of trouble). The staff took me up to Labor and Delivery, had me put on a gown and a pad thicker than most diapers, and left us there. For about an hour. Because they could not figure out how to enter me into their system. Finally they took some blood and left for another hour. No infection, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">hcg</span> was at 55,000. More waiting and then I got wheeled down to the basement for an ultrasound, as soon as I drank a ton of water. Evidently they thought a trans-abdominal ultrasound would be appropriate even though the technician admitted that they usually were only good for women who were at least 13 weeks. She couldn't see anything so she let me pee and then went for the dildo-cam. <br /><br />
We saw our little gummy bear, but the technician kept having me hold my breath for extended periods of time to see if she could ascertain the heart rate. Her "unofficial" report was that she couldn't find it but she <em>did</em> think she saw a flickering. After more waiting the doctor came up and basically said I was most likely going to miscarry because the baby was measuring about a week behind my EDD based on my last period. He ignored my comments about having ovulated about a week "late" and said I just had to go home and wait. <br /><br />
Monday morning we called my practice. They gave us another ultrasound and the technician said she "definitely" saw <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cleitus</span>' heart beating! I was so relieved! And she saw something else too. Either a bleed or a second gestational sac. <br /><br />
So maybe I have some bleeding issues, maybe I have a baby and a blighted ovum, or maybe I have twins. <br /><br />
Twins?! <br /><br />
Another ultrasound in six days.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-6510989374687893832009-09-30T08:56:00.000-07:002009-09-30T09:17:07.075-07:00Six Week LetterDear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Cleitus</span>, <br /><br />
<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cleitus</span> you say? Yep! Your daddy and I have chosen <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Cleitus</span> as your official name until we are able to see your genitals and decide on a more appropriate name. I don't want to hear any complaints from you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Cleitus</span>, because, quite frankly, you've been making your poor mama miserable. And I confess that it is hard for me to associate the constant urge to vomit, exhaustion, unquenchable thirst, and cramps that wake me up in the middle of the night with you, my dear little baby. I feel guilty and sad that I am not SO EXCITED to experience these things. I worry that I'm a wimp or too selfish to see the good in my discomfort. <br /><br />
But despite feeling so discouraged and overwhelmed by the prospect of being in the first trimester for TWO MORE MONTHS, I do know that it WILL get better. For a while, anyway. And then there will be other ailments and pains that may very well pull your hormone-crazy mama into yet another funk. But <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Cleitus</span>, I just keep telling myself that it will be completely worth it. On the day they place you on my belly and I hear your cries and see your beautiful face all of these annoyances will be far from my mind. <br /><br />
Love always,
MamaLorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-76454010683800763322009-09-23T17:46:00.000-07:002009-09-23T17:57:53.594-07:00Three Years Ago, Part 3Back to the mixed CD. Apparently the cat sitter had made it not only to "give me a clue" but to give him an opening. As we finished dessert he said, "oh, before I leave let's just listen to this one song I want you to hear." And I agreed, because I was awfully naive. He puts in the CD and starts playing a song, only it's not the one he wanted me to hear. Rather than skipping ahead, he decides we'll listen to this one too, while sitting on recliners across the room from each other. When <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_tNSp7MaADM">the song</a> comes on he suggests that we dance. <br /> <br />
(Note: Since we are both swing dancers asking me to dance wasn't <em>that </em>strange of a request) <br /> <br />
So we dance. And dance. And dance. Because the song is eight minutes long. Which is pretty long to be swaying with someone in your dark living room, alone, without speaking. And the whole time the heart palpitations and digestive issues the cat sitter gives me are going crazy and I'm wondering if he's gonna make it worth my while. (Ya know, wink wink). And, well, he did. <br /> <br />
And that, Internet, was the beginning of a beautiful <s>friendship</s> <s>relationship</s> marriage.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-63393595115906400712009-09-22T08:56:00.000-07:002009-09-22T14:20:14.709-07:00Three Years Ago, Part 2<a href="http://vendettaforloretta.blogspot.com/2009/09/three-years-ago.html">Now where were we?</a> Ah yes, three years and three weeks ago I decided to call my cat sitter when I knew he would be unable to reach his phone because mysteriously, talking to him wreaked havoc on my digestive system. However, after I returned from my fucking awesome swing dance camp, it occurred to me that I <em>must</em> do something to thank my cat sitter for cat sitting. And, being the well-mannered Southern lady that I am, I thought a home-cooked dinner was the best thanks. I assure you this decision was completely based on etiquette and had nothing at all to do with the exciting heart palpitations the cat sitter's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">deodorant</span> gave me. <br /><br />
Seeing how the cat sitter was a vegetarian (at the time), I had to do extensive research on some tasty vegetarian meals. The cat sitter, being a Southern <s>gentle</s>man himself knew to offer to bring something and I suggested dessert. On the night we had decided, the cat sitter showed up just on time. I greeted him at the door and then we went back to the kitchen to continue stirring my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">homemade</span> tomato sauce. The cat sitter showed me the dessert he had brought (yummy cake from Whole Foods) I glanced down and noticed THE CAT SITTER WAS WEARING HIS DRESS SHOES! Black, shiny shoes! For a two-person dinner at home! And then, he pulled something out of a bag. A CD. For me. A CD that he had mixed, for me. <br /><br />
MUSICAL INTERLUDE: "Sometimes when someone has a crush on you, they make you a mixed tape, to give you a clue." <br /><br />
Internet, even though I had not yet seen Avenue Q, I knew the words of this song to be the truth. And I began to be convinced that the physiological symptoms that hounded me when the cat sitter was around were evidence of an emotional THING I had for the cat sitter. I confess that this thought, the thought of a THING had crossed my mind previously. But now I was sure. <br /><br />
Dinner went well. We moved to the living room to watch a movie, during which we intermittently stared at each other, then back to the dining room for dessert. At this point it was at least midnight. And you know what midnight means, right? <br /><br />
It means it's no longer exactly three years ago. So I can stop here, for now, in the name of <s>laziness</s> suspense.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-92096679564990416192009-09-21T10:02:00.000-07:002009-09-21T10:25:38.572-07:00As Free as the Wind BlowsYesterday I realized that I am going to start making my first big sacrifice as a mommy. No, it isn't cutting down on caffeine or eliminating alcohol (although I did do those things). It's wearing a bra, all the time. Pretty much every day, as soon as I get home from work (or anywhere else for that matter), I take off my bra. My <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bewbies</span> like to be free, to feel the wind upon their <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">areolas</span>. They're small enough (low end of a C-cup) that a little bit of jostling didn't bother them or me. In fact, I could often get away without a bra even out in public when I wore tops or dresses that restrained and separated the girls a bit. <br /><br />
Until now. While the great boob-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">splosion</span> of 2009 has not yet occurred, my lovely ladies <em>have</em> been feeling a bit under the weather. And recently it has come to my attention that the <s>tenderness</s> raging pain increases when I am sans-bra. <br /><br />
(As a side note, why isn't there a one-word term for going without a bra like there is for going without panties? Another case of discrimination against women?) <br /><br />
The pain occurs regardless of whether I'm moving or not. And this pain, it is a stretching kind of pain. Like someone is pulling my twins in all sorts of directions they were not meant to go. So now I face the dilemma of either wearing a bra 24/7 or worrying about ending up like one of those women you see in National Geographic whose ta-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">tas</span> are down to their waists. <br /><br />
So dear titties, I deeply apologize for constantly keeping you locked up in your prison cells. It's for your benefit. Consider it a training session for the agony that is your destiny. You'll forget this temporary discomfort in nine months when a little creature wants to suck on you every few hours.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550705262175448271.post-80244174880901147052009-09-16T04:32:00.001-07:002009-09-16T04:52:19.500-07:00The Makings of a Very Awkward ConversationWe told my parents the good news last night. For now, they are the only ones who know (other than the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">interwebs</span>, of course. I've got my priorities <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">straight</span>!). Since we're <s>big nerds</s> organized, Victor and I have set a schedule of who to tell when. I decided to tell my dad first because I knew that if I told my mama she would make such a ruckus that I would probably never get to tell my dad myself (and I was correct). When I picked up my phone I started to get nervous. I felt like I was calling my daddy to tell him his little girl was no longer a virgin. What would he think? Victor assured me that my dad had most likely already had surmised this detail about me based on the fact that, you know, I had been married for over a year. And not in the 1960's sitcom kind of way either. But my dad's response confirmed my fears. <br /><br />
Me: So, I'm pregnant. <br />
Dad: (long pause) <long>How did THAT happen? <br /><br />
Maybe my mama needs to lend him <a href="http://vendettaforloretta.blogspot.com/2009/07/ignorance.html">this book</a>.Lorettahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03266060659696077705noreply@blogger.com1