No longer a fetus

Cleitus 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.

Still pregnant

Thank 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.

I'm heading home tomorrow for my baby shower. I'm looking forward to some Carolina sun and seeing people I like a lot.

I only write when I have something exciting to report

I suck at blogging y’all. It’s been over a month and when most of the bloggers 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.

-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 milkin’ mamas club that she up and contracted their illness. It’s like joining a cult, except instead of drinking Kool-Aid you turn red and hot and hurt like Hades. And I was all, “Lefty, why couldn’t you just squirt milk out down my shirt like the other boobs that want to join the milkin’ mama club?” So she has started doing that too. Righty is chilling for now, trying not to get too anxious or act like a poser. She knows her time will come and doesn’t need to be jumping the gun. I’m sure the peer pressure will get to her eventually.

-I’ve 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 Cleitus 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.

-Cleitus is getting big! And active! And uncooperative!

Last week I went to the perinatologist 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 varix, 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 hydrops: 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.

Holy shit, y’all.

(That’s $20, and oh so worth it).

I’m 29.5 weeks right now, so if Cleitus 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 isolette at the hospital. Also? OMGIAMSONOTREADYTOHAVEANOUTSIDEBABY!!! 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 jump start labor.

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.

I don’t care what your math teachers told you, six and seven are WAY less than ten.

Eeek!

25 Week Letter

Dear Cleitus,

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.

Cleitus, 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 Minogue music. I hope your penchant for Australian blonds 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.

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.

Love,
Mama

Obeying the law

I'm having one of those days weeks 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.

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.

Please send cheeseburgers and earplugs.

I Think That's What They Mean by "Pregnancy Brain"

Hairstylist: So have you had a shower yet?

Me: :wondering why hairstylist is inquiring after bathing habits:
Um, I took one this morning...

long, awkward pause

Me: Oh, a BABY shower!

Considering how the prior fifteen minutes had been spent discussing pregnancy, this sort of shower makes much more sense.

Happy Half-Baked Day, Cleitus!

I haz a belly! And it's almost as big as my butt!

And now I would like to discuss pregnancy shirts. Not maternity 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.

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.

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.

What, 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...

Me: Okay, I want you to clean the office while I lounge on the bed and give you instructions.

It's Been a While

Since I've shaved my legs. And more relevently, since I've written anything.

The holidays were wonderful, I'm glad we've entered the year our baby will be born, yadayadayada.

More posts will be coming soon. Along with a picture of the Worst. Christmas Gift. Ever. Stay tuned!

16 Week Letter

Dear Cleitus,

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.

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.

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 interwebs. Oh no, I'm saving that picture to show at the rehearsal dinner the day before you get married. (Just kidding). (Maybe).

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.

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.

Love,
Mama

Nobody's gonna go to work today, she's (or he's) gonna make them stay at home

This 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 preshus wittle fetus. Cleitus does not like Mondays.

(As an aside, Frosted Mini Wheats are one of the least offensive foods to puke up, semi-digested.)

(Also, I have a strange love of catchy ballads about psycho chicks killing innocent children. Don't judge.)

I don't particularly like Mondays either. When I was a kid I'd play 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 mental health days on Mondays than I should have in my adult years.

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 shit joy! However, unlike in elementary school when you could miss up to 30 days of school without any major repercussions (I kept track), my company only gives me six sick days each year. There are WAY more than six Mondays in a year people!

Which leaves me wiping the puke off my face, trying to brush my teeth without setting off another episode, 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.

13 Week Letter

Dear Cleitus,

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.

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 did 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.

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.

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.

Love always,
Mama

The Good, The Bad, The Insane

I got a call from the genetic counselor. The results from my NT scan show a 1:10,000 chance of Down's and a 1:2088 chance of Trisomy 18. Both of these risk levels are way lower than what one would expect based on my age, so it's great news.

The not-so-great news is that my free beta HCG levels are in the 0.5 percentile. Low. And apparently this result puts me at risk for pre-eclampsia, pre-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.

I DO thank God that so far all indications point to a healthy Cleitus. 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 untell. 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 BFP!) instead of wishing I could go in to hear the heartbeat every week. And that on the mornings I wake up without feeling nauseous I could be happy instead of poking my boobs to make sure I still have some pregnancy symptoms.

Joy

My CVS 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.

After a few minutes of squinting at the picture I asked the technician, "so, um, where is the nuchal 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 nuchal translucency was 4.2 mm. "Normal" is under 2 mm. Now, it was 0.8 mm.

THAT'S LESS THAN A MILLIMETER INTERNET!

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.

I declined the CVS. I let them go ahead and do a proper NT Scan. All the other measurements look perfectly normal. Cleitus has a prominent nasal bone and is measuring right on time. We'll hear about the blood results in a week or two.

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.

Are You There Loretta? It's Me, God

The days are dragging until we can have the tests that will tell us more about our precious baby. I'm scheduled for a chorionic villus sampling next Tuesday and we should get some preliminary results a few days later.

We are scared, but coping. We have friends, family, and creepy Internet strangers (mwah!) 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.

I feel hopeful. Hopeful that our baby WILL live, hopeful that the nuchal fold is signalling that Cleitus has an issue that is not serious or easily treatable, and better yet, hopeful that nothing at all is wrong.

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.

I am being blessed with a hope that is kicking despair's butt.

Walking the Line

There'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.

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?

I have no idea.

No words

I 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" nuchal translucency on the back of Cleitus' neck. It could be a marker for Down's Syndrome or Trisomies 13 or 18. The latter two are almost always lethal.

I'm not sure how to breathe, how to move, how to speak.

9 Week Letter

Dear Cleitus,

We told your Great-Granny Collum about you last night. It was her birthday and we wanted to surprise 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 Collum side of the family.

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, Cleitus, 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.

Love always,

Mama

Pregnancy Symptoms: Repressed White Girl Version

It'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 good. 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.

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.

(Actually, I could do the touching but I'm lazy if I don't get anything for my effort).

I'm blaming my stiff fundamentalist Norwegian relatives for this one.

Fear and Hope in a 24 Hour Period

At 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, hcg 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.

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 did 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.

Monday morning we called my practice. They gave us another ultrasound and the technician said she "definitely" saw Cleitus' heart beating! I was so relieved! And she saw something else too. Either a bleed or a second gestational sac.

So maybe I have some bleeding issues, maybe I have a baby and a blighted ovum, or maybe I have twins.

Twins?!

Another ultrasound in six days.