Back in the saddle. Giddyup.

Hello dear bloggies, to anyone still out there. I'll spare the excuses and just say, life with buddy is wonderful. Tough, no time to myself, exhausting -- but wonderful. My experience, and all of your experiences, pull me back from the frustrated brink time and time again, to remind me to take a deep breath, be grateful and not miss a moment. But free time at a computer these days? Not so much. Moving on...

{warning, rambling post ahead. broken brain, rusty blogger.}

There are a million things that I would have said "no effing way" BEFORE having buddy, had you told me this would be our life right now. 

Me. Still breastfeeding at 16 months. 

Me. Bed-sharing with the little bugger.

Me. Still not TTC-ing again after over a year. 

These three statements are not unrelated. The kid is all about the boob. It has always held magical powers, starting day 1 in the hospital. About 99.5% of the time if baby cried, the boob made him stop. Hungry? Stick a boob in him. Tired? Stick a boob in him. Cranky? Frustrated? Hurt? Boob, boob, boob.

I had a lot of problems and insecurities with breastfeeding early on, but once the kinks got worked out, I came to really enjoy it. The snuggles, the closeness. And oh yeah, the stop-crying thing.

The only problem is the tick-tick-tick I hear. (Yes, that one. Stupid ticking.) Was pretty quiet the first year -- my OB recommended waiting a year to get pregnant again to fully heal from the c-section, and emotionally I was more than happy to have an excuse to get out of the game for a good long while and do my best to focus on and enjoy buddy. Stuck my head in the sand, and put worry on a shelf.

Whoosh. One year rolls around in December. Still exclusively breast-feeding and buddy shows no signs of losing interest. And, no cycle yet. My "safe zone" timer has gone off, but my body isn't ready to jump back in, regardless of where my head is at. (And my head was still in the sand.) Ticking is getting louder, so I decide to start process of weaning, and put in a call to my RPL doc who has changed practices, figuring I better get into their system should I ever actually wake up to a positive pregnancy test again. 

Weaning progresses to a point, but buddy is determined to nurse to sleep, meaning nursing continues at least 3x a day (2 naps + bedtime). And oh yeah, did I mention? He still wakes up a zillion times a night and wants to be nursed back to sleep. Hence the bed-sharing. I have no willpower to deny him his pleading eyes and tiny little finger pointing at my chest, every day putting off until the NEXT day the tough business of pushing him away. So that front not going so well, and still no period. And the RPL doc has limited hours at new practice, so my appt is not until March 3. Tick tick tick, but not much happens for those three months.

March 3 rolls around, and I have my appointment with the RPL doc. I mostly manage to suppress the PTSD kicking in while filling out the paperwork and medical history. I actually have to look up the dates of my miscarriages, my memory blissfully faded. Met with the nurse first, and she mistakenly enters the date of my last period as 2/25/14 from my paperwork. Nope, that would be 2012, madam. Is great to see my doctor, victorious with my little man. She orders up some bloodwork and a prescription for progesterone to get my cycle started. Why didn't I think of that?! I had definitely gotten soft in my time out of the game.

Sure enough, 10 days of hoo-ha pills, and 2 days later, AF arrives. I hadn't missed her. It was a new adventure changing a tampon or pad without traumatizing a nosey toddler up in my business. It was also a new adventure peeing on sticks in the following days with said toddler still up in my business, as I dusted off the ol' fertility monitor to see what's what.

Day 12 rolls around, and the monitor had not yet ticked up to the 2nd level (with the 3rd being the LH surge). What the hell, body, you were always a day 13-14 ovulator. TICK TICK TICK. I feel the familiar wave of frustration and anger with my body, not being able to just "will" things to go my way. Tears are shed. Anxiety spikes. I am not liking being back in the game but goddamnit TICK TICK TICK.

Hope is gone that my cycle will bounce back while still breastfeeding. I'm an emotional wreck at the thought of hard-core weaning buddy -- feeling torn having to choose between the baby I have and the baby I want. And then out-of-the-fucking blue, the monitor ticks up a notch on Day 15. Whaaaa? Stays that way for 5 days, mentally I've given up again, and then shut-the-front-door, I get an LH surge on Day 20. 

So kids, I am officially back in the game. My first two-week-wait in over two years. My emotions are a weird mix of foolish confidence, hard-core denial and doom-and-gloom dread of what hell lies ahead.

I just want a sibling for buddy. It isn't even so much for me anymore. I have my little guy, and he made me a mom. But I want him to have his family even after Mr. B and I are gone - which I hope is in a really long time, but I can't ignore our "old parent" status.

There it is, dare I even write it. I want another baby. I'm so grateful to have what we have, but I want more. I still want the family I dreamed of. Is that really so wrong?

6 months

Wow. Buddy is 6 months old today, I can hardly believe it. I can also hardly believe that it’s been so damn long since posting here. I’ve been reading along every day, friends, since so easy to do on my phone (translation, so easy to do one handed while holding baby). But otherwise struggling to get much done, balancing life, work, and giving dear little boy as much attention as possible. The longer I’m away and the more posts that accumulate in my head, the harder it is to start. So I’m copping out with some bullets to get at least some things down that I’ve been wanting to share. Please forgive my ramblings (if anyone is even still reading!).
 

• Buddy. Monkey. Little man. Senor Poopy-pants. I have tears in my eyes trying to express how much this little person means to me and how he’s changed my life. This does not seem like the appropriate space to gush on and on, but I will share this. His preciousness, the amount of love and pride and gratitude I feel for him, is almost too overwhelming. I say that not to complain, but to add to my story honestly, this experience of finally having a child after so much loss. The fear and anxiety of the past few years, that feeling that something is always about to go wrong, has not magically disappeared. Instead I now fear for him - his safety, his happiness, his wellbeing. I have flashes where I imagine a horrible call from the nanny that’s something’s gone wrong. Or that I fall while holding him going down the stairs. Or that something happens to me or my husband leaving him alone. So morbid, I know, but I can’t help it. It comes over me and brings tears to my eyes and a punch to the gut. You hear a lot about post-partum depression, but I only recently heard the term “post-partum anxiety.” I don’t want to feel this way, and do a pretty good job of catching myself and talking myself down, “appreciate today, don’t borrow worry from tomorrow, you can’t control or prevent bad things from happening and that’s a risk you take living in this world,” and so on. But it’s there, and it’s hard. I will work harder to manage this though, because buddy deserves a mom that is happy and relaxed, and I don’t want to pass this anxiety onto him. But just keep buddy safe, okay, universe?

• So there’s a lot to know about raising children. Who knew? Oh, everybody else but me? Apparently living with my head in the sand the past few years, turning my attention away from anything related to babies, has done little to prepare myself for the challenges of motherhood. Whoops! I started to talk about this in a comment to Mo (who is gloriously on her way to meeting baby girl B5). I had a huge mental block while pregnant about being able to plan for and imagine life with an actual baby, so playing catch-up on getting my act together and educated has caused some anxiety. Because you know, there’s that whole completely responsible for the care of a mysterious, helpless little being that changes as soon as you get the slightest clue. There are countless books, blogs, and websites about how to *properly* raise your child, a counter-theory to just about every piece of advice out there, and EVERYONE has a frickin’ opinion about it to boot. It’s this weird thing where you have this very visible, public representation of your mothering abilities -- your child. So if your child is anything less than *perfect* - the perfect height/weight/length, the perfect temperament, sleeping perfectly, eating perfectly - then YOU are doing something wrong, and people have absolutely no qualms about telling you about it. I’d like to think myself somewhat resistant to peer-pressure or caring so much about what others think, but my lack of self-education before buddy arrived has left me a bit insecure and it creeps in. And that whole wanting the absolute best for him (see bullet #1 above) only adds to the pressure.

• One saving grace for both of the above has been a sort of moms’ group. I signed up for a “new motherhood” class at the women’s hospital where I delivered buddy on the recommendation from a friend. Over the course of 6 weeks the actual class content became secondary to the bonds formed with the other 8 women in the class - all new moms with babies within a few weeks in age of my little guy. One girl had the smarts to create a private Facebook group for us, and months later we all actively stay in touch through it. We post questions, advice, stories, triumphs and failures, all in a really honest, vulnerable, kind and supportive way. It really is my new equivalent to what I found here in blog-land and in my real-life IF/RPL support group. I was so worried that my past would isolate me from the experiences of other new moms, but surprisingly and thankfully our motley group works -- everyone is dealing with SOMETHING difficult, even if totally different, that makes the tone pretty sympathetic. Being a new mom is hard, as much as I hate to admit it, and as much as I hated to hear it from others when struggling to get here. But it is, and I really encourage anyone lucky enough to make it to the other side to actively seek similar support.

• I went back to work when buddy was 3 months old. It was so hard to leave him and the process of finding a nanny to entrust him to was agonizing -- literally kept me up at night for weeks (as exhausted as I was) stressing about whether I was doing the right thing. Considering I had barely been apart from him save an hour or two here or there, heading out the door for 10 hours straight was downright traumatizing. I had no idea just how attached I would become to him. But it definitely has gotten easier and I even have learned to appreciate the time away. Building trust with the nanny has definitely been the key -- seeing how happy he is with her, the little things she does and the stories she tells about the day -- I do think he benefits from experiencing another caregiver, and hell, I benefit from learning from her expertise for sure. I’m VERY lucky in that I was able to negotiate my schedule down to 30 hours per week - 3 days in the office, rest from home. Which means that my “days off” are spent juggling caring for buddy, taking care of life in general (grocery, laundry, uh, bathing), AND squeezing in work, which is tough and leaves so much undone, but is still better than any alternative, I think. My heart still breaks a little each time I leave him, but for now it seems to be working.

 
Okay, I better wrap it up there before another four months slip by. Goodnight, dear bloggies.

Birth story

**Woah. It's amazing how fast 8 weeks can fly by, in the tired happy blur that is life with a new baby. Quick update is that we are doing great. He is growing so big and just started sleeping a 5-hour stretch at night, which means that I'M finally getting a little more sleep. No one told me that when you decide to breastfeed, ALL YOU DO is breastfeed. It is seriously ridiculous how little I get done in a day. I started writing up his birth story a few weeks ago and wanted to share before even more time passed. (Yeah, I didn't INTEND to stop blogging!) It's not complete, but who knows when I'll get 2 hands free sitting at the computer again, so here goes...**
 

We went in for our 40-week appointment the Monday after our due date, and everything down below was still locked up tight. So we went back on Wednesday for an ultrasound to check his amniotic fluid levels and growth. I knew from the tech that fluid levels were good, but didn’t know his weight estimate til I met with my OB who entered the exam room with a serious look on her face. 10 lb 1 oz. Say what?? Little chunker was measuring over 10 pounds and apparently when converted to grams crossed the threshold of when c-section is medically an option. She began to talk about options and alternatives and risks, and I felt myself getting emotional and overwhelmed – all of a sudden, it was FINALLY getting real, and I realized that I was expected to make some decisions. I didn’t have much preconceived notion of how I wanted this birth to go down (denial!), and said so, adding through my tears “I just want him to get here safe.” I guess my worst case scenario in my mind was laboring for 20 hours and THEN having a c-section, and this was looking like a pretty real possibility if they tried to induce me. My doctor said as much, and I love that she acknowledged our rough history in wanting to make sure everything went as smoothly as possible. And so it was decided: c-section city for this sister. My doctor was scheduled for the hospital the next day, and assured me she would figure out a way for me to get on her schedule. By the time I left the office we had a tentative plan for the next day.

I left the office and made a tearful call to Mr. B. and my mom. For some reason I could not stop crying the rest of the day, completely overwhelmed with a mix of excitement and worry. I went to the grocery store and finished packing my hospital bag and wrapped up a few last loose ends at work. I tried to go to bed early (“better sleep now while you can…”) but we both had a restless night. But by the next morning my emotions had calmed and I felt focused and excited and ready. My BIL arrived to drive us to the hospital and we snapped a few last pics of the belly and us leaving the house. We checked in at triage, were sent up to our floor to check in again. Our L&D nurse fetched us, and turns out that she was a good friend of our SILs twin sister, also a L&D nurse at the hospital who called ahead to let her know we were coming. It was such a pleasant surprise, having this friendly face who we knew would take good care of us. We were put in a small private room near the operating rooms and began the process of getting an IV, hooking up monitors, and a series of visits from residents, anesthesiologists, etc. We got word that my mom and dad had arrived, and our nurse was sweet enough to allow my mom to hang out with us before and after surgery, even though technically should only have been Mr. B.

My OB came by shortly before Go Time. She explained generally what would happen, and added something to the effect, “This is a really weird kind of surgery – your husband is there and a baby is being born. It’s a birthday party and we celebrate it, keeping the mood light in there.” And then we were off: I was led out of the pre-op room alone to walk to the OR, leaving my mom and Mr. B. behind, sent off with hugs and kisses. For the first time that day, I felt myself start to lose it with emotion, but somehow managed to pull myself together. As my doctor and nurse walked me down the hall, we picked up members of the operating team along the way, all cheerily introducing themselves and offering congratulations. The OR room was a surreal clutter of machines and people, all chatting and bustling about, cheering as each new staff member entered the room like some big reunion, reassuring me that “you got the A-team.” They had me sit on the edge of the bed to get the spinal block, as a nurse sitting at a computer is asking me what bands I like. I notice she has Pandora up on her computer screen and somehow manage to have a coherent thought and spit out “Wilco?” That got cheers from the staff and my OB starts talking about how she saw their show that summer, and I share that Mr. B. was at that same show, and how we both saw them at a different show a few weeks prior. All this as they are now laying me down, strapping down both my arms like Jesus on the cross, and shaving my nether regions and putting in the catheter. Next thing I know the sheet is going up and Mr. B. is there, and things are happening. I don’t know how to describe the pulling and pushing and pressure – not painful, just bizarre. In what seemed like a few short minutes, I hear my doctor exclaim “He’s beautiful!” and after what seemed like an eternity later I hear the cries. The amazing, beautiful, unbelievable cries of our baby, entering the world, safe and sound. I burst into tears, sobbing and heaving so badly it occurs to me that they won’t be able to do their job correctly down below. The nurse is calling to me “Look over here, can you see??” and I turn my head and see our boy emerge from behind the sheet, a full head of dark hair and screaming his head off. This stranger who just came out of me. My little boy. My son. Wow.

***

Immediately after little guy made his appearance, I felt super nauseated. Which means in our first family photos, I am making the weirdest smile of happiness/pukiness and you can see the yellow barf bucket next to my head. What keepers. Mr. B. was a flurry of taking pictures and holding baby and chatting with the doctors and nurses, while I got stitched up and focused on calming the spinning room. Once ready, they wheeled us back to our recovery room, my OB just to my left helping to pull the bed with a huge smile on her face, my little boy in my own arms as they wheeled us along, and I think, “Wow, what a beautiful moment, I hope I don’t ruin it by puking on my baby.” Once in the room, we got down to business with some skin time, and I just held him tight and took it all in. Later my dad would say seeing a picture my husband took of us then, that was the one that made him tear up.

In good time little guy rooted around and latched right on like a champ, and from then on I finally got why people refer to breastfeeding as being so “natural.” Because, you know, it’s weird, um, someone sucking on my boob. But when this little creature knows what to do and it’s what he needs? Well, then he shall have it.

By about 6:30p we were sent up to our post-partum room where we would stay for the next 5 days. Right away we had a flood of visitors, our family who had been camped out at the hospital all afternoon in a show of support and excitement. My mom and dad, my brother and SIL, Mr. B’s mom and several siblings. I was exhausted and sore and delirious from the pain meds, but it was such a happy blur of pride, introducing him to everyone, so much love all at one time.

Mr. B. stayed with me in the hospital, passing quiet days of feeding and burping and diaper changes, and watching 30 Rock on the i.Pad, saying cute things like “I think he loves us.” I spent hours just holding him, staring at him, learning all his little features – the long toes, the dark hair on his ears and shoulders earning him his Monkey nickname. But C-section recovery is no joke, I tell ya. Oh the indignities, needing my husband to help me on and off the toilet, at one point begging him to help sponge bath me since I had such terrible night sweats. And the bloat, good lord the bloat – I blew up like a balloon with gas, my belly almost bigger than when I came in. So lovely. And then by Tuesday it was time to go home, and we dressed up little guy in the cutest little sleeper and headed out into the cold, and into our home and lives forever.

We love you so much, buddy. You are so worth everything it took to get you here, and more. I hope to be the best mama I can for you.

Finally here, safe and sound

Baby Boy Brightside made his appearance Thursday, December 6, at 3:00p sharp by planned c-section. He is cute as a button and couldn't be more perfect, and I just love his little face more than I thought possible.

He is sleeping lots and feeding like a champ, and we should be heading home from the hospital tomorrow. My brain is mush (yay narcotics!) so will report more later. But I just had to break the news to let you all share in my huge sigh of relief. Little guy thanks you for keeping his mama sane.

D Day

Today is officially our Due Date, but kiddo apparently hasn't checked the calendar and seems snuggled in tight. At my last appointment Monday all was still locked up tight, but have another appointment this coming Monday morning so crossing my fingers for SOME sign of progress.

Ever the headcase, I am a weird jumble of emotions. 

• I still can't quite get myself to believe that we (knock on wood) will have our baby in our arms sometime in the next two weeks. Nope, still can't actually picture it or commit my heart. 
• I'm in weird state of denial about how this kid will get out. I like to think this is somewhat healthy. I have no way to know or control how things will go down from here, so I'm just trying to go with the flow. And keep my head in the sand a bit. See previous bullet.
• The fear has returned in full force. Not all the time, but more than in recent months, I find my thoughts straying to what could still go wrong and break our hearts all over again. It's almost like being so close, so so close, is making me paranoid and desperate to get across the finish line.
• At the same time, I am in no hurry for this pregnancy to be over. I will miss having my buddy with me all the time, safe and sound and kicking away. (See previous bullet. Yes, I know I am crazy.) I've been pregnant for so long it just feels normal to feel and look this way, to essentially have a pass at conforming to any standard of beauty and fashion. I look ridiculous. So what.

As for the belly, it's gigantic. And unfortunately, I'm not just talking about mine! We had an ultrasound at about 37 weeks, and this kid was already estimated at 8 lb 2 oz. Say what?!? The ultrasound tech was sure to point out his big round belly and kept making cracks about him being a linebacker. And that was 3 weeks ago. And could keep cooking for who knows how much longer -- my practice doesn't induce before 41 weeks, and then waits until your doc is on the schedule at the hospital. 

Arriving healthy is all I care about... but I'd be lying if I said my thoughts haven't strayed to how difficult it's going to be to get this chunker out. What was that I said before? Going with the flow...

Back to my gigantic belly. It's big and round and sticks straight out, and invites mockery from all those around me. Even my 3 year old nephew simply pointed and snickered when he first saw me on Thanksgiving. Must be the combo of a big baby and old mom who has barely worked out in 4 years of IF/RPL hell, or possibly the optical illusion of its relative size to my still-super-small boobs. Oh well, just makes me laugh. Not like there's anything I can do about it! SO not my concern.

Monday is supposed to be my last day at work, based on using up all my vacation time before the end of the year. Would much rather have time off with bebe, so I'm kind of waiting to see what happens at my appointment on Monday to bring up the possibility of letting some of those days roll over to next year and working a few more days. I should probably just embrace the time off regardless. Sweatpants are definitely my preferred choice in clothing.

As for my to-do list, having made it this far, it's actually in pretty good shape. I feel like I got done most of what I wanted to before the craziness hits. (Hear that, baby? I'm ready!!)

So there you have it. And now we wait.

I'm usually pretty bloggy-shy, but I thought I'd share a couple of pics. First one is a belly shot from Thanksgiving (excuse the headless self-portrait), and the second is my favorite little basket of cuteness right now. We haven't set up a nursery yet (he'll be in our room), so this is one of many intermediate organization solutions. Love.

Full term, but still not real

Tomorrow the calendar ticks over to 37 weeks pregnant. Full term. I can still hardly believe those words as I stare at them, even as little boy squirms and kicks, even as my belly protrudes ridiculously in its best impression of a smuggled basketball.

To any outside observer, I'm fully playing the part of a "normal" pregnant person preparing for the actual arrival of an actual baby. In the past 2 months I've...

• Shopped all over town to select and register for baby items
• Been showered with kindness and gifts at a lovely shower thrown by mom and SIL
• Attended expectant parent classes with Mr. B. - newborn care, labor, touring the hospital, the works
• Cleaned house like a mad woman - purging closets, organizing drawers, steam-cleaning carpets, buying new blinds
• Tried to catch up on "life" that somehow slipped through the cracks these past 4 years of struggle and sadness - getting new glasses, replacing the tires on my car, backing up my computer, buying a new camera
• Talked to work about maternity leave and returning on a reduced schedule
• Gone to prenatal yoga classes at least once or twice a week
• Bought a nursing bra
• Generally chattered away with coworkers and strangers (and election workers...) about due dates and planning and cankles

My to-do list grows ever longer, especially as my ambitions continue to way exceed my decreasing energy levels. After feeling so impatient for so long, once we hit about 24 weeks (viability and feeling movement), I felt a wave of stress and switched gears into "holy crap, I need to get some shit done," and it feels like the weeks have flown by since.

But despite all this, a numbness persists. A disconnect between my head and my heart. Everything feels like an almost academic exercise - "I need to pick out the best stroller" but deep down I can't picture a baby in it, let alone OUR baby.

Just tonight I did a load of laundry of baby things for first time. Our shower was just 2 weeks ago, and feeling overwhelmed, I placed a call to Mom to come help me go through everything last weekend. But tonight was the first time I was alone with these things, placing each little sock and footed sleeper into the washing machine. And then just staring incredulously at it all.

I'm so incredibly grateful to be where we are, and so much sadness has been lifted already, but this barrier remains. And I don't think there is any way to get past it until this little boy is safely in our arms. Imagining that moment, that very first moment he is out in the world, overwhelms me and brings a sob to my throat every time I allow myself to go there. Please please please, I beg of the universe, get us to that place safely and soon.

And to my dear fellow bloggies, please forgive my absence from this space. Each day, and then another, would pass without finding the time or energy, and if I'm really honest, the self-awareness and marbles to put words to my feelings and experiences these days. But know that you all are in my thoughts daily, even if I don't get the chance to comment. Having zero screen privacy at work can be a real sonofabitch sometimes. {*And wordpress seems to be eating all my comments when I do - WTF?? At least 3 4 just now, argh. I tried, Egghunt, Miss Ohkay, and Daryl!}

I want to give a special nod to Amy at Dwelling on Dreams and Emily at Trying to Find My Way - I found them both during this pregnancy, each of us expecting our rainbow babies after RPL, all boys, all due almost the same exact day. Like so often in blogland, finding others who are going through the exact same roller coaster of emotions is beyond comforting, and many times I've been tempted to link to their posts with "what she said." Hoping our paths continue to converge in happy endings in just a few short weeks. Thinking of you both!!

Please lend support

I know I've been away far too long, but at this moment my update seems pretty insignificant - in short, I'm fine, baby is fine (adding the requisite "as far as I know...").

But my thoughts and heart are filled with sadness with a terrible loss in our community this week. I've had the privilege of first meeting Erin at Will Carry On through her blog, then in real life, when we realized we lived barely a mile from each other. Her and her husband had already suffered the loss of several pregnancies, including one at 16 weeks. They most recently became pregnant with triplets, and after a tumultuous early pregnancy, losing one of the babies, and some soft marker scares, finally seemed to be on their way with healthy boy-girl twins, just a week ago finally let themselves believe in the promise of their future.

All this was cruelly ripped away from them this week when the babies came into this world too early at almost 21 weeks. My heart is breaking for them and their loss that no one should have to endure. The tragedy suffered by them and others I've met here is beyond comprehension, beyond sense-making. But please do what little we can by reading their posts from this week, bearing witness to their loss and pain, and lending your voice in support.