What Happens at 22 Weeks

It's true. I haven't updated this blog in a while, but I've been so busy with everything related to work, summer vacations, and the growing baby that I haven't allowed myself the time to write. It's not fair, really - it's my therapy, my respite from everything that makes me sleepless. I also feel that even though I keep up with Facebook, it's not an appropriate place for everything that I am feeling.

Like numb, or confused, or tired of all of this. 

On Monday I'll be 22 weeks pregnant. What that means is that in another two weeks, my pregnancy is considered "viable", that is, if the baby were born that day, it would have a chance to live. A very small chance, maybe 1 in 3, but a chance nonetheless. I'm not sure how I'll feel when the 24 week day comes, just that maybe a tiny little part of me will relax, as it has with every other milestone. After the 8 week ultrasound, when I saw it was really there, in the right place, tail and all, just floating and growing, I was relieved, and then worried again. Once I hit 13 weeks and was heading into the second trimester, I felt even better - the chance of miscarriage goes down after that. And at the 20 week ultrasound, when I saw the little profile, all the parts of the baby scrambling inside me to get away from the pressure and noise of that procedure and found out it, 'the thing' in my belly, was a he, I was overjoyed. I saw him. I felt like I knew him, and I just didn't want them pressing on me anymore. He needed to be left alone, so he could rest and grow and keep making me eat key lime pie. And after that I got the test results back, saying he wasn't afflicted with some of the worst chromosome defects that would have ultimately meant I would have hard decisions to make. So far, so good, right?

Yes, everything is fine, everything is rosy. At least, that's how it seems I should feel. People keep asking me if I'm excited and I just don't know what to say to them. I'm tired a lot, much less nauseated but still not feeling a lot of energy, so being excited is difficult for me. And maybe because this week is when my first baby was supposed to be due, I just don't have the kind of feelings other people have. It's less and less that I'm waiting for something to be wrong, and more that I just don't feel like this is actually happening to me. Between the loss of the first one and the anxiety of the second, I'm still detached. It's hard for me to feel the kind of affection that maybe I should be for the little boy growing inside me. I feel like I should already have been pregnant and done with it, and I still have 4 months and change to go. I've had these crazy hormones since last December, and I'll probably keep having them well into next year. I feel like I've been doing this forever, with no results so far. I'm not one to beat a dead horse. I like things over and done with, and this entire process has been a terrible test of my patience.

What do I really want? I want this to be over. I want my body back, working the way it's supposed to. I want the baby here, born and healthy, and I want to start my life anew. Being a parent permanently changes people, and I feel like I just want to get on with it. There are those who say it goes too fast, but I don't think so. It can't go fast enough to make me happy. I can't move on until I actually move on, and that means having my baby right here, in my arms or on my lap or wherever he wants to be. That's all I want, because I'm tried of waiting and not knowing.

I think that's fair.

I Get to Be "That Girl"

That's right. I'm *that girl* now, who posts up pictures of her fetus. The twelve week appointment went really well, but the doctor couldn't find the baby's heartbeat with the doppler. It was hiding behind my pelvic bone or something, so I got to have another ultrasound, an over-the-belly type. Which is why the pictures are not so clear...the baby is still only a couple inches long and hiding behind all my fat. But it was found, healthy and moving and alive.

Anyways....

Here's the first one, which shows the head and a little hand waving. I really don't think it was waving. It was laying there all still and snuggly one minute, and then kicking and waving its hand the next.

Yeah, we woke it up, and it was pissed. I understand this feeling completely. Wake me up when I'm soundly sleeping, and I'll smack the shit out of you too.

And here's the second one that looks more innocent and less annoyed.

Side profile (you can see the skull too, yay me for taking all those many calcium pills) and the arms folded up at the chest. I think it finally calmed down and was trying to go back to sleep.

Makes me want a nap too. What's good for the baby is good for me.

Only Today

Time is going by so slowly, and so fast. Maybe it would be quicker if I wasn't feeling so lousy all the time, but here it drags, day by day. Maybe it feels slow because I haven't really told that many people, so I'm just waiting for one more week to pass to let the rest of planet know my secret. I approach the traditional end of the trimester, I find I am more confused and surprised than in awe of my condition.

I had this notion in my head that when I became pregnant again, once I was done getting over the initial fear, I'd feel this whole down-to-earth grow-organic-peas wear-hemp-sandals vibe, and I would glow with it. I'd be so happy about this whole prospect that you just wouldn't be able to shake the smile off my face. People would congratulate me and I would gush with all my pregnant emotions. But is that how I feel? No.

I have started asking people not to congratulate me. Part of this has to do with the fact that since I miscarried, reading stories about people who have lost their babies has really made me a pessimist. I mean, statistically, once I get out of this trimester, the odds are in my favor, but in reality they're just numbers. Numbers that said last time, you lose, no baby for you. And also in part because I feel like trash. Tired, nauseous, bloated, needing new bras and shirts, wearing a waist extender on some pants. I think I look like a whale, beached and bloated and dying in the sun, not some earth mother who's going to bring life. It's all been so terribly negative.

And I haven't even talked to it this time. I know it can't hear yet, but last time, I wanted to talk to it, sing to it, all sorts of things. Now I feel like I'm holding my breath for 29 more weeks, withholding all these loving feelings, just waiting for the day to come that something goes wrong. I don't think you'd call it depression, but extreme pessimism.

I realize that I have only today. This day, this moment, is all the time I have with my baby-to-be, who wants me to eat so much guacamole that I am really gonna turn green. I should cherish it, but really, I'm just afraid to. Afraid once I get too close I'll wrap my arms around the vision and it will evaporate into dust, suspended in sunlight but still dust. Then tomorrow will come, and I'll have to same chance, and today will be gone, and everything will start new. My body will feel different, my emotions will change, maybe I'll outgrow another pair of pants. Who can know anything? No one, that's the truth.

Sometimes, I all I can do is breathe.

The Hunger

I keep getting asked by people, what are you craving?

Maybe it is a reasonable question, but it seems weird from my prospective. I know I have asked people that question myself, but it just seems confusing from the other side. I'm trying to figure out why they want to know, or why I wanted to know? But my brain is a little addled from not sleeping well and always being hungry.

See, it's not that I'm craving weird things all the time...okay, maybe once in a while...just that all of sudden, I'll see something or smell something and that's what I'll want to eat. And I get hungry a lot. The nausea is getting better as long as I keep something in my stomach, which means I'm having to eat smaller meals than I'm used to, and eat them all the time. And in some sort of vain attempt, I'm trying to be healthy, so I try to figure out what I 'should' be eating. Most of the time that isn't what I want though, and if I eat something I don't want, it either tastes like crap, or gives me some nasty stomach feelings.

So eating what my stomach wants at that moment is what makes it feel better, so that's what I do. With great misfortune, cravings like that can't always be fulfilled, but when they are...well, let's just say that it makes me feel like a cat who needs to curl up in a sunbeam, pleasantly satisfied. Having a nap after a meal is good too, when I can do it. Somehow I'm getting this idea now that pregnant women need to be like cats - rest a lot, eat only what they want (even if it's inconvenient), sleep with their big bellies in a sunbeam, and bite/scratch/yell at anyone who disturbs them or their territory. Yeah. Sounds good.

In all fairness though, I have had a couple of weird cravings, and I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to share. I tend to eat weird things sometimes anyway, so I guess maybe some of this isn't so strange for me, but anyway. The first few weeks it was french fries and cheeseburgers, then chicken sandwiches and fries with lots and lots of mayonnaise (still doing the mayo thing, btw...I have a couple packets in my purse in case we stop somewhere) and as much chips and guacamole as I could get my hands on. I seemed to have days in a row where I wanted the same thing over and over. Not to say that's weird for me, it's usually just not so compelling.

Then I stopped being able to eat vegetables, so I started trying to come up with other things that aren't terrible for me. Like salads, which weirdly, I can still eat. But that became the week I wanted every possible thing that was greasy or fried, especially crab rangoon. I think we went to the chinese buffet two or three times that week.

After all that abuse, my stomach decided all this fried stuff was crap, and my reward for eating more than a few bites of it would be indigestion, bordering on heartburn. Fair enough. I suppose that was good, since it made me want to look for other alternatives, like fruit, oatmeal, cold cereal, corn, and last night, imitation crab. With a side of butter for dipping, and a tall frosty glass of unsweetened chocolate almond milk.

Yeah, I dunno either. Later on, I had a small caesar salad for a snack. And then a bowl of cereal. With the same almond milk, since I forgot to buy regular milk. It was fine, really. At least it isn't going to waste.

Time to go back to the store and see what I'll be having for lunch. Hmmmm...

Squashed

I had this really great idea for dinner, using ground pork and yellow summer squash and sauteing them together with smoked paprika and chipotles in adobo. The pork turned out about how I had envisioned, and then I added the squash, and...

I can't eat it. I have been having an aversion to most brassica family vegetables, but have found I can eat salad greens, carrots, green beans and asparagus. But apparently, squash is on the chopping block now too. I tried some spaghetti squash a while ago, and managed to choke it down, but I just couldn't do it this time. It's just so nasty. It tasted like I imagined it would when I was a child and refused to eat it. Does that mean I'm regressing?

Thank goodness for prenatal vitamins, or my poor little teeny babylike creature would have nothing nutritious to snack on.

In the Days that Follow

Been having nasty sinus/cough/ear/sneezing business going on in my head. I kind of figured it was just extra mucous from all the water I'm retaining, but apparently there's something nasty living in my sinuses again. I wanted to take some Dramamine for the vertigo I'm getting as a result, so I called the nurse who's handling my pregnancy paperwork at the ob's office. Apparently I'm supposed to direct my questions to her right now and leave my poor ob alone with any and all ridiculous inquiries. She said to go see my primary care physician, which I did, and now have some low-level antibiotics to clean the junk out of there. And as much as I don't like it, apparently the neti pot is really going to be my future. So all is well in my skull, at least it will be, and hopefully it won't have any effect on the growing little bean.

That said, the nausea seems slightly more under control. I'm having to eat very weird for me - heavy carbs in the morning, lots of protein during the day, more carbs before bed. I might need a new bag of gluten free pretzels soon. Still dizzy though, still light headed a little, still hella tired, but I'm starting to feel better - a little. It is my hope that this means I'm getting more used to the hormones, and not some other negative outcome. I'm sure that the queasiness will be back before the trimester is over, oh yes.

A Precious Thing

So it's been a couple days since the ultrasound, and I haven't updated a thing. I've been too exhausted when I get home to do anything other than shower and sleep. Or I feel dizzy and lay down and fall asleep, and there goes my evening. This, along with all the other things I've been feeling, is heralded by my doctor as a very good sign.

And yes, Tuesday, I got the ultrasound. It was one of those things where I went into the appointment, got my exam, answered some questions, asked some questions, and then went in to lay on the table. As I stared at the screen, I suddenly realized that I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see an empty egg sac, a dead baby, or something else tragic. I didn't want to know. It wasn't frightening, it was comforting to be able to hope for the worst and just expect things not to go well. There was no need for confirmation. I didn't want another image like the first one seared into my brain for the rest of my life.

I told my husband I didn't want to look, and he said to just look at him, but that was uncomfortable to do for more than a few seconds. Then the doctor came in with her usual energy, and the tech started the ultrasound, and I didn't have time to look away. Within seconds, there it was. I could see my pelvic bones, of course, and framed inside of them was a lump in a space. They changed the angle a little, and the lump became a curl, a bulbous head with spots, the curl of a spine, and a flicker of movement in its chest like a strobe light.

It was really a baby, and it was alive. In the right place, the right size, the right age, everything. We were just sitting there, talking about it - I think the doctor knows it's best to keep me talking so I don't get all weepy about things - and the tech was finishing up, and then she realized, we hadn't listened to the heartbeat. So back went the probe, and we heard the tiny flutter, beating almost like a bird's heart, and the doctor said that was normal too.

I can't say I really felt anything but relieved. Not really shock, or euphoric joy, or anything like that, just some serious relief that it was over. I had waited for a month and finally, I could see for myself that everything was okay. I could stop worrying about whether there was a baby inside and start worrying about said baby. We almost forgot to pick up the little printout of pictures but, since you've all been so patient...

Part of me wants to say that I'm trying really hard not to get my hopes up, because I know there are a few more weeks to go before things are less likely to go wrong, but it's hard not to be hopeful. I'm sharing this picture with you today because I feel privileged to be able to see this little life, and come what may, that feeling won't change. And it is my privilege to share it with everyone else as well, because this is the first real baby picture I'll ever get to share.

So there is a positive vibe. This little thing is tough - it has survived massive caffeine consumption while I was on vacation, a plane ride to and from California, more caffeine consumption and lifting and packing of boxes, the stress of moving, and all the spicy food I was craving two weeks ago. Wish us luck, keep your fingers crossed, or whatever you feel like sending our way. In the meantime, I'm doing my best to keep in mind that the lousier I feel right now, the more likely it is the baby will stick.

Well, trying to, anyway. Bed now. Too tired to move anymore. Baby took it all.