So here I am. It's February. It's cold. I am 6 weeks pregnant, I have a tiny picture of my little sea money and her volleyball. I am still terrified.
8 weeks pregnant. I have more nightmares. I take my vitamins and aspirin and pills religiously. I have never been so diligent with my diet. I crave salt like I could never have imagined. At one point, I honestly contemplated licking the dried salt off my dirty car. It was just sitting in the parking lot of my apartment complex, all crusted over with months of road salt and sand and snow all compounded into a delicious, dirty crust, and I have to tell myself out loud not to eat it. The non-pregnant me despises salt. I am nauseous, but am not sure if it's the hormones or the constant worry that this wonderful thing will disappear forever again.
3 am. A cold Wednesday night. I love those kind of winter nights, the kind where it's too cold to breath and all the moisture is crystalized, so that everything, from tree branches to trash bags sparkle. And it is so quite outside that your own body seems obnoxiously noisy. I wake up from a deep sleep with the sensation of being wet, very wet. I bolt upright, still half asleep but all the same knowing what was happening. Blood. Everywhere. All over my bed. I stand up, run to the bathroom and turn on the light, brace myself as I turn to look in the mirror. More blood, gushes of blood. Its over now, no doubt. I clean up and go sit in bed, staring out the window at this perfect winter night. Mark wakes up and I tell him its over...I'm still staring out the window. I don't want to look at him, I don't want him to look at me. All I want to do is stare at the sparkles.
I'm not crying, I'm numb. Our dream is over, I am done. Never again, I won't go through this again, I promised myself.
Time passes, Mark wants to take me to the hospital. I refuse. Why? So that it's real? So that I have to hear what I already know, so that some cold doctor can tell me with the same amount of compassion that Barbie Bitch gave me that I am no longer a mother? No...no. Not again.
We finally go. I start thinking I may have to think about my own health, though truthfully I couldn't give a shit at the moment. We go. To the ER in the very hospital where we both worked/have worked. Mark's former co-workers are everywhere. Of course they recognize us, of course they will probably overhear. Of course they know something is very wrong because I am crying now and we don't talk to anyone, don't smile or nod. This is not like us, so of course, they know. I know they know. I failed again.
The doctor comes in, does an exam. Says he can't feel anything significant. Nice, what the hell does that mean. They don't have an ultrasound machine here. Well, they tell me its on maternity and they can not get it now (because maternity is an entire flight up from the ER, really?) They don't even have a doppler to check for a heartbeat. So that's it, I go back to my own doctor in the morning for an ultrasound...for now I am sent home...I don't sleep.
The ride to my doctor's office is quiet...I still don't want to talk. I still feel this strange buzz inside me, I feel my body pulsate like it never has before, and for some reason, I have hope this morning.
Back in the room, the same ultrasound tech. I hold my breath, Mark is standing so very still. The tech smiles and my heart just melted into my chest. "your baby is dancing" and she turned the screen. There was my sea monkey, though now it looks exactly like a peanut shell. That same flicker is much more visible now. I am staring so hard, and I see it. Our peanut is wiggling in a slow wave. Mark is crying now, which I never see him do. Again, I am a mother, and I think he finally realized he was a father. We float out of the office. We nickname our baby Ceci, for chickpea.
10 weeks. More bleeding. I am at work and I feel that horrifying, all too familiar feeling. Back to my lovely OB. ANother ultrasound. Now our ceci is out of the peanut stage and looks like a tiny baby, with flipper arms and legs. I never lost my faith that time,our baby is too strong, but I am worried. I am fascinated by how much this little chickpea changes every two weeks. I see my amazing doctor again. I have a couple diagnoses. One, a small subchorionic bleed, she shows me on the ultrasound picture gripped my hand. My sweet Ceci's head is resting on a pillow, which she tells me is actually a pocket of blood. But it is too small to explain my large quantities of blood and frequent bleeds. She speculates its a placental issue. I should take it easy, I shouldn't be upright as much as possible. I can work but my feet need to be elevated as much as possible. And we are advised to cancel our cruise we should be on in a couple weeks, she is so apologetic, but I don't mind much. I would trade a cruise for a baby any day.
12 weeks, the big ultrasound. I have been feeling better. No more large bleeds and we have our own doppler so we can listen to our baby's heartbeat every night. It feels so good to hear that sound. We see our Ceci again, who now looks even more like a little person. She is sleeping and the tech has to push and wiggle and poke her to get measurements. Ceci looks like a cartoon, sleeping, the rise and fall of her little body, floating. I can't stop staring, I never want the picture to end.
20 weeks. Ultrasound. Mark and I decided early on we do not want to know the gender. Our nursery is sea life and blue and green and beautiful. Shells from our honeymoon are nailed to the walls and piled in bowls in the room. Books about the sea and its creatures line the shelves. I can't believe this is our child's room.
We see Ceci again, though we can no longer call her that because she is so big. We see her face for the first time, her legs, arms feet. Its all too amazing. She can't get a good face shot. The tech is a bit rough, its painful but I want to see more. More bad news, I have complete placenta previa. Another explanation for my heavy bleeding. At least I have another answer.
In a moment of weakness I ask the tech the gender. She manipulates my belly over and over...but the baby's legs are sealed shut. I get up, go to the bathroom, jump up and down, drink juice...nothing. Our lazy baby is still snoozing away. I am crushed, I need to know. I walk out tearful. I show my sister the pictures and comment on how much the baby looks like Mark. To this day she still thinks I was upset because of my child's resemblance to her father. But I wanted to have girl now, so badly I couldn't think about anything else.
I didnt always feel this way. In the beginning all I could think of was having a boy. I became rather annoyed when people said I looked to be carrying a girl. What did they know? I am having a boy....period. Until one day I woke up and wanted a girl, more badly than I had wanted my boy. I wanted to buy pink clothes and bows and snuggle my baby girl. I am now obsessed with having a girl, and I have to know, and I can't. Add in my pregnancy hormones and the heat and I am not a happy or pleasant person. My mother is convinced we are having a girl, she even filled my baby's closet with pink, organic outfits she bought when I was only 9 weeks pregnant. I think she is crazy, but try to stop my mother from buying baby clothes and you'd only encourage her more.
I have another ultrasound at 26 weeks, placenta is still firmly in place and is very unlikely to move. We start talking about c-sections. Because of my history, my OB says we may have to go as early at 32 weeks if the baby is struggling. I am as inactive as I can possibly be. I am swelling up. My feet, my fingers. At one point I attempt to remove the beautiful wedding rings from my hand. After many lotions, potions and tricks, no one is able to take it off. My skin is raw and bleeding. We make the trip to a jewelry store 40 minutes away to have some old man cut the rings off my fat fingers. We shop for baby clothes while he welds the rings back together. My doctor calls, I have borderline gestational diabetes. I passed the big test, but not by much. More good news.
I research placenta previa. It happens in 2% of pregnancies, gestational diabetes happens in 1%. Those are some odds I am beating. And then, some good news. My placenta is moving...it shouldn't, but it is. Over the next few weeks it moves little by little until finally, it is the required 3 cm away from the cervix (6 cm, actually). C-section is off!
More ultrasounds. I am absolutely huge. My feet are unrecognizably swollen. My hands and face are as well. I am happily reading all about labor. I want med free, hypno-birthing. I read all about the history of birthing, autobiographies by midwives and listen to my tapes, attend my childbirth classes. I buy special lotions and oils to help me through my labor. I can't contain my excitement. When will it happen? How will it happen, where will I be? I pack, unpack and repack my bag. Over and over. I fold onesies and boil pacifiers and rearrange my apartment daily. I buy birthing tapes and balls and hire a doula.
We are getting closer. We have known our baby was breech since 26 weeks. We are told over and over that she will turn, we have time. Every week, she is still breech. I have hope, I know she will turn. I am going natural if it kills me. I listen to my tapes, do my pregnancy yoga and dream about the day I will meet my baby.
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