You're HOW old? Part II

Any woman who has ever been pregnant has had at least a little anxiety - fear even - in the beginning.  To say a had a little anxiety would be the understatement of the century.  When I discovered I was pregnant, I was a "little" anxious, mostly because Joe and I were still living 200 miles apart, and I hadn't experienced pregnancy completely alone.  There was a little worry over making it through the first trimester; in general, most miscarriages occur in the first trimester and the odds of miscarriage are less after the 9th week; but when I arrived home and felt that "whoosh", and discovered that my jeans and the seat of my car covered in blood, I was in full scale terror mode.

My two daughters did not yet know of my pregnancy - although I am now aware that they suspected it.  They didn't say anything when I rushed through the front door and went straight to the bathroom, telling them along the way that we might not be going to Shreveport that evening, and that I may need to go to the doctor.  I called Joe, and though an instant before I had been strangely calm, due to my old habit of blocking any thoughts of what might be happening; but when I heard his voice, I broke down.  I could feel the panic he was feeling, I felt his heart drop when he heard me say "something's wrong".

I called my doctor and was told that since it was after office hours, I should go to the emergency room to find out for sure if I had miscarried.  All I said to the girls was that I was going to the doctor.  They said nothing; they learned over the years that if they personally needed to be concerned, that I would tell them everything.  As long as I looked calm on the outside,  I knew they wouldn't worry.

Surprisingly, I didn't have to wait long in the ER.  I was soon taken back for an ultrasound; it seemed to take forever, and I wasn't going to get any answers from the ultrasound tech; she was there simply to take pictures and let the doctor interpret.  It was killing me not to know.  Later, as I waited in the hospital bed for the doctor to come in with the results, I wanted nothing more than to NOT be in this situation.  What would I do if I lost this baby that Joe and I wanted so much?  How would this affect me later?  How would it affect our relationship?  I prayed until the doctor came in and said "the ultrasound shows a single viable pregnancy".  That feeling - I can't describe it.  I realized I had been holding my breath for quite a while.  This doctor left and another one - the main ER doctor - came in and said "hey, did you know you're pregnant?" and I actually laughed.  He then proceeded to tell me that what had occurred was a subchorionic (sp?) hemorrhage, or implantation bleeding.  The way he began to explain it made me laugh again "there's already a shit-ton of blood in there...."

About the time the doctor left, Joe called.  He was almost frantic, as he had texted me while the doctor was talking to me, and I hadn't responded.   We're ok, I told him, the baby is ok.  And then he said he was gonna kick my ass for making him worry.  :)

A scare like that can change you; it certainly brought home how fragile life really is.  From that moment, every single time I went to the bathroom - and I DO mean every single time, up to the day before our daughter was born - I checked for blood.  I worried almost every waking moment that my body would betray me and I would never get to meet this precious baby growing inside me.  Not helping matters was the fact that since I had been having morning sickness,  I couldn't take my antidepressant, so along with the usual hormonal upheaval of pregnancy, I had budding anxiety that I hadn't experienced in quite a while.  I was unable to just relax and let go of my worry.  Knowing that I had Joe, and knowing that it wouldn't be long before we were together for good helped, if only a little. But that little was got me through the next three months until I made the move from Texas to Louisiana.  I'm sure that having such big changes going on - moving, uprooting my entire life, leaving my job, and being pregnant at my age - all added to my worries and anxiety.

As I sit here watching my baby girl, two months old today, grimace like she's about to have an enormous bowel movement, I think how lucky I am.  It might take much bigger things than the fear of a miscarriage, to make one realize how fragile life is; but for me, that's all it took.  I try to live each day with an "attitude of gratitude" and I am forever thankful that I got to experience the miracle of childbirth again.

You're HOW old??

I have three daughters - Elizabeth is 18, Hannah is 15, and Regan is five weeks.  I have spent the last 15 years telling stories about pregnancy, childbirth, and various baby and toddler antics.  Now I get to do it all over again, and I find myself having a lot of  "oh yeah, I forgot about this part" moments.  Regan was not an "oops" baby.  Joe and I knew it could happen.  When my second daughter was born, I had decided that I did NOT want another baby, but it took meeting Joe for me to realize that I didn't want another baby with my husband at the time.  That is certainly fodder for a future blog.....  When I found out I was pregnant, Joe and I were not yet married.  We weren't even living in the same geographical area.  He was in Shreveport, and I was in Arlington. We were going back and forth every other weekend, and in the past eight months had broken up twice due to the stress of not being able to be together more often - gas prices were high and neither of us were flushed with cash.  The day I discovered I was pregnant I had stayed home from work due to the weather - we had an ice storm and roads were not safe to travel on.  It occured to me around 5pm that day that I was five days late, and I am nothing if not regular.  I braved the roads to drive to the grocery store and buy a pregnancy test.  My toilet was directly across from the bathroom mirror, so as I looked at the test which quickly showed TWO pink lines, I looked up, into the mirror, and to my reflection I said "holy shit!"  Joe was working as a driver for an oilfield services company and was on day two of a shift waiting in line at a disposal site; I wasn't sure I should call at that time, so I texted him.

Me:  When u think u will be home?
Joe:  Maybe 9 or so why?
Me:  Something we need to talk about
Joe:  uh oh. Good or bad?
Me:  Not sure if it's good or bad, maybe a little scary
Joe:  Oh shit

Then I sent him a picture of the positive pregnancy test and he called within about a minute.  I knew it was going to be okay when he said people were looking at him funny because he had this big goofy grin on his face. And I was flip-flopping between thrilled and scared shitless.

I had a job I loved.  I had just bought a house a few months earlier.  But I was willing and ready to give it all up for this man that I loved with all of my heart. It was all sunshine and rainbows until two weeks later when morning sickness hit.  I prayed constantly for it to pass quickly.  And I'm here to tell you that God sat back and said "yeah right".

Our plan was not to tell anyone until I had made it through the first trimester.  We knew the risks of me getting pregnant at my age, and the first trimester is the most critical.  The first day of morning sickness, one of my dear friends and coworkers stopped at my desk ( I had the auspicious honor of being right in the front of the department, nowhere to hide), took one look at me, and said "you're not pregnant are you?"  So there was ONE person who knew. Over the next few weeks I told two more of my girlfriends; it helped to have someone to talk to; I've never been any good at keeping secrets.

On a Friday afternoon in February, I was just getting home from work; the girls and I were going to make the drive to Shreveport for the weekend.  As I stepped out of the car, I felt a gush; when I looked down, my lap and my jeans were covered in blood.

To be continued.....

The Dawdle Sisters

The Dawdle Sisters is the name my dad gave to my two oldest daughters when they were younger.  It fit quite well then and still does.  At 18 and 15, they have perfected the art of dawdling and taken it to a new level. I can already see that my five-week-old daughter has inherited the dawdling gene because she takes about 30 minutes to fully wake from a nap. (Apparently the gene comes my own family; I can't blame it on my first husband which would have been convenient).

I'm a stay at home mom for the first time in 15 years, and I'm looking for things to occupy my time in between caring for my new daughter.  Hopefully sleep deprivation won't muddle my thinking too badly and I'll be able to entertain you people. :)