On the Mend

I am less pregnant than I was on Monday.  That's good news! The results of my blood test on Monday showed a continued rise in my hCG level from the Friday before, but I was told that's normal even a few days after the initial methotrexate treatment.  What my doctor was hoping to see was a 15% drop in my hCG level between day four of treatment (Monday) and day seven of treatment (today) and my drop was 34%.  Never have I been so happy to be not (less) pregnant.  I'll need to have weekly blood draws until my hCG levels hit zero, but my follow-up exam indicates that I'm recovering from the ectopic pregnancy as well as my doctor was hoping. 

Today is the best I've felt in two weeks, especially compared with this last week.  My doctor warned me there would be a lot of cramping, but my gosh, I wasn't expecting flashbacks of my labor with Soren.  Remember those contractions that really started to hurt?  That's what it felt like.  I looked at my body and wanted to scream at myself, "There's not even a baby in there!"

As particularly painful and uncomfortable as that first wave of cramping was, I've never experienced being so comforted by my own child like I was by Soren.  Chris was out with Oliver and Soren had just woken up from his nap, so I pulled him out of his crib and laid in my bed with him.  I held him tightly and clasped his fists in mine as my tears fell onto the soft, wisps of curls forming on the back of his head.  I was sure he'd want to get up and play, but he contently lay there snuggled with mom and thankfully oblivious to my pain.  I was so thankful to have this sweet little boy to hug and hold.

Tylenol, the only pain-reliever I was allowed to take, was also a great comfort.  It was enough to take the edge off and allow me to be functional, but there were periods this past week where let's just say I was grumpy.   I can't wait to be back to my normal self. 

Ectopic Pregnancy Treatment

My hCG levels have continued to rise, so despite another inconclusive ultrasound, my OB was confident that I have an ectopic pregnancy and the best course of action was immediate treatment.  Surgery was not an option since she couldn't tell where the egg had even implanted.  Treating with an injection of methotrexate, which is essentially a cancer drug, is the best option, even though I'll need follow-up testing and additional doses if the first one doesn't work. 

I was hesitant to immediately pursue any sort of treatment though.  If the egg hadn't implanted where it was supposed to, how could it even survive?  It just didn't make sense to me. I felt like immediate treatment had to be unnecessary.  But that's the unfair part about an ectopic pregnancy I learned.  The egg usually continues to grow despite no chance of long-term survival and the fatal risk of eventual rupture.  Even though I wasn't in pain, "wait and see" was not the recommended approach.

So I could put my options in perspective, I asked my doctor what happened to women with ectopic pregnancies "back in the day."  Before ultrasounds, doctors had no way to detect an ectopic pregnancy early on, she explained, and they were usually diagnosed when a woman showed up in the emergency room with severe abdominal pain and then they were treated with emergency surgery.  Before the era of modern surgery - women often died.  Chris and I appreciated her bluntness. I opted for the injections of methotrexate.

Before I could start on the methotrexate, I needed another blood draw to test my liver function, so Chris and I went out for lunch while we waited for the tests to come back. It's rare Chris and I have a quiet meal together, just the two of us, and I appreciated even more having that break in between what was hours of waiting, prods and pokes and consultations with doctors and nurses.  We talked about how frustrating it is to come so close to what should have been a healthy, complication-free pregnancy and how sad Chris is about not having more biological children when he thinks about what great kids Oliver and Soren are.  I sometimes feel like I'm throwing in the towel too early, but my heart just isn't in it anymore. 

As much as I'm looking forward to moving on, I need to focus in the immediate future on getting better.  With a prescription of Zofran on hand in case I become nauseated, I'm taking it easy the next couple of days and am keeping my fingers crossed this round of treatment is successful. 

Technically Still Pregnant

Despite how upset I was to learn that I was miscarrying, once it happened, I wanted it to be over.  I've already missed spent as much time at my OB's office as I have at work and I'm ready to go back to my normal routine. Except that I'm still technically pregnant.  The physical symptoms I was experiencing indicated a miscarriage, but blood tests showed rising levels of hCG, a hormone produced during pregnancy.  My OB suspects I have an ectopic pregnancy, which means the fertilized egg implanted in my fallopian tube instead of my uterus, and thus can't survive.  I haven't decided which is worse, knowing the reason for the miscarriage or knowing that there was likely nothing wrong with what could have grown to become our baby other than that the cluster of cells missed landing in the right spot. 

An ectopic pregnancy is serious, but luckily hasn't reached the level of emergency yet and there's a chance my body will sort everything out on its own.  If not, after my next ultrasound and a blood draw to test my hCG level, my OB hopes to be able to treat me with methotrexate instead of surgery.  With either scenario, I'll have multiple OB visits over the next couple of weeks to make sure the treatment worked.  I didn't realize this process could drag on for so long. 

This experience is helping me feel more at peace with our decision to pursue adoption.  It can take longer to conceive after an ectopic pregnancy and I'm more likely to have another one, so I'm relieved not to add that to the long list of all the things I worry about.  Instead of feeling frustrated at the prospect of starting over, adoption gives me something to look forward to. 

Soul Searching

For two weeks I let myself be excited about expecting another baby.  How could I not?  Chris and I had wanted another baby and it was exhilarating when we decided we were going to go for number three.  When I found out I was pregnant, it's simply my nature to go into planner mode.  Chris and I talked about childcare, maternity leave and what to do about the kids' rooms.  I started a running list in my head of all the things we needed to tackle before Christmas.  Then dizziness, cramping and spotting ensued and by the time I rushed to the doctor in the middle of the work day, I knew in my gut the pregnancy was over.  I was crushed. 

When I talked with my OB, she asked me what our plans are for trying again, and I told her I didn't think I wanted to. Chris and I had talked about adoption before, although we'd never seriously looked into it.  She looked at me and very compassionately said, "I think adoption is a wonderful option. You were not happy when you were pregnant." I wish Chris had been there to hear her say that. I had never kept quiet my dislike of pregnancy, but it was a sentiment even I never took seriously.  My doctor hadn't seen me in a year and a half, yet my unhappiness was one of the things she remembered about me.

If anything good can come from losing a pregnancy I really did want so badly, it is that it forced Chris and me to do some soul-searching.  We want more children, that we can agree on. But where should we go from here? We could wait a month or two and try again. And I would most likely have a successful pregnancy, or I could possibly not. Or we could talk seriously about adoption.
I had to be honest with Chris that not only did I prefer not to be pregnant again, but that I thought it would be too hard on our family if I did.           

I'm ready for a new direction, but, honestly, the unknown scares me.  I don't trust that Chris is yet emotionally committed to adoption as he assures me he is.  And we both worry about the money, waiting and uncertainty involved with the process.  This is a moment in my life where I wished I had a crystal ball and could catch a glimpse of the future and see if adoption works out for us.  I've acknolwedged to myself that I really have no desire to ever be pregnant again, yet I don't know if I would ever be at peace stopping at two. 

I think about the wonderful family I have and how lucky I am that I have two happy, healthy and lovable kids.  Chris and I can continue to have a great life even if we stop now.  We developed a comfortable routine based on a two-kid family, each kid has his own bedroom in our cozy little house, we have daycare figured out and we live a comfortable lifestyle.  All outward signs tell us, "Stop, you have it good!"  Yet even if I don't want any more biological children, my heart knows I'm not finished having children.  So the soul-searching continues. 

I love not being pregnant

Chris has a wise cousin who, with three kids of her own, offers pieces of wisdom or encouragement regarding pregnancy or parenting just when I need them most.  The first time I saw her when I was pregnant with Soren, I was halfway through.  I had already endured a very rough first trimester and a half and was already into the "hugeness" stage when I saw her.  I was uncomfortable and, honestly, I wasn't loving pregnancy much.

She hadn't known I was pregnant and my protruding stomach's announcement caused a lot of excitement and rounds of "Congratulations!"  I tried to keep talk of my pregnancy positive and upbeat, but when the usual pregnancy chit chat subsided, she turned to me and said, "I'm so much more comfortable now that I'm not pregnant."  That's exactly what I needed to hear.

She had given birth to her third child four months earlier and looked as equally relaxed, happy and healthy post-pregnancy and she did during.  At the time, I had forgotten what it was like to not have to go to the bathroom every half an hour, eat a decent-sized meal and not feel uncomfortably full, and not stop for a breather going up a flight of stairs.  I really didn't believe her, but she assured me it was going to be better, even when you're trading sleep deprivation due to fatigue and being too uncomfortable to sleep with up-all-night with a baby sleep deprivation.

Now that I'm not pregnant anymore, you know what, I can say she was right.  And I want to sing it from the rooftops.  I'M SO MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE (AND HAPPIER) NOW THAT I'M NOT PREGNANT! 

I still have a ways to go to feeling awesome though. I have a lot of weight to lose until I can feel good about the way I look and my physical recovery has been a frustrating process. I'm still feeling sore enough that I don't think I can handle more than walking for exercise.  Which is a bummer for someone who after nearly a year of not getting any type of exercise that would break a sweat wants to experience a runner's high again.  Sleep is slowly getting better, although eight hours of consecutive sleep feels like an unattainable goal.  But at least I don't feel like a zombie in the morning now that Soren is sleeping in longer than one-to-two-hour stretches.  And I'm not experiencing pregnancy fatigue.  Hallelujah for that.  When I was pregnant, I never felt rested, even with eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.  I'm amazed at how much better I feel now, even though my sleep is always interrupted and I consider six hours of sleep a good night.  

The waiting game

House renovations are never supposed to stay on schedule, but the only timely deliveries we've been able to count on in our life right now have been related to our basement renovation. Contractors and inspectors have shown up on time, special orders we were told would take a month arrived at least a week ahead of time, and those dreaded four-hour windows you're quoted for special deliveries or service calls haven't been a problem since everyone has arrived at more or less the beginning of the estimated time frame. This baby has been our only late delivery.

I prepared myself for the long haul, and even though babies coming late is completely normal, I am getting frustrated now that I'm a couple days over my due date. When I look at my calender and see the c-section typed in for a week from today, it's difficult for me not to think, "What if this baby never comes?" I never thought I'd be still pregnant anywhere close to October 14.

I want to try to enjoy this time before the baby comes, but honestly, I'm really bored. With my energy drained and the anxiety of going into labor at any point, the once-packed social calendar Oliver and I kept is mostly empty. Every day is a repeat of the same - wake up, realize I haven't gone into labor, and then plan a day that revolves around taking Oliver to the park and trying to suppress the guilt over all the things I could be doing to prepare for the baby's arrival, but won't do for lack of energy.

The tail-end of this pregnancy has been far from exciting for me, but after the internal debate I had with myself over whether to pursue a VBAC or a planned c-section, I still feel like I made the right choice. I will surely be very disappointed if I end up needing a c-section before going into labor, but the upside about the baby coming late is that any earlier was not the right time for him/her to come into this world. Planning a c-section earlier in my pregnancy would have given me some control over an experience that is as unpredictable as it is predictable. I could have picked a date and focused my type-A personality around the big day. But that scenario is not what felt right for me, even though much of my frustration and impatience is rooted in trying to accept the unknown.

Despite my confidence in my decision to pursue a VBAC, I'm still sensitive about it, because I want to feel supported, not like I'm inconveniencing anyone. Even though there shouldn't be more or less value placed on attempting a VBAC versus a repeat c-section, my guess is that the latter is still the more common scenario, even among women who have the choice between the two. With the unpredictability of an arrival date for a vaginal birth, I imagine everyone from well-wishers to called-upon helpers breathing a sigh or relief when a woman with the choice chooses a c-section. I chose a VBAC for many reasons, but not because I wanted unpredictability, and I often feel like I'm managing everyone else's expectations as much as my own.

For someone who's a planner and thrives on predictability, I'm left to just wait. So much in life we want to manage, fix or alter in attempt for the perfect solution, but a friend reminded me, this is a situation where doing nothing and just waiting is the right solution.

Due date

Today marks my due date, and proves wrong my doctor's prediction that I'd go early, and even my gut feeling that I'd be adding another September birthday to the family.

When a friend reached her due date, she announced she was treating the date like her birthday, as in she doesn't have to [insert chore] because it's her due date. Pretty much whatever she could get away with not doing, she wasn't doing. I have the same attitude, but I reached that point at 37 weeks. I'm sure that makes me come across as lazy or self-indulged, but the change in mind-set represents a big shift from what I'd been trying to do before, which was everything, without acknowledging that being pregnant with a full-term baby has its limits. Everything from chores to errands is more tiring when your body is working overtime and it's uncomfortable to move, and making dinner loses its appeal when nothing sounds appetizing and you can't do more than snack. So I finally gave myself permission to cut myself some slack.

Meanwhile, all there is to do is wait. I'm reasonably cool with that because I know everything is only going to get harder once the baby comes. However, the downsides of feeling like I'm in a holding pattern are that I find it difficult to make plans and I never know when I should be ready to go. I have a little circle of friends from my moms group who I feel comfortable making tentative plans with, which is a blessing, because they can cater to my energy level and Oliver gets some much-needed social time with other kids. At home I'm trying to stay on top of daily household chores. I'm find myself doing things like running a half-full dishwasher or washer because I'd prefer to have things as clean as possible when it's time to leave for the hospital....whenever that will be....

Anxieties

A friend of mine is nearly halfway through her second pregnancy and as we talked about my impending due date, she turned to me and asked, "Are you not terrified? I can't wrap my head around the concept of taking care of two kids."

Of course I'm terrified. Some days I feel moments of excitement, but yeah, I'm mostly just terrified. When I was pregnant with Oliver, I daydreamed about all the wonderful moments I'd have with a new baby. Looking back at those innocent, pre-child days gives more meaning to the saying, "Ignorance is bliss." Now I know what I'm in for with a newborn, which is scary enough, but like my friend, I really can't wrap my head around the reality of such a scenario as being up all night with a newborn and then being up again at 6:30 a.m. to spend a non-stop 12 hours with a toddler. I know it'll be easier when they're older, but the needs and schedules of newborns/babies and toddlers conflict with each other and are both demanding.

And I have plenty of other anxieties to keep me awake at night. My main worry is not the possibility of a c-section itself, but the recovery from abdominal surgery, which was a particularly difficult time for me the first time. I was generally in a lot of pain and couldn't do many things for myself. But Oliver's needs as a newborn were rather straight-forward and I had the luxury (even if it didn't seem like it then) of slowly tending to him and making him the priority, even as it felt like the rest of the house was falling apart around me.

As I go about my day with Oliver, I'm realizing that recovering from a surgery and taking care of him in any way will not be possible. Other than when he's sleeping, I'm engaged in a string of tasks that involve sprinting, bending, lunging, grabbing and heavy lifting. I'm kneeling on the floor and bending down to change diapers, lifting him him into his car seat, booster seat, or onto the couch because he sees me lounging there and wants to sit there too, fending off body slams when he gets punchy and thinks running into me or trying to jump on me is funny, and chasing him down the sidewalk when he decides he'd rather not go directly to the car after all.

I'm used to be able/having to take care of everything at home, but it hasn't always been easy and little things like a cold or a missed nap can knock in control out of control. So of course trying to imagine how exactly a major life change like a second baby will affect my life is exciting, but, yes, also terrifying.

38 weeks

Well, 38 weeks and four days to be exact and I already feel like I'm sitting around just waiting for this baby to come. And waiting I'll just have to do since the doctor doesn't think I'll go into labor in the next week and suggested I schedule next week's appointment and the following week's as well. I'm still a week and a half out from my due date, so I don't have much reason for impatience or panic, but perhaps my expectations (and more so my husband's) had been adjusted by the previous prediction that I'd go early.

But then again, there's always something that still needs to be done and I'm thankful for the extra time. That is if I actually had the energy to do anything productive! In addition to already feeling so darn tired all the time, the cold I caught recently has zapped me of any remaining energy. I look around the house and think about all the typical "nesting" projects you hear about women undertaking - deep cleaning, preparing and freezing meals for after delivery, organizing - and I just don't have the energy for it.

At least all the must-dos I was stressing about months ago, like transitioning Oliver to a bed (so we could reuse the crib) and setting up the baby's room, have been accomplished. And I'm trying to come to peace with the other bigger projects that aren't going to get finished, like the office/guest bedroom, which has become a disorganized, defacto storage room, (just like the old office was) and the basement renovation, which has come as far as we could have gotten it given the long lead times for special orders on finishes. Chris put a lot of sweat equity into the basement, and it wouldn't have come as far as it has without his "weekend warrior" renovation work ethic, but gosh, I did my part by milking this pregnancy all I could to keep the project moving as quickly as possible. Every contractor, inspector with the City of St. Paul, and employee of Home Depot could pick me out of a lineup of the hundreds of people they deal with a day and then quote you my due date. I started every request for quick turnaround with, "I'm due on October 3 and..."

Reflections on pregnancy

At the end of my pregnancy with Oliver, I never had a chance to reflect on it, because an early deliver took me by surprise and suddenly it was all over. I had gotten to the point where I really thought I was going to be pregnant forever, and then I wasn't. So just in case I go into labor sooner than expected, (although just by writing this I've jinxed myself into going 42 weeks) I wanted to put something on record.

I can pretty much sum up my feelings with, I still don't like being pregnant and the answer is always, beautiful as always. But for all the complaining I've done, I am thankful I've had the experience(s) of being pregnant, because it's truly an experience I believe you can't fully appreciate until you've lived it yourself. It's all at once a responsibility, a thrill, a pain, a magnet for attention, and a source of bonding with any other woman who's ever given birth to a baby.

Being pregnant has also intensified my belief in choice - for people to use advances in reproductive medicine to conceive, and more so, for women to chose whether they want to become pregnant or stay pregnant.

37 weeks and on borrowed time

I reached 37 weeks on Monday, a major milestone since the baby is now considered to be full term, and already feel like I'm borrowed time because of the paranoia that I could go into labor at any moment. Based on my 36-week appointment last week, my doctor didn't think I was going to give birth any time in the next couple of days (disappointing my mother-in-law who thought a 9-10-11 birthday would be really cool). But the prediction is still that I could go early. And there's still so much to do, both in actual preparations for the baby (like finishing the baby's room) and things I'd feel at peace knowing they were taken care of now (typical nesting projects focused on reogranization and cleaning).

The good news that came out of last week's appointment is that the baby's head is down, (so no breech baby) which took the ultrasound technician a nanosecond to confirm. She took some additional pictures and meausrements to pass along to my doctor and everything looks as it should be.

The hurdle is that I tested positive for Group B Strep, of which about 25% of healthy women are carriers. There are generally no symptoms and you can test negative during one pregnancy (the case with Oliver) and positive the next, so most women are tested around 36 weeks since a few weeks prior to the due date is the best point at which to predict the GBS status at the time of delivery. The risk is that GBS can be passed along to a baby during delivery. Women who test positive are therefore given antibiotics at least four hours before delivery. This could be difficult for women who want to labor as long as possible at home or who end up with very short labors, but I'm not seeing either being an issue for me.

Maternity photos

Maternity photographs are not for me. Some women take photographs of themselves weekly throughout pregnancy and others post "belly pics" on Facebook. And there's a niche in the photography business for maternity photos. No matter how many people will try to tell me how beautiful pregnancy is, gaining tons of weight, losing seemingly all muscle tone and wearing ill-fitting maternity clothes is not the time I care to be photographed, especially to pay to be photographed.

If I've ever felt guilty about thinking a maternity photo session would be cheesy or awkward for me, this blog entry on Awkward Maternity Photos
let me put any regrets to rest. And gave me a really good laugh!

Ultimately, I've felt compelled during both pregnancies to have the standard sideways-pose-showcasing-protruding-stomach shots to be taken. I doubt I'll look back at them with any overwhelming sentimentality, (Awww....look how big I was. I miss those days.) but, hey, I have them. And they're tasteful enough that I'm hoping my kids won't someday upload them to a site like awkwardfamilyphotos.com.

Jealousy

I hate to admit this, but there's a little jealousy brewing at my house and I'm not sure what to do about it. I have little energy and my social life has withered, while Chris continues to be able to stay out late with friends - and also function the next morning. Some of my problem has to do with my attitude. I don't take much initiative with my social life anymore, because I'm wary of looking like a flake by backing out of plans if I'm too tired, or there are few activities I think would be of interest to my friends that fit my need to be indoors when it's really hot, not be too physically tiring and not occur too late (i.e. after 7:00 p.m.). So yes, I could have a better attitude, but when I feel like I'm going to fall asleep at the table during a rare night out with friends, it's difficult to feel like the life of the party - feels instead like defeat for a naturally social person.

As my non-pregnant other half goes to bars and parties with friends, takes up an offer for free tickets to a baseball game with a mere two-hour's notice, plays in a rec sports league and goes out for an impromptu beer or dinner after games and gets to entertain the idea of a multi-night canoe trip, yup I'm feeling left out. Obviously the answer isn't to forbid him from having any fun, but I don't know how to let go of the jealousy I feel because his hobbies and social life haven't changed while mine have.

This baby has an eviction date

My 32-week ultrasound appointment was routine and quick. Just one of those, how are you feeling, let's listen to the baby's heartbeat kind of appointments. I told my doctor I decided I'm going for a TOLAC, (trial of labor after cesarean) because I can't sign myself up for surgery with the thought that I have the chance for a successful vaginal delivery. I found myself so miserable during the recovery from my c-section with Oliver that I still can't believe that planned c-sections are usually easier, despite what friends who've had repeat c-sections have assured me.

My doctor remains in full support of letting me go into labor and seeing what happens, but because she wouldn't recommend an induction in my case, says a c-section will be necessary if labor doesn't start on its own. She recommended scheduling a c-section right before my 42nd week (two weeks past my due date), just so I have the date and time I want on the calendar. If I want my OB to perform the c-section, I had a choice between a Tuesday or a Friday, so I decided on the last Friday before my 42nd week, October 14. This date is special for me because it was Oliver's due date.

But like Oliver, my OB's guess is that baby #2 will come early as well, so putting a c-section on the calendar is merely scheduling an eviction notice, should I get to that point.

Pregnancy fatigue

"I'm more tired this time around" is a common refrain heard from moms experiencing their second pregnancy. I had prided myself on my energy level when pregnant with Oliver, but this time around, yes, I understand what women are talking about when they say they're more tired. That would be an understatement for me.

I have hit a few points during this pregnancy where a doctor would have probably diagnosed me with exhaustion (during that supposedly energetic second trimester, no less). And even without nausea, the first trimester (and then some) was miserable with the fatigue alone. I've been doing a lot better these past few weeks, but mostly I'm just really, really tired, and that's still no fun. I try to sleep 9-10 hours a night and don't go out anymore past sunset and yet I still never feel rested.

Maybe others who've been pregnant with a second kid would agree, but I think the biggest difference (not accounting for the fact that no two pregnancies are alike) is that it takes so much more energy when you're responsible for a toddler. When you're already a parent, there are fewer opportunities to slow down or take a break, even when you know you need it. Because I was pregnant with Oliver at the exact same point I'm pregnant with this one, I make a lot of comparisons, like not remembering being this hot or worn out by the heat. But last time I could wear myself out with a walk in the summer heat, because I knew I could spend however long I needed to recuperating in front of a fan with a cold drink in hand and taking a refreshing shower. Now just thinking about wrestling Oliver in and out of a stroller and the house just to go on a walk tires me out. I feel like I'm always conserving what little energy I have just to make sure I have a enough to meet Oliver's needs for 12 hours a day. (Thank goodness he still sleeps 12 hours at night!)

Thankfully Chris has loads of energy - enough to seemlingly to pick up my slack. He plays with Oliver outside in the afternoon heat, cheerfully reads books or colors with him and chases him around and plays other silly games, all while I sometimes feel like I can do nothing more than sit slumped in a chair. We're also talking about hiring a babysitter before Chris goes back to school. We know we'll need the help once the new baby arrives, and we'd like to give Oliver time to warm up to someone new, but I know having some time off here and there before the baby comes will be good for me too.

3-hour glucose test

Rob Lowe is lit-er-ly amazing. (Parks and Rec reference there, for those who don't watch the show.) The first of the three hours of sitting in my OB's office couldn't have gone by any slower, but once I settled into Lowe's autobiography, Stories I Only Tell My Friends, I managed to forget about hunger, thirst and boredom. The friend who lent me the book had told me, "Even if you don't feel like reading, just stare at his picture on the back cover." I turned the book over. It was indeed a flattering picture.

The good news is that I passed the test. The tough part is that my doctor recommended I not gain much more weight. She's not worried that I'll have a huge baby, like the concern would be for a patient with gestational diabetes, but the fact is, the more the weight gain, the bigger the baby.

Sigh...easier said than done. I still feel traumatized from the experience of eight weeks of nausea and my survival instinct now equates hunger with nausea. That combined with the fact that I spend my days in close proximity to the pantry with a toddler who eats all the time, makes the obstacles of maintaining a healthy diet different than those I dealt with when I was pregnant with Oliver. I'm trying not to let myself be overwhelmed and am instead focusing on what I can manage.

Bumpy Road Through Pregnancy

I'd been working on an entry about how not fun this pregnancy has been for me, but it was becoming too long and whiny. So maybe I'll spare you, my reader, and just save it and promise myself I'll reread it before deciding whether to try to get pregnant again. Although it's frustrating that I still can't stay up past 8:00 p.m. and it's embarrassing how rapidly my physical fitness has declined, the good news is that I'm physically feeling a lot better. Not awesome, but better. The worst of it - eight weeks of nausea, fatigue and food aversions - has passed. I'm over a bad cold, and the rhinitis, while not gone, is maneagable, especially in comparison to the state I was in before I kicked the nasal spray addiction. I still struggle with the feeling that I'm not being the best mom to Oliver when I have so little energy, but with the end of Chris's hectic work travel less than two months away, we'll manage.

While I was trying to document the last couple of months, I came across an article on babble.com, "Bumpy Road," written by a woman whose experience being prengant sounds a lot like mine. Why write when someone else has written it so much better, right? Besides, she's a lot funnier.

http://www.babble.com/pregnancy/pregnancy-health/bumpy-road-pregnancy-changes-everything/

Failed the one-hour glucose test

My pregnancy with Oliver went so smoothly that my OB told me she was waiting for me to come in with a complaint. I ran into a few unavoidable issues in the end, experienced some mild morning sickness in the beginning and generally slowed down and grew more tired as the weeks went on, but looking back, I realize it was, relatively-speaking, a smooth ride.

The downside of having a normal first pregnancy is that experience has become the benchmark for what a "good" pregnancy should be. Good, as in, everything I did "right" that time. It's been tough to live up to. Morning sickness? Worse and longer. Weight gain? Sooner and more. Exercise? Didn't happen for week-long stretches (due to fatigue and all-day sickness) and then sporadically since. So when I failed my one-hour glucose test at 28 weeks, I was defeated.

The glucose test screens women for gestational diabetes, which is a serious condition because of the complications it can cause for mom, baby and delivery. Even though women with gestational diabetes are well-monitored by their doctors and can have healthy babies and uncomplicated deliveries, what worries me is that researchers are now discovering that women and their children are more likely to develop Type II Diabetes later in life if mom had gestational diabetes. Even though the condition goes away upon delivery, there could be long-term effects.

Of course I haven't actually be diagnosed with gestational diabetes, and as Chris tried to reassure me, 85% of women who fail the one-hour test, pass the three-hour test, (at least, according to Google) so I know I shouldn't beat myself up over this first screening. Yet I can't help wonder if I could have done something differently. Could I have eaten better or gotten more exercise? Let's just say, no one thinks of lean triathletes when they think diabetic. Plus, if I don't pass this second test, the opportunity to try for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) is off the table.

But I'm also frustrated, because the three-hour test is a pain. When you already have a kid, a husband who travels, few morning childcare options and a window of three to seven days to take the other test, the scheduling and logistics of it was equally as stress-inducing as the fasting will be. Even Chris has joked about fleeing with Oliver before I come home from the test, because I'll not have eaten since the night before (or been allowed much to drink)....well, I don't blame him.

Boy or Girl?

I love surprises and Chris doesn't. Since the suspense of my last pregnancy just about darn did him in, we've made the decision to find out the sex of the baby at my 20-week ultrasound. I realized that Chris feels more strongly about finding out the sex than I do about keeping it a surprise. Sure, a part of me wishes we both wanted to wait until the birth to find out the sex, but I've also accepted the idea that I will still be surprised, just 20 weeks earlier.

But not all the fun with surprises is lost. I love surprising people more than being surprised, so we compromised about finding out the sex at 20 weeks by agreeing that we wouldn't tell anyone what we're having. Chris will feel more relaxed just knowing and I can revel in the suspense before the big reveal of the sex, the name and of course, the birthday, which not even we can know for sure ahead of time, all at once. Being able to announce to friends and family who had no idea what we were having or even what names we were seriously considering that we'd had a boy named Oliver was one of the most special moments of his birth. (Of course, having him earlier than even I had expected I think helped up the ante of surprise when the announcement came.) I couldn't think of doing it any differently the second time around.

And just like not telling anyone your name choices avoids unsolicited opinions about those choices, the same goes for letting the birth of the child reveal the sex. If folks feels sorry for me because I had another boy or for my husband because he, gasp, had a girl, they're about as likely to admit that after the baby is born as they are to admit they think Oliver is a silly name.

Honestly, I don't have even an inkling of preference for one sex over the other. I could end up with all boys and would be perfectly happy and not think that my job as a parent was easier or more difficult, or more or less interesting or fulfilling than if I had all girls or some of each.

If you ask me what you think I'm having, my guess at the moment is it's a girl. I thought that the last time though and my guess this time around is based purely on the fact that my pregnancy feels different than when I was pregnant with Oliver. It's like he set the benchmark in my mind that that's how a pregnancy with a boy feels like. Therefore, an experience any different must be a girl.

And come October, you will find out.

Breastfeeding Basics

Chris brags that he's willingly gone to breastfeeding class twice. He's just that awesome of a husband, right?. Well, if he admitted what happened the first time around, he'd blow his own cover, and mine too.

We had arrived at the classroom, the same one our prenatal class was held in the week before, but it was empty. A very sympathetic and helpful instructor, who had arrived early to set up for another class later in the evening, made a series of phone calls for us and learned that I had the right date and time for the class, but the wrong hospital. Oy vey. Some light tears later, (Okay, so it did go through my mind, if I get the wrong hospital for a class, what will I mess up when I go into labor?) I was at least was able to snag the last two spots in the class being held two weeks later, and officially rescheduled.

Our second attempt at attendance went off without a hitch. We had the correct location, we were on time, and despite that I've listened to every Pregtastic podcast there is on breastfeeding, I still found the class informative and worthwhile. In fact, I enjoyed it much more than the the prenatal class, which glossed over ever pregnancy and labor topic possible, while this was topic specific.

While Chris admitted it was probably good that he went, we're still not in agreement that the class was absolutely necessary. He reminded me that they teach all of this in the hospital, along with diaper changing and bathing the baby (two other things Chris and I have never done). His friend and his partner didn't bother with the class, even though she knew wanted to breastfeed, and he reported that she's doing fine. However, I don't think you can lump something as personal and emotional as breastfeeding in with diapers and baths. It's true that labor and delivery nurses are trained in basic breastfeeding techniques and most hospitals have a lactation specialist or consultant who can visit you within 24 hours of birth. However, in that time, the baby will have needed to feed multiple times, I will be exhausted and I'm so emotionally committed to breastfeeding, that I want to go in as prepared as possible for my own benefit. Because a lot can go awry.

Breastfeeding, in general, is not complicated, and sure women have been doing it since the beginning of time, but the mechanics is not actually instinctual (or so I've been told). Both babies and mothers can perform a piece of the process incorrectly enough to through the rhythm out of sink. A baby can have trouble latching on correctly. Or the mom might not figure out how to hold the baby in a comfortable position and suddenly question how she'll be able to put up with nursing 8-10 times a day. Breastfeeding has been compared to dancing, where you each may know the steps, but not the style at which your partner moves. Because of formula, no baby will starve, but each unsuccessful day of breastfeeding can lead to health complications for the mom and baby, frustration, and ultimately, giving up breastfeeding.

So I signed us up for a class offered through the hospital called Breastfeeding Basics. In two and a half hours, it covered the benefits of breastfeeding, how to prepare, avoiding and solving problems, and the role of the support person.

The latter is why Chris was there. Actually, the description of the class specifically instructed you to bring your support person and I ended up with some additional authority when we met a woman in our baby class who didn't know her husband was supposed to attend the breastfeeding class with her, and she felt like a loser for being the only one there without a partner. As she recounted the story over lunch in the hospital cafeteria, I interpreted the look on her husband's face as, "Don't be me."

There are two pieces in this becoming a parent adventure Chris is naturally and obviously excused from: labor and breastfeeding. He's attended appointments and a prenatal class and kept up on the stages of pregnancy. It's his kid too, after all. Even though only I can make the decision whether to breastfeed or not, (they are my breasts, after all) I think it's important that he be just as informed. Two minds are better than one, so even though we received more information in those two and a half hours than we could actually process and remember, we've both received the same basic information and can help each other in those first few weeks after birth. I don't think I'll have the patience to explain basic breastfeeding concepts, and he'd be hearing it second-hand, anyway, instead of from the instructor with an advanced degree and 24 years experience. Meanwhile, the nurse or lactation consultant at the hospital won't have to help him play catch-up during the precious time she has to work with the baby and me. Just as I haven't spent any significant time with babies and nursing mothers, Chris had to be introduced to this foreign world of breast pumps, a new vocabulary with terms like engorgement, let down and colostrum and a lifestyle altered to accommodate round-the-clock feedings and pumping and freezing milk. The class helped us transition from breastfeeding as a theory - something we supported, something we knew other people do - to a reality with all the physical, logistical and emotional details.

One belief surrounding breastfeeding that hasn't changed after the class and all the research I've done is that it really is a personal choice. Just as I feel the pull towards doing anything less than a natural, unmedicated birth is considered an injustice to your child, I sense a shame out there among women who don't want to or can't breastfeed. The "Breast is Best" movement has done a lot to encourage women to breastfeed and support those who choose to do so. I do believe breast milk is better than formula, but formula is still good. I remind myself that I was a formula-fed baby. And I'll admit that I want to breastfeed as much for the health benefits for me as for the baby, and the idea of breastfeeding as better for bonding than bottle feeding (oft mentioned in the pro-breastfeeding literature, but one I haven't been able to buy into yet) is less motivating than the thought of the cost savings (less often mentioned). I have the time and support, and hopefully when the baby is born, the patience and lack of complications. Breastfeeding is a logical option for me now, but not for every woman.