Writing here hasn't exactly been at the top of my priority list these last six months, but I miss it. I thought I'd get back in a routine after my last post (two months ago...sheesh). Not so much. Yet.
Thank you for your support after I wrote about my postpartum depression. It took a few weeks of therapy and onboarding meds, but I'm doing so much better. It was rough for awhile. I felt so disconnected and was back to crying at the drop of a hat. I was so anxious. I was impatient waiting for the meds to work. I saw my therapist weekly for a good while, and now I'm on a monthly maintenance schedule. And it feels good.
Focusing has still been challenging as it doesn't take much for my thoughts to spin. But with the help of lists, I'm productive at work most of the time! And yes, I add things I've done to the list just so I can cross them off.
This summer has been SO busy. We've been out of town often seeing family, and family can be exhausting. Especially 13 in-laws staying together in one cabin, with about 60 other relatives in neighboring cabins. We had a wonderful lake week in northern Minnesota with nearly all of Paul's aunts, uncles and varying degrees of cousins from his mom's side. I think we had six babies who are one year and under there at one time! Fishing, tie dying, reading, smores-ing, sleeping, talking, laughing. That was the week. Add a pedicure at Wal-Mart, and it really was a memorable week.
Anders is SO big. I can't believe he's already six months old. And 20 pounds. Chunky thighs + fluffy cloth diaper butt = needs a few more summer items in bigger sizes to see us through the next few weeks. I'll edit this post a bit later on the other computer so I can add a few photos.
He is just so much fun right now! Last week he started rolling EVERYWHERE and eating solid foods. I love each new adventure. I am so thankful to be in a place where I can enjoy him and all that is happening.
I am good.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
and it's back...now in the form of postpartum depression
Aside from the fact that I HAVE been meaning to update this blog, the impetus to write tonight is my diagnosis of postpartum depression.
A switch flipped last week. Why last week? Anders is 19 weeks old in two days. We made it past the difficult first two weeks of breastfeeding and no sleep, six weeks with a touch of colic, returning to work at 10 weeks, pumping around the clock for the last four months. Why now?
I didn't want to go home. I was at work with a pit in my stomach because I didn't want to go home. I knew that wasn't normal, though I take normal with a grain of salt. I looked at my beautiful baby and felt nothing. Except guilt that I didn't feel anything. I knew. Paul knew. And I called my psychiatrist the next morning.
Two months ago, I dropped Lexapro from my med list. I wasn't anxious anymore. I didn't need it. One month ago I decreased my Wellbutrin dose. It took two weeks before I felt like I lost my edge at work, but that was it. I was going to give it a month before calling to schedule an appointment. I didn't make it that far. Last week I wanted little to do with my baby. I didn't want to pump anymore. I suggested we just take out the disposable diapers instead of doing the cloth laundry. This wasn't like me. I knew it and I hated it.
So here I am. Back in the hole not knowing how to get out. Standing still while everything spins around me. I'm sad and angry and frustrated and embarrassed. And trying to figure out how to push these aside to love and care for my baby who needs me.
We caught it early. My Wellbutrin is back up and I'm seeing my pysch weekly until this levels out. Then biweekly. Then monthly. With my history, I'll be on meds for a year and with any future pregnancies/babies. I've had good days in the last week, but today was particularly bad. I don't think I managed to complete anything at work today.
But I did tell my coworker, who is both a very close friend, second mother and mental health ally. She'd been waiting for this. Not in a pessimistic way, but in a watch my back way. She's the same friend who sat with us at the ER with my first miscarriage, when we had no idea what to do or think.
This isn't me. It's my body, brain, chemicals, hormones. An illness. I didn't do anything wrong. It just is. So we're dealing with it. This much I know, though it's hard to feel. I don't want to tell people what is going on with me because I'm afraid they'll ask why. Why when I finally have the baby I've been wanting? [That's so loaded, I don't even want to go there. I don't know why. I wanted the other babies, too. Yes, Anders is a good baby. I don't know what's wrong.] And I spin...
I always knew this was a possibility given my history. My doctors have been vigilant and so has Paul. So have I, for that matter. But I wanted to be okay. To not have to deal with something on my very long list of concerns/complications. I wanted SOMEthing to go right.
Anders is right, so very right. That's what I have to remember. I need to take care of myself so I can take care of him. I don't want Anders to EVER wonder where his mom is or why she isn't hugging him. That thought breaks my heart.
So here it is. Back on this journey. I don't know how to navigate PPD. It's different than the depression I struggled with earlier. It's scarier.
But this is temporary. I'm doing what I need to do. Paul is the best dad and can pick up what I can't give at the moment. Anders is well-cared for. And I'm doing the best I can at this moment, with what I have to give.
But it's hard accepting that. Maybe writing it will help.
A switch flipped last week. Why last week? Anders is 19 weeks old in two days. We made it past the difficult first two weeks of breastfeeding and no sleep, six weeks with a touch of colic, returning to work at 10 weeks, pumping around the clock for the last four months. Why now?
I didn't want to go home. I was at work with a pit in my stomach because I didn't want to go home. I knew that wasn't normal, though I take normal with a grain of salt. I looked at my beautiful baby and felt nothing. Except guilt that I didn't feel anything. I knew. Paul knew. And I called my psychiatrist the next morning.
Two months ago, I dropped Lexapro from my med list. I wasn't anxious anymore. I didn't need it. One month ago I decreased my Wellbutrin dose. It took two weeks before I felt like I lost my edge at work, but that was it. I was going to give it a month before calling to schedule an appointment. I didn't make it that far. Last week I wanted little to do with my baby. I didn't want to pump anymore. I suggested we just take out the disposable diapers instead of doing the cloth laundry. This wasn't like me. I knew it and I hated it.
So here I am. Back in the hole not knowing how to get out. Standing still while everything spins around me. I'm sad and angry and frustrated and embarrassed. And trying to figure out how to push these aside to love and care for my baby who needs me.
We caught it early. My Wellbutrin is back up and I'm seeing my pysch weekly until this levels out. Then biweekly. Then monthly. With my history, I'll be on meds for a year and with any future pregnancies/babies. I've had good days in the last week, but today was particularly bad. I don't think I managed to complete anything at work today.
But I did tell my coworker, who is both a very close friend, second mother and mental health ally. She'd been waiting for this. Not in a pessimistic way, but in a watch my back way. She's the same friend who sat with us at the ER with my first miscarriage, when we had no idea what to do or think.
This isn't me. It's my body, brain, chemicals, hormones. An illness. I didn't do anything wrong. It just is. So we're dealing with it. This much I know, though it's hard to feel. I don't want to tell people what is going on with me because I'm afraid they'll ask why. Why when I finally have the baby I've been wanting? [That's so loaded, I don't even want to go there. I don't know why. I wanted the other babies, too. Yes, Anders is a good baby. I don't know what's wrong.] And I spin...
I always knew this was a possibility given my history. My doctors have been vigilant and so has Paul. So have I, for that matter. But I wanted to be okay. To not have to deal with something on my very long list of concerns/complications. I wanted SOMEthing to go right.
Anders is right, so very right. That's what I have to remember. I need to take care of myself so I can take care of him. I don't want Anders to EVER wonder where his mom is or why she isn't hugging him. That thought breaks my heart.
So here it is. Back on this journey. I don't know how to navigate PPD. It's different than the depression I struggled with earlier. It's scarier.
But this is temporary. I'm doing what I need to do. Paul is the best dad and can pick up what I can't give at the moment. Anders is well-cared for. And I'm doing the best I can at this moment, with what I have to give.
But it's hard accepting that. Maybe writing it will help.
four months of Anders in photos
The quickest way to catch up...share a few of the MANY photos we have take of this sweet baby. My goodness, how we love our little boy. I can't believe he is already four-and-a-half months old. I miss the tiny baby snuggles, but the bigger babies snuggles are just as good, if not better. I hear it just keeps getting better. Are you ready for some cuteness??
Daddy read If You Give a Moose a Muffin when Anders was 1.5 hours old.
Red hair!
Anders' first hockey game...still in the hospital.
I cried when I packed away this sweet grey outfit. It was the first I picked out just for my baby.
The upside to early bottle feeding - Daddy gets in on the action!
Milk drunk.
My friend Vicky took these photos of Anders when he was nine days old. Her little girl V was born just two-and-a-half weeks before Anders.
This little outfit has a dinosaur on the shirt. And dinosaur feet! [I'm still new to uploading photos. I'll figure out how to rotate in the future. Until then, sorry.]
First bath - success! Now we love baths.
I rather like to dress him like a little old man. This particular sweater has elbow patches.
Baptism April 3
Anders at six weeks.
The snow finally melted (in mid-April), so we went for our first walk!
A typical maternity leave day, though mascara didn't start happening until he was about eight weeks old. There is likely a Diet Coke to my right.
My happy (future?) Cobber!
April 25, my birthday
One of my favorite photos...eight weeks.
We LOVE cloth diapers!
I think I got the best present in my Easter basket.
First Mother's Day with Anders.
Of course one needs a ducky bathrobe.
Happy Flag Day!
Overwhelmed by developmental milestones...sitting, grabbing, hands to mouth, teething...
Trying out the new hiking backpack!
Strong enough for the Johnny Jump Up!
We went to visit Vicky and her babies and have some three-month photos taken.
My current favorite photo of my boy. Big blue eyes, blue diaper, hint of red hair. :)
happy birthday, anders
I last posted at 37 weeks, and I was anxiously counting down the days. From the beginning, I felt that my baby should come at 38 weeks. That given my Factor V Leiden and history, that would be safest. But my OB wouldn't schedule an induction before 39 weeks. So an induction date was set for February 21.
Since 32 weeks, I had been seeing my OB weekly and had biophysical profiles and nonstress tests performed weekly. Work just knew that every Monday, I wouldn't be in until after noon, and on Thursdays, I needed to leave at 2.30 for the day. I loved not having to wait more than four days until hearing or seeing the heartbeat again. Even though baby was rather stubborn up to the very end and would make my NSTs last over an hour EACH time, I loved it. My only job at that moment was to be there.
On February 14, 38 weeks, 1 day, I went in for my regular OB appointment and BPP. Baby didn't pass the BPP. Sleeping was apparently more important than showing off breathing or moving. So after the regular check (dilated 1 cm, 50% effaced), I drank lots of orange juice and hooked up for the NST. Baby BARELY passed. My OB consulted another OB and determined all was good for that day, but I needed to go home, rest, and repeat on the next day. So home I went, with the email to work saying I'm not in labor yet, but...
Tuesday, February 15. Not only did baby pass the BPP with flying colors, the NST showed I was having regular contractions (could have told them that) every five to seven minutes, lasting 30 seconds. My OB checked and I was still only 1 cm. She said that if I had progressed at all, she would have admitted me. Instead she told me to go home and call her later, since she was on call. So home I went, with the email to work saying I'm not in labor yet, but...
I went to the grocery store to by snacks for the hospital. And took the long way around. I bounced on my yoga ball all afternoon. Paul and I decided nothing was happening so we went out to dinner at the mall, and then walked down to baby Gap to admire cute little clothes. I debated about doing my heparin injection, but had pretty much decided nothing was going to be happening, so I did it at 8.30pm.
So my water broke at 11.15pm. Lying in bed, reading. I didn't even get to fall asleep. So for an hour I monitored the fluid and contractions. I mean I didn't think I wet my pants, but, well...yeah. Contractions were four-six minutes, and the fluid kept running clear. I woke Paul up with the cliched "I think it's time." Actually I just said my water broke. He grew alert rather quickly! We called the hospital, explained my water broke and that I tested positive Group B Strep, and predictably, they said to come in. So off we went, but not before taking a couple pictures.
February 16 started, and we were wide awake. Being admitted was rather boring. Check - dilated to 1.5, 80% effaced, -2 station. But tests confirmed my water had broken, so they started the antibiotics. I reminded the nurses like clockwork that I needed my new bag hung every four hours. After having our niece die of a GBS infection, I wasn't protesting one bit. L&D was very busy, so they pretty much just filled the tub for me, and left us alone most of the night. The plan was to start pitocin at 6 am.
Well, the pit started at 9 am instead, because again, they were busy. When 7am rolled around, I got my very own nurse, whom we loved. So nice. Contractions were uncomfortable, but not unmanageable, and I had progressed to 2.5. I spent more time in the tub; Paul left to get himself some lunch.
Around noon or so, the contractions were getting to me, so we tried Nubain. Love Nubain. I'm a happy drunk, so I was mostly pleasant. I was having such bad back labor, that each time a contraction hit, all I could say was "back" and Paul would start the counter pressure while I helpfully told him that's not where it hurt. But I was able to rest between.
Until the nurse decided we needed to go to internal monitoring. The monitors weren't staying on well enough, and they couldn't get a good read on my contractions, which was important because of the pit. And then they decided to also place the scalp electrode on baby's head. I just chose not to think about that one too much. At the time they were placing these, I was completely unmedicated. They had to place the scalp one not once or twice, but three times. At one point, two were connected. Throughout the course of the day, I went through five IUPCs to monitor contractions. Not so pleasant. They actually had to call in the SWAT team at one point because three different nurses couldn't get it placed correctly. Fun for me.
pitocin, I was ready. It was going to be awhile.
I love the anesthesiologist. Here I am after that wonderful relief, happily reading some Martha Stewart Living. That was 3pm - 14 hours after my water broke.
Hours, naps, and lemon Italian ices later, I hadn't progressed past 5.5...maybe. So around 8 pm, my night nurse and student (LOVE them) came in looking very sheepish. She wanted to check me because the doctor was on the phone and thinking c-section as I was nearing 24 hours since my water broke.
Okay. No big deal. Really. At various times throughout pregnancy, Paul and I said that if there were medical reason to schedule a c-section we would. It wasn't a scary option to us. It was a controlled environment, and with the stresses of this pregnancy, control would be welcome. So they started prepping me. It wasn't an emergency; baby had been doing so very well all day. But the head was molding at my cervix, which made them wonder if the baby would even fit. So quite relaxed, we got ready.
Since 32 weeks, I had been seeing my OB weekly and had biophysical profiles and nonstress tests performed weekly. Work just knew that every Monday, I wouldn't be in until after noon, and on Thursdays, I needed to leave at 2.30 for the day. I loved not having to wait more than four days until hearing or seeing the heartbeat again. Even though baby was rather stubborn up to the very end and would make my NSTs last over an hour EACH time, I loved it. My only job at that moment was to be there.
On February 14, 38 weeks, 1 day, I went in for my regular OB appointment and BPP. Baby didn't pass the BPP. Sleeping was apparently more important than showing off breathing or moving. So after the regular check (dilated 1 cm, 50% effaced), I drank lots of orange juice and hooked up for the NST. Baby BARELY passed. My OB consulted another OB and determined all was good for that day, but I needed to go home, rest, and repeat on the next day. So home I went, with the email to work saying I'm not in labor yet, but...
Tuesday, February 15. Not only did baby pass the BPP with flying colors, the NST showed I was having regular contractions (could have told them that) every five to seven minutes, lasting 30 seconds. My OB checked and I was still only 1 cm. She said that if I had progressed at all, she would have admitted me. Instead she told me to go home and call her later, since she was on call. So home I went, with the email to work saying I'm not in labor yet, but...
I went to the grocery store to by snacks for the hospital. And took the long way around. I bounced on my yoga ball all afternoon. Paul and I decided nothing was happening so we went out to dinner at the mall, and then walked down to baby Gap to admire cute little clothes. I debated about doing my heparin injection, but had pretty much decided nothing was going to be happening, so I did it at 8.30pm.
So my water broke at 11.15pm. Lying in bed, reading. I didn't even get to fall asleep. So for an hour I monitored the fluid and contractions. I mean I didn't think I wet my pants, but, well...yeah. Contractions were four-six minutes, and the fluid kept running clear. I woke Paul up with the cliched "I think it's time." Actually I just said my water broke. He grew alert rather quickly! We called the hospital, explained my water broke and that I tested positive Group B Strep, and predictably, they said to come in. So off we went, but not before taking a couple pictures.
February 16 started, and we were wide awake. Being admitted was rather boring. Check - dilated to 1.5, 80% effaced, -2 station. But tests confirmed my water had broken, so they started the antibiotics. I reminded the nurses like clockwork that I needed my new bag hung every four hours. After having our niece die of a GBS infection, I wasn't protesting one bit. L&D was very busy, so they pretty much just filled the tub for me, and left us alone most of the night. The plan was to start pitocin at 6 am.
Well, the pit started at 9 am instead, because again, they were busy. When 7am rolled around, I got my very own nurse, whom we loved. So nice. Contractions were uncomfortable, but not unmanageable, and I had progressed to 2.5. I spent more time in the tub; Paul left to get himself some lunch.
Around noon or so, the contractions were getting to me, so we tried Nubain. Love Nubain. I'm a happy drunk, so I was mostly pleasant. I was having such bad back labor, that each time a contraction hit, all I could say was "back" and Paul would start the counter pressure while I helpfully told him that's not where it hurt. But I was able to rest between.
Until the nurse decided we needed to go to internal monitoring. The monitors weren't staying on well enough, and they couldn't get a good read on my contractions, which was important because of the pit. And then they decided to also place the scalp electrode on baby's head. I just chose not to think about that one too much. At the time they were placing these, I was completely unmedicated. They had to place the scalp one not once or twice, but three times. At one point, two were connected. Throughout the course of the day, I went through five IUPCs to monitor contractions. Not so pleasant. They actually had to call in the SWAT team at one point because three different nurses couldn't get it placed correctly. Fun for me.
pitocin, I was ready. It was going to be awhile.
I love the anesthesiologist. Here I am after that wonderful relief, happily reading some Martha Stewart Living. That was 3pm - 14 hours after my water broke.
Okay. No big deal. Really. At various times throughout pregnancy, Paul and I said that if there were medical reason to schedule a c-section we would. It wasn't a scary option to us. It was a controlled environment, and with the stresses of this pregnancy, control would be welcome. So they started prepping me. It wasn't an emergency; baby had been doing so very well all day. But the head was molding at my cervix, which made them wonder if the baby would even fit. So quite relaxed, we got ready.
The anesthesiologist for surgery was the one I had for my d/c. I remembered her by her funky earrings. Full circle. She was just as wonderful this time. So kind. It seemed like forever while they moved me to the OR and then to the OR table. And it was SO COLD. The kind anesthesiologist wrapped warm towels on my head.
And then at 10.54 pm he was born - the midwife said, "we have a boy!" We were shocked. We were convinced we were having a girl (we still didn't know the sex - I consider it a bit of a feat that so many ultrasound techs managed not to slip).
I cried. And cried and cried. All I could say was "he's here." There was a bit of meconium in the fluid, so they didn't stimulate crying until he was all suctioned. Paul wouldn't leave my side, but I kept telling him he needed to go take pictures. And he was okay. My first view:
We hadn't decided on a final boy's name, though it was down to to. I remember saying I needed to hold him before I'd name him, and Paul said he looked like an Anders. Our two boys' names were Anders and Oliver. After I held him back in my room, we named him Anders Olson Held. While the surgeons finished putting me back together, Paul went with the baby to the nursery to be weighed and checked. We met back in my room at the same time.
The nurses were wonderful. Anders was with me within 30 minutes of being born, on my chest and breastfeeding. They hadn't bathed him or done any of the newborn meds. We had a wonderful, hazy sleep-deprived, endorphin-driven night. By midnight Paul was calling our parents. It was so fun - NO ONE knew we were at the hospital until he was born. It was a wonderful day of just us. Our new family.
Those are the important details. I was up and moving less than 12 hours after surgery and kept at it. The good pain meds made me loopy at precisely the time our pastor came to visit. Oh well. Visitors came and loved on Anders, and we were thrilled.
The only bad experience - the nurses forced me to supplement with formula when Anders' bilirubin levels came back abnormally high. He was so sleepy and had a hard time nursing starting on day three, but I protested. They guilted me into it saying that high bili levels can lead to brain damage, and his was off the charts. Even the lactation consultant said we had to, but worked out a feeding/pumping plan.
Nipple confusion is real. My little guy quickly figured out how much easier it is to eat from the bottle, and he would actually scream every time we tried to position him to nurse. Every. Time. So feeding time became fighting time. For three weeks, I'd attempt to latch him - and he was a champion latcher at first, and then when he wanted - then feed him expressed milk in a bottle, and then finish his feeding with formula, if needed. Every. Time. Exhausting. Defeating. I hated every minute of it. I still regret letting the nurses talk me into supplementing.
We saw the lactation consultant twice each week for three weeks. Even she said he was stubborn - he could latch just fine, but wouldn't. When she said that the container is our ideal and he doesn't care how his tummy is filled, I accepted that we wouldn't be nursing. By two weeks, he was only taking one formula bottle each day, if that. I was pumping the rest. Since three weeks, I've been exclusively pumping, and he's receiving exclusively breast milk. I'm very proud of that. But it was hard to let the nursing relationship go.
I promise to keep my other update posts shorter. :) This was an important one for me to capture the details of a wonderful day. I don't regret anything about my labor and delivery experience. I labored without meds in the tub, accepted pain relief when I needed, and ultimately had surgery. I'd do it all again without hesitation. Except I won't need to. We're totally scheduling the next c-section.
still here...now with baby!
Well, friends, if any of you still have me in your reader, I'm here. Quiet online, but present. Facebook updates seem to be all I've managed, though I swear I've written several blog posts in my head. I'm working on some updates, and can't wait to introduce Anders, my son born on February 16! I promise photos.
Until then, here is a quick peek...
Until then, here is a quick peek...
Anders Olson Held at 3.5 months
Friday, February 4, 2011
almost 37 weeks!
In two weeks or so, I'll have a baby in my ARMS!! We can hardly believe that we made it this far. Baby can come anytime, though it would be good to put in another week at work, lest I leave some not-so-fun reports for someone else to figure out. I'm just so excited!
I'll be 37 weeks on Sunday, and then Monday is a big day. We're doing growth measurements in addition to the regular biophysical profile, and my doctor is setting an induction date. She'll also check my cervix for the first time. I know it doesn't mean a whole lot, but I'm curious. :)
All of the weekly appointments, BPPs and NSTs have been great. Baby is still rather stubborn for the NSTs though...he or she likes to hide from the monitor or kick it off. Last week a nurse had to stay and hold it in place because we couldn't get more than three minutes of recording at a time! Baby was much more cooperative yesterday.
Braxton Hicks contractions are definitely picking up, and a few are even painful. They were registering on the NST yesterday, but were still mild and definitely not regular. My body aches all the time, but I expect that for being nine months pregnant. I'm all baby!!
Tomorrow is our second baby shower, and I love how excited Paul is. Lots of friends, our parents and siblings will be there - boys included. All of these people have been with us on this journey, and we are looking forward to CELEBRATING this baby!
Paul says it's time I share the baby and wants baby to come any day. I do too, but I also want baby to bake as long as needed. I have loved being pregnant, and I'm not going to wish away the days. I am simply grateful for every. single. one.
I keep up on reading blogs, but I've been not so good about writing. I'm working on that. Soon I'll be sharing pictures of baby!!!!!
I'll be 37 weeks on Sunday, and then Monday is a big day. We're doing growth measurements in addition to the regular biophysical profile, and my doctor is setting an induction date. She'll also check my cervix for the first time. I know it doesn't mean a whole lot, but I'm curious. :)
All of the weekly appointments, BPPs and NSTs have been great. Baby is still rather stubborn for the NSTs though...he or she likes to hide from the monitor or kick it off. Last week a nurse had to stay and hold it in place because we couldn't get more than three minutes of recording at a time! Baby was much more cooperative yesterday.
Braxton Hicks contractions are definitely picking up, and a few are even painful. They were registering on the NST yesterday, but were still mild and definitely not regular. My body aches all the time, but I expect that for being nine months pregnant. I'm all baby!!
Tomorrow is our second baby shower, and I love how excited Paul is. Lots of friends, our parents and siblings will be there - boys included. All of these people have been with us on this journey, and we are looking forward to CELEBRATING this baby!
Paul says it's time I share the baby and wants baby to come any day. I do too, but I also want baby to bake as long as needed. I have loved being pregnant, and I'm not going to wish away the days. I am simply grateful for every. single. one.
I keep up on reading blogs, but I've been not so good about writing. I'm working on that. Soon I'll be sharing pictures of baby!!!!!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
"at least God has given you another baby"
This is supposed to be helpful? Coming from my counselor?
She said this within the first five minutes of my appointment, and it just set the tone. Trying to explain, she said that I shouldn't think about what I don't have and just concentrate on the future. I shouldn't worry or be sad because that's not good for me or this baby.
Also, I should come up with a plan for how to deal with feelings that come up during labor and delivery. Her suggestion was just not think about my miscarriages and first two babies.
Apparently, I grow defensive when I think that no one understands what I've been through. They don't have bad intentions.
Well, people don't know how I feel unless they've been here themselves. Pregnancy after loss. Sometimes intentions are more easily passed over than others. If someone were to use a racial slur, but claim no ill intentions, is it still okay? You cannot tell another that they don't feel offended. I am allowed my feelings.
Yes, I've thought about flashbacks during labor and delivery, especially given the traumatic incident with my first miscarriage. I can't tell you how I'll react...I can't tell you if I want an epidural or not! My plan is awareness. All I can do, and with Paul's support, is to recognize feelings and thoughts, recognize them as valid, feel what I need to feel, take a deep breath and come back to the present. Ignoring doesn't work for me.
I AM very thankful, grateful and humble that I am pregnant with another child. NO ONE gets to assume that I'm not. But those two little words...at least...red flags. Words that appear on every list of what not to say to a woman after a miscarriage. Drop those nasty words. "God has given you another baby". YES! That is true, and I am so excited. "I'm glad God has given you another baby." Thank you, me too.
One child will never replace another. Ever. Is it okay to tell a mother after one of two school-aged kids dies, "at least you still have one"? NO!
I don't live in state of perpetual sadness and crying anymore. That doesn't mean that words or memories won't trigger grief feelings. I expect that the intense feelings of loss won't always be so raw. They have changed even within the last year. But it's a process, and one event doesn't change that.
I am okay with where I am. Even happy and proud. I love ALL my babies, including this one who is doing barrel rolls at the minute and gives me far too many scares. I cannot wait to hold this baby, a fulfillment of hopes and dreams to have and raise children.
But I will not forget my first two babies. And like a good mama bear, I will fight for them and my memories of them. No one gets to take them from me or harm my memories.
She said this within the first five minutes of my appointment, and it just set the tone. Trying to explain, she said that I shouldn't think about what I don't have and just concentrate on the future. I shouldn't worry or be sad because that's not good for me or this baby.
Also, I should come up with a plan for how to deal with feelings that come up during labor and delivery. Her suggestion was just not think about my miscarriages and first two babies.
Apparently, I grow defensive when I think that no one understands what I've been through. They don't have bad intentions.
Well, people don't know how I feel unless they've been here themselves. Pregnancy after loss. Sometimes intentions are more easily passed over than others. If someone were to use a racial slur, but claim no ill intentions, is it still okay? You cannot tell another that they don't feel offended. I am allowed my feelings.
Yes, I've thought about flashbacks during labor and delivery, especially given the traumatic incident with my first miscarriage. I can't tell you how I'll react...I can't tell you if I want an epidural or not! My plan is awareness. All I can do, and with Paul's support, is to recognize feelings and thoughts, recognize them as valid, feel what I need to feel, take a deep breath and come back to the present. Ignoring doesn't work for me.
I AM very thankful, grateful and humble that I am pregnant with another child. NO ONE gets to assume that I'm not. But those two little words...at least...red flags. Words that appear on every list of what not to say to a woman after a miscarriage. Drop those nasty words. "God has given you another baby". YES! That is true, and I am so excited. "I'm glad God has given you another baby." Thank you, me too.
One child will never replace another. Ever. Is it okay to tell a mother after one of two school-aged kids dies, "at least you still have one"? NO!
I don't live in state of perpetual sadness and crying anymore. That doesn't mean that words or memories won't trigger grief feelings. I expect that the intense feelings of loss won't always be so raw. They have changed even within the last year. But it's a process, and one event doesn't change that.
I am okay with where I am. Even happy and proud. I love ALL my babies, including this one who is doing barrel rolls at the minute and gives me far too many scares. I cannot wait to hold this baby, a fulfillment of hopes and dreams to have and raise children.
But I will not forget my first two babies. And like a good mama bear, I will fight for them and my memories of them. No one gets to take them from me or harm my memories.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
another new nephew!!
Baby number two for our family is here! Sylas Samuel was born this morning!! I hear he's a blondie. About 10 weeks ago, Gabriel joined us, and in another five weeks MY baby will join this brood!
At a little after midnight, Paul's mom sent the first text...they're at the hospital. So of course I could hardly sleep! We were up late, and so Paul was texting his brother. At about 2 am, my SIL just had the epidural and contractions were two minutes apart. The next text came at about 7.30 am from Paul's mom that they just broke M's water. FINALLY, shortly before noon, we learned Sylas had arrived an hour before! I dreamt of M in labor all night, and every time I woke up (which is a lot now at 34 weeks), I made Paul text for updates. We're spoiled in this instant gratification world.
Which is why we're planning not to share any hospital/labor/baby information until baby is here. Paul's mom will send updates to everyone in her phone with any info that is shared. We've been on the receiving end of a cousin's dilation progress, and I just don't care to share that much detail. It may be difficult to keep the induction date to ourselves, but regardless, we've made (and will continue to emphasize) that we do not want anyone waiting at the hospital ready to storm the doors.
We need new family time with just Paul, me and baby. After the journey we've been on, we're even more protective of our space and emotions. Our family is anticipating this little one, too, and we are so excited to share. But we need our time.
And as excited as I've been ALL DAY about little Sylas, we've stayed away from the hospital. In part because the roads are iffy for the 70 mile drive, but mostly because we want to give them space. The grandparents are there today; we'll see baby soon. I'm just as eager to talk with M to hear how things went, but that can wait.
With Paul's parents there today, at least I can count on some pictures by email a later tonight.
At a little after midnight, Paul's mom sent the first text...they're at the hospital. So of course I could hardly sleep! We were up late, and so Paul was texting his brother. At about 2 am, my SIL just had the epidural and contractions were two minutes apart. The next text came at about 7.30 am from Paul's mom that they just broke M's water. FINALLY, shortly before noon, we learned Sylas had arrived an hour before! I dreamt of M in labor all night, and every time I woke up (which is a lot now at 34 weeks), I made Paul text for updates. We're spoiled in this instant gratification world.
Which is why we're planning not to share any hospital/labor/baby information until baby is here. Paul's mom will send updates to everyone in her phone with any info that is shared. We've been on the receiving end of a cousin's dilation progress, and I just don't care to share that much detail. It may be difficult to keep the induction date to ourselves, but regardless, we've made (and will continue to emphasize) that we do not want anyone waiting at the hospital ready to storm the doors.
We need new family time with just Paul, me and baby. After the journey we've been on, we're even more protective of our space and emotions. Our family is anticipating this little one, too, and we are so excited to share. But we need our time.
And as excited as I've been ALL DAY about little Sylas, we've stayed away from the hospital. In part because the roads are iffy for the 70 mile drive, but mostly because we want to give them space. The grandparents are there today; we'll see baby soon. I'm just as eager to talk with M to hear how things went, but that can wait.
With Paul's parents there today, at least I can count on some pictures by email a later tonight.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
revisiting Christmas...pondering the new year...and 32 weeks!
It's been nearly a month since I last wrote, and there is no specific reason why. Most importantly, baby is healthy and so am I.
Christmas was really hard for me this year, and as I was reading others' blogs, I saw that I was certainly not alone. It was harder than last year, maybe because last year I was in too much shock still from the recent miscarriage to feel much of anything else. This year, I just couldn't engage. Usually, I LOVE to decorate for the holidays. As usual, it took a week of reminding for Paul to bring in my totes of Christmas things. For about one hour, I pulled things out and put them in their usual places. He set up the tree. That's as far as we got. At one point, I suggested we just put up lights on the tree, but we never even made it that far. Everything came down right after Christmas, when I usually like to enjoy it until almost February. We never got around to taking a Christmas card picture, let alone order cards or write a letter. And all of this was okay. Okay because these are the material things. I love the tradition, but my heart just wasn't in it this year.
I had been a bit nervous about Christmas Eve church services because of how everything had been going, and last year, I nearly had a panic attack as I tried to avoid people. Instead, I basked in a wonderful feeling of calm. My heart still connected with the wonder of the birth of Jesus. And I loved every minute. Mom and I (and sometimes Grandma) have been playing piano-organ duets for about 15 years for every Christmas Eve service and this year was no different. This year I loved sitting at the front of the church in my cute shirt that showed off my baby belly while playing the music that reaches in so deeply. The hardest part - trying to keep playing while people think it's a good time to start a conversation and hug me.
As usual, the pastor's Christmas sermon was perfect. The first part focused on what the angels said as they approached Mary and others. Do not be afraid. I felt like that was spoken just for me. Do not be afraid. Everything will be okay because God is taking care of me. And the tears are starting again now. I really couldn't hold back the tears when the pastor went to pick up a three-week old baby. This is how Jesus came to us. As a child, as one of us, to live among us and die for us. Wow. That's overwhelming. A baby. I'll have a baby in my arms soon. My admiration for Mary grows even more. There's much to be afraid of, but there's no need. This has been a lot for me to process, from the larger Christmas season to the specific sermon. My heart is peaceful.
====
On New Year's Eve, Paul and I talked about the last two years. (In case you didn't see it on the news, North Dakota enjoyed a couple of blizzards over New Year's. We ate eggs and toast for dinner that night and didn't leave the house for days.) I said I would go so far to call 2009 a bad year. With two miscarriages, the death of a niece, many weeks of both anxious pregnancies and heart-wrenching grieving, it was not good. As for 2010, it was hard. But hard doesn't necessarily mean bad. I worked really hard in 2010 on myself. I committed to doing my grief work, and found the most incredible network of women. I struggled with my depression and worked through it in a variety of manners. I saw a counselor regularly and then a psychiatrist. We found the right combination of medication to help me. In the middle of that all, I was undergoing tests to try to find out why my body wouldn't carry a baby through the second trimester. I received a diagnosis of a genetic blood clotting disorder. It's not necessarily life-changing, but it drastically changed how future pregnancies would be tended. All of this happened in the first five months of the year.
In June I found out I was pregnant again. My excitement outweighed the fear, but probably not by a measurable amount. From day one, I've been on Lovenox. It's obviously working and I will fight to make sure we follow the same regimen with future pregnancies. But that's been hard - letting go of my own needle discomfort for the good of me and my baby. I did so happily and understand being a mother just a bit more. I've spent more hours at the doctor than I'm sure some women do throughout their childbearing years. But I've done so eagerly, and always leaving with my mind and heart more at ease. In December I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. The nutritionist told me the other day, as I gave her two weeks of food diaries and blood sugar charts, that tracking is hard work. Yes, but it hasn't been bad. I was quite proud of being able to show them how healthfully I eat (actually changing very little) and my excellent blood sugar patterns. I'm doing so well, in fact, that I no longer have to keep a food diary and I only check sugars twice each day. I know how foods affect my levels, and spot checking keeps me honest. It's hard, but not bad. Being pregnant is hard work all by itself. These additional layers certainly add to that, but hard does not mean bad. And good can, and often is, hard. Now, Paul tells me I'm good at being pregnant. Who would have thought?!
That's my update...perhaps mildly interesting at best. Baby updates are more interesting.
====
On Monday I started weekly BPPs and OB appointments, and today I start weekly NSTs. At 32 weeks, baby measured about 1.5 weeks ahead, weighing in at approximately 4lbs 11oz. I've been guessing baby will be an eight-pounder all along, and I may be right. Baby scored 8/8 on the BPP...it was so fun to watch him/her breathing! Now I can't wait to go listen to that heartbeat in a few hours. My blood pressure remains very good (112/64 consistently), no bleeding or cramping, and I'm still losing weight. Overall, I have lost five pounds this pregnancy. My doctor said she's not worried because baby has been growing right on track and is thriving. She did say that it would be okay if I happened to gain 10 lbs now, but not to worry about it. Maybe having a baby will be the unexpected start of a bit of weight loss!
Baby's room is set up now! I need to load the photos onto the computer, and then I'll post. I've actually had energy the last two weeks and have accomplished a fair amount of organizing, cleaning and setting up. We have a baby room, and I can just sit in there for hours. It's no longer the extra bedroom; it's baby's room. We're bringing home a baby next month!
Christmas was really hard for me this year, and as I was reading others' blogs, I saw that I was certainly not alone. It was harder than last year, maybe because last year I was in too much shock still from the recent miscarriage to feel much of anything else. This year, I just couldn't engage. Usually, I LOVE to decorate for the holidays. As usual, it took a week of reminding for Paul to bring in my totes of Christmas things. For about one hour, I pulled things out and put them in their usual places. He set up the tree. That's as far as we got. At one point, I suggested we just put up lights on the tree, but we never even made it that far. Everything came down right after Christmas, when I usually like to enjoy it until almost February. We never got around to taking a Christmas card picture, let alone order cards or write a letter. And all of this was okay. Okay because these are the material things. I love the tradition, but my heart just wasn't in it this year.
I had been a bit nervous about Christmas Eve church services because of how everything had been going, and last year, I nearly had a panic attack as I tried to avoid people. Instead, I basked in a wonderful feeling of calm. My heart still connected with the wonder of the birth of Jesus. And I loved every minute. Mom and I (and sometimes Grandma) have been playing piano-organ duets for about 15 years for every Christmas Eve service and this year was no different. This year I loved sitting at the front of the church in my cute shirt that showed off my baby belly while playing the music that reaches in so deeply. The hardest part - trying to keep playing while people think it's a good time to start a conversation and hug me.
As usual, the pastor's Christmas sermon was perfect. The first part focused on what the angels said as they approached Mary and others. Do not be afraid. I felt like that was spoken just for me. Do not be afraid. Everything will be okay because God is taking care of me. And the tears are starting again now. I really couldn't hold back the tears when the pastor went to pick up a three-week old baby. This is how Jesus came to us. As a child, as one of us, to live among us and die for us. Wow. That's overwhelming. A baby. I'll have a baby in my arms soon. My admiration for Mary grows even more. There's much to be afraid of, but there's no need. This has been a lot for me to process, from the larger Christmas season to the specific sermon. My heart is peaceful.
====
On New Year's Eve, Paul and I talked about the last two years. (In case you didn't see it on the news, North Dakota enjoyed a couple of blizzards over New Year's. We ate eggs and toast for dinner that night and didn't leave the house for days.) I said I would go so far to call 2009 a bad year. With two miscarriages, the death of a niece, many weeks of both anxious pregnancies and heart-wrenching grieving, it was not good. As for 2010, it was hard. But hard doesn't necessarily mean bad. I worked really hard in 2010 on myself. I committed to doing my grief work, and found the most incredible network of women. I struggled with my depression and worked through it in a variety of manners. I saw a counselor regularly and then a psychiatrist. We found the right combination of medication to help me. In the middle of that all, I was undergoing tests to try to find out why my body wouldn't carry a baby through the second trimester. I received a diagnosis of a genetic blood clotting disorder. It's not necessarily life-changing, but it drastically changed how future pregnancies would be tended. All of this happened in the first five months of the year.
In June I found out I was pregnant again. My excitement outweighed the fear, but probably not by a measurable amount. From day one, I've been on Lovenox. It's obviously working and I will fight to make sure we follow the same regimen with future pregnancies. But that's been hard - letting go of my own needle discomfort for the good of me and my baby. I did so happily and understand being a mother just a bit more. I've spent more hours at the doctor than I'm sure some women do throughout their childbearing years. But I've done so eagerly, and always leaving with my mind and heart more at ease. In December I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. The nutritionist told me the other day, as I gave her two weeks of food diaries and blood sugar charts, that tracking is hard work. Yes, but it hasn't been bad. I was quite proud of being able to show them how healthfully I eat (actually changing very little) and my excellent blood sugar patterns. I'm doing so well, in fact, that I no longer have to keep a food diary and I only check sugars twice each day. I know how foods affect my levels, and spot checking keeps me honest. It's hard, but not bad. Being pregnant is hard work all by itself. These additional layers certainly add to that, but hard does not mean bad. And good can, and often is, hard. Now, Paul tells me I'm good at being pregnant. Who would have thought?!
That's my update...perhaps mildly interesting at best. Baby updates are more interesting.
====
On Monday I started weekly BPPs and OB appointments, and today I start weekly NSTs. At 32 weeks, baby measured about 1.5 weeks ahead, weighing in at approximately 4lbs 11oz. I've been guessing baby will be an eight-pounder all along, and I may be right. Baby scored 8/8 on the BPP...it was so fun to watch him/her breathing! Now I can't wait to go listen to that heartbeat in a few hours. My blood pressure remains very good (112/64 consistently), no bleeding or cramping, and I'm still losing weight. Overall, I have lost five pounds this pregnancy. My doctor said she's not worried because baby has been growing right on track and is thriving. She did say that it would be okay if I happened to gain 10 lbs now, but not to worry about it. Maybe having a baby will be the unexpected start of a bit of weight loss!
Baby's room is set up now! I need to load the photos onto the computer, and then I'll post. I've actually had energy the last two weeks and have accomplished a fair amount of organizing, cleaning and setting up. We have a baby room, and I can just sit in there for hours. It's no longer the extra bedroom; it's baby's room. We're bringing home a baby next month!
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