where do I even start?

The last couple of days have been a whirlwind of revelations and sadness. If you're tired of hearing about my miscarriages and related troubles, you probably want to move on. I promise the posts for the rest of the month will turn to happier subjects.

On Tuesday, I got a positive pregnancy test. It was so faint that we really thought we were just seeing things, so we didn't tell anyone and quietly hoped. I did call my OB and got an appointment to come in for bloodwork the next day.

On Wednesday, I got more positive pregnancy tests, this time much more obvious. I had my blood drawn to test my HCG levels, then headed up to my first visit with maternal/fetal medicine. Dr. K was pretty awesome; she actually has the same OB/GYN as me, which was great. We went over everything my test results showed, which was more than I had originally thought.

I knew that I had one genetic marker for Factor V Leiden, a disorder that can cause blood clots. Dr. K was pretty sure this was why G only weighed 6.3 ounces at 38 weeks and why I got pre-eclampsia with him. She was amazed that I didn't get pre-e earlier. :( Another reason I'm so so thankful for my healthy toddler!

However, I discovered that I have two markers for MTHFR. I didn't hear which kind, but she said it was not the "worst type" but the "medium." Since MTHFR blocks the absorption of folic acid, this might have been what caused baby #2's base of the brain problems. We'll never know for sure, but there you go. I also have two markers for PAI 4G/4G, which she said wasn't a big deal except when combined with other factors.

So, awesome, right?

Anyway, we formed a game plan for my next successful pregnancy:

• 4000 mcg extra folic acid
• 40 ml of Lovenox in a daily injection
• 500 mg extra calcium (once I start Lovenox)
• 1 daily baby aspirin during pregnancy (and for the rest of my life)
• Lovenox is started as soon as we get a heartbeat at 6-7 weeks. I would get bloodwork and an ultrasound done every month to check the baby and my red blood cell counts. At 32 weeks, the ultrasounds become bi-weekly.
• Switch to Heparin before delivery so I could have an epidural if wanted or stay awake during a c-section.
• Induction around 38 weeks. I would then switch over to blood thinner in the form of pills for the next 6 weeks.

Whew! A mouthful, right? But it's worth it, if it'll get us another baby... Wednesday was also baby #2's due date. I did break down in Dr K's office because there was a lot of talk about baby #2. Also, the office was the same one where we had our extensive ultrasound to diagnose baby #2's miscarriage. Stepping into that waiting room literally took my breath away (we had no idea), and I'm pretty sure the hubs cursed.

On Thursday, I had another positive pregnancy test, but it was fainter. I called my OB for my test results. The nurse called back to say that my blood HCG test had came back negative. In fact, my HCG was only 3. Of course, I was shocked. I thought maybe my tests were too faint and they weren't getting darker, but I thought maybe the baby was just a late implanter. Not so.

Later that day, I started having horrible backache and spotting.

Today, I'm still spotting. I took one pregnancy test this morning which was negative. I'm guessing I'll get my period eventually... or the miscarriage... or whatever you call it when it's a chemical pregnancy (which, by the way, is a nasty term for a very early miscarriage). Should I call it baby #4? I don't even know. Maybe my body just wasn't ready to be pregnant again two months after my last miscarriage? I don't know that either. All I know is that I'm tired of being on the shit side of life's percentages of chance. I want something to go right for once. I need it to go right.

Anyway, I'm gonna take a break from talking about all of this. We'll start trying again immediately, but of course it'll be about a month before we know if we're successful. All of this waiting definitely doesn't help.

getting some answers

Three weeks after my miscarriage, I went in for recurrent loss testing. Some women's OBs have them wait for three miscarriages before doing testing, but my OB was adamant that we go ahead. They drew eleven vials of blood which left me lightheaded with a sore arm. They said it'd take 10-14 days to hear the results.

I got a call this morning from my OB's nurse. I have one copy of the gene that causes Factor V Leiden, a disorder that causes blood clots.

This is what I know so far:

FVL may have caused my two miscarriages. It's a strong possibilities; however, we didn't test baby #2 and #3, so we have no clear idea of what causes their deaths. I only have one copy of the gene versus getting it from both parents, but the risk is still high for complications in pregnancy if not treated properly.

FVL may have caused my pre-eclampsia. While I did carry G to full term without problems, I developed pre-eclampsia at 38 weeks and had to be quickly induced.

Since I only have one copy of the gene, only one of my parents is a carrier. We're guessing my mom at this point, since it's less common in Hispanics. However, we won't know until they get tested themselves.

FVL is treatable with blood thinners such as baby aspirin and daily Lovenox shots while you're pregnant. It's scary because blood clots can happen at any time during the pregnancy, so the baby isn't safe until you finally deliver. This is what scares me the most, even more so than the fact that this has life-long consequences for me.

FVL can cause blood clots which break off and travel to the heart or lungs. I'll have to learn how to handle this long-term, and I'm sure it involves lots of water and exercise throughout my life.

I'm glad that we went through all of this testing so we could get some answers. And I'm so so happy that there's treatment for FVL. However, I'm sad when thinking about the babies we lost. If I'd known earlier, I could have saved them.

I find it appropriate that my appointment with the specialist will be on August 15th. We'll learn how to save our future babies on the due date of baby #2, which I lost at 14 weeks.

the story of miscarriage

This post has graphic descriptions of miscarriage. Read at your own discretion. ~Alicia


I started bleeding for my second miscarriage on the four month anniversary of the D&C for my first. I don't know what to say about my body except that it has timing.

I knew it was likely coming. On Saturday, I started spotting brown discharge. By the end of that day, we had decided to call my OB's office and cancel the D&C scheduled for early Monday morning in the hopes that I would miscarry on my own. Late Sunday morning, I wiped and saw small red streaks mixed in with the brown. My cramps were becoming more like cramps than a persistent aching.

By the end of that day, I asked my mom to come up. I hated asking her to drive the two and a half hours to Nashville from Alabama, especially because she had already been traveling that weekend. But when you need your mama, you do your best to kick your pride and guilt to the curb.

My mama arrived at 6:40pm. At 7:00pm, as I hugged G goodnight, I felt a sudden wetness between my legs. I rushed upstairs to the bathroom and sat on the toilet in time to pass a large clot and a few gushes of bright red blood. The miscarriage was definitely happening.

I called my OB's office and spoke with the on-call doc from the group (who happened to be the one who had delivered G!). I told her what was happening and just asked her to give my OB a message for in the morning. My OB had asked me to call before taking my Cytotec, a drug to induce cervical contractions that she wanted me to talk as soon as I had bright red bleeding. The on-call doc said my OB's nurse would give me a call in the morning to check on me, but I shouldn't hesitate to call back if I had any problems. I know I've said it before, but I love my doctor's office.

By the time I hung up the phone, the contractions and cramps were coming stronger. I put three Cytotec pills in my cheeks; I would take another three after those dissolved. My mom, Dave, and I all gathered upstairs to play a game and distract me. I sat with my heating pad, alternating it between my tummy and my lower back. Every 15 to 30 minutes, I would feel a little wetness and taking off quickly to the bathroom. Usually, I would pass a mass of clots and blood on the toilet before joining the others back in the room.

By 9:30 or 10pm, the contractions/cramps were strong. I was on hydromorphone and strong Ibuprofen pills, and I was still in a lot of pain. After a while, I couldn't concentrate on playing games anymore. My mom and the hubs distracted me by sitting with me on the floor and chatting for the next few hours. I spent most of it rocking back and forth, a motion that really helped, and heading to the bathroom to pass some more clots. Nothing during this time was as big as that first clot.

Around 11:30, I noticed that my cramps had lessened. I was worried about this because I didn't feel like I had passed anything that looked like the gestational sac - it all had looked like clotting. Mom and Dave argued about who would stay up with me; finally, my mom won and Dave headed off to try to sleep for a few hours.

At midnight, I decided that the cramps weren't strong enough to keep me from sleep. I sent Mom off to bed and crawled in next to a passed out hubs. I laid there until 1:30am, dozing, waking with cramps, dozing again, until the cramps/contractions became bad enough to send me to the bathroom again. I passed my biggest clot then, though it still didn't look like anything but blood.

I stayed up by myself until about 2:30 before deciding to try to sleep again.

My mom and the hubs got up when G did, around 6:30, and I stayed in bed a little later, closer to 7:30. At 7:55am, my OB's nurse called to check on me. I told her what happened overnight and answered her questions. They decided to have me come in for an ultrasound to see if I'd passed the fetal tissue. We went in for one at 10am, and the ultrasound technician found only blood clots. It looked as though I had passed all of the sac already. This was great news, and we were all very relieved.

This morning, I did end up passing a large piece of gray tissue that had a large clot attached to it. I'm guessing it was hidden on the ultrasound or something because it was definitely different than only blood. Today's bleeding, after that tissue, has been much more period like with almost no clotting, so I hope that means I'm in the clear now.

All in all, the experience was more positive than my D&C. I hated having to go to the hospital and spent a lot of time there by myself, whereas miscarrying naturally at home meant I could be surrounded by those who love me. I'm so happy my mom made it in time to help me out. The worst of the miscarriage only lasted a few hours, but having her as a distraction made things so much easier. It was also wonderful that the miscarriage happened right after G went to bed, so everyone was able to focus on helping me through it.

I did get emotional at the beginning, but overall, it was less traumatic than my D&C. I'll definitely choose a natural miscarriage over a D&C if I have to in the future, at least for early miscarriages. This miscarriage has sucked so hard because it was my second in a row, but this baby likely never even had a heartbeat. The fetus never looked very baby-like on the screen, likely from severe defects. And maybe after losing baby #2, I'm too jaded to feel like I could be pregnant with my take-home baby.

I'm still mourning baby #2, the one we lost at 14 weeks, so comprehending the loss of a second baby has been very difficult for me. How can someone hold that much grief? How can you mourn two babies when you never got past mourning one? When I think about baby #2, my heart clenches tight. When I think about baby #3, I just feel numb. Maybe I can't deal with even more loss so I'm shutting myself down to keep from feeling the pain. I can talk about this miscarriage easily with my husband and my mom, but when I try to talk to anyone else about it, my throat tightens, my jaw clenches, and tears rush into my eyes.

Does it get easier, the more losses you have? Or do you just utilize your well-worn coping skills?

We get to start trying for baby #4 after I have a regular period. I don't know if I'll be conceiving my second living child or my third angel baby.

sicky babe is sicky

G caught one hell of a nasty bug somewhere this past week. After a crying session of one and a half hours, and his refusal to eat much of anything at breakfast, I was wondering if maybe he didn't feel well. I mean, he's hit the terrible twos already, but that was kinda ridiculous.

Around 10am, I went to change his diaper and noticed that he felt pretty hot. I took his temp and it was 102.8.

Waah.

Of course, I flew into mama mode. Fluids! Tylenol! Paci! Cuddles! Yo Gabba Gabba! Early nap!

He went down quick for that nap but woke up after only about hour and 15 minutes. He proceeded to demand cuddles and TV for the next few hours. We got him to eat a little pasta and drink a decent amount of milk for lunch, but he wasn't having anything else.

At the four-hour mark for his Tylenol, we took his temp again. 102.7. Sigh. Dosed him again.

He was totally out of it and cranky for most of the afternoon. As he approached the four-hour mark again, he became more lethargic and unwilling to do anything but sit on us. It took forever to get him to stop crying after he got angry at his bucket o' blocks.

That little outburst must have worn him out, because ten minutes later, I glanced over and he was out. This was at about 5pm.

Dave eventually moved to the couch where G slept for another 30 minutes before we woke him up.

G did not want to get up, but we really wanted to try to get him to eat and drink some more before bed. He didn't want any food but he did at least drink some water and milk. Then he kept falling asleep on us before we just decided to go ahead and put him to bed early.

We did take his temperature before dosing him one last time and it was 103.7 and 103.4 a little later. It's scary to see the temp go higher, and especially that high! The highest fever he's had before now was only 101.4. His heart was racing and his body quivering all over. It scared me to see him so sick like that.

We did call our pediatrician's nighttime hotline. The nurse said to keep an eye on him overnight and call our pedi in the morning if he's still running a high fever. Goodie. This means I won't sleep a wink tonight.

He's been tossing and turning in his crib this evening and letting out little whimpers through the monitor. But the hubs just checked on him and he's feeling cooler, so I guess the Tylenol is working. I feel so powerless in moments like these when I can't give him anything but painkiller.

love letters to my children

I've been trying all day to write one letter to G and one letter to second-baby, the baby we lost in February. I will write a paragraph, then delete it. I will sit here, on Blogger, for 30 minutes, unable to write anything.

I have so much I could say to G, in these last hours of Mother's Day. But I feel as though this entire blog is a love letter to my first born, to the one who taught me how to be a mama, the one who keeps me going in the waves of loss-caused depression. I love him so much I feel as though my heart could burst. When I lost second-baby, some of my early thoughts to God were "If you take Grayson too, I'll never forgive you."

Because I couldn't. G is the reason I don't linger in bed, the reason I head downstairs instead of showering first, so I can see his little face grinning at me between the bars of his crib. His smile is my strength, and his laughter lessens the knot that constantly sits in my chest. When I hold his hand, I feel like those smooth, soft fingers are tugging me onward.

Whenever he wants comfort, I hold him close and think, yes, this is my purpose.

Losing second-baby meant that I lost a lot of myself. My bits of future and family, my confidence, my innocence that had never touched grief. I large part of me never wants to fill those holes because I'm too afraid of losing the only connection to second-baby that I still have. As soon as I move on, I have to admit that baby is dead. As soon as I move on, I no longer have that part of baby inside of me, the grief that weighs me down but constantly reminds me of the life that's gone.

And I never, ever want to forget that life. I don't want to forget the grief of losing baby. I'm the mama to two children, one downstairs asleep in his crib and one whose body was incinerated with countless other babies and body parts but whose soul lives on in my heart and in heaven, waiting for me to get there.

I want both of my children to only and always know love from me. No matter that I have to put on my parental hat whenever he gets into trouble. No matter if I could never hold him or her in my arms. I want there to be only love in my actions and in my life toward them. I want them to always, at least, know that I loved them.

I guess, in that, there is my love letter.

I was put under 8 weeks ago

It's been 8 weeks since my D&C.

I'm not even sure what I say about it that I haven't already said. It's the first major loss I've ever experienced, and I find it so odd how life is in the aftermath of death. Robert Frost said it best: "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." Preach it, Frost. It goes on. And the weird thing is, it does.

At least, for everyone around me. I feel kinda stuck in one place, even though I'm going through the motions of continuing with life, even though I'm taking care of my toddler like normal, going to class, teaching my students, and everything in-between, even though I'm working on losing weight so I'm healthier for third-baby. Even though, I feel like I haven't moved on yet. Maybe everyone else has. People definitely don't willingly bring it up anymore, almost as though they're relieved time has passed enough that maybe it is just the past now.

I go running by myself every other day just so I have time to think about it. And I need that, that calm space to let second-baby flow into my thoughts. It's our moment together that I yearn for. It's all that I feel I have left to offer my angel-baby.

I start my second post-miscarriage period any day now. After that, we start trying to get pregnant again. I'm rather nervous about it, mostly because I don't know how long it will take. My luteal phase (the phase of your cycle post ovulation) was very short last cycle, and I need it to be longer in order to get or stay pregnant.

Maybe getting pregnant again will help me reach that life goes on threshold. Or maybe my life will go on, but my heart never will.

those pictures of us

I'm wishing, at this moment, that I had taken more pics of me pregnant with baby #2.

My father-in-law got married to a lovely lady on Saturday. I'll post pics soon, especially of G because he was so stinkin' cute in his bow-tie and hat. My mother-in-law was the photographer and she asked me to be a bit of a second shooter for her. A few hours before the wedding, I cleaned off my SD card to make room.

As the photos, about 800 of them, were deleting off the card, I caught a glimpse of me pregnant with baby #2. I was 10 weeks at the time.

A huge wave of panic hit me. I thought I had copied all of the photos off my SD card, but I knew I had to check for my own sanity. I pulled up my folders, scanned through the past three months, and found only one from that photo session, the one I had used to blog that I was 10 weeks pregnant.

I had been meaning to take another maternity photo of myself, especially after I hit the second trimester mark a few weeks later. But I never did. There are no photos of me earlier along than that.

In a blink, I had deleted all of the rest of those photos from that 10 week session. There were a few others, a few of me with G as well. The lost of those hurt the worst. How stupid was that of me? Tears immediately glossed over my eyes. I didn't want to lose it, knowing I had to soon get ready for the wedding, but I could feel the grief welling up inside me all over again. One photo. That was all I had of me pregnant with baby #2. I already had an overwhelming sense of having nothing to remind me of second-baby, especially the lack of a body to bury. This was just one more heart-wrenching kick-me-while-I'm-down moment.

I took a deep breath and traveled further back in my stored photos. To 2011. To Christmas.

Here, here is a picture of me pregnant. The morning of Christmas Eve.

And here, another one. The evening of Christmas Day.

I was 6 1/2 weeks pregnant on Christmas and already showing, my belly bloated and swollen, my face already filling out.

And here, on my 30th birthday. Four weeks pregnant and I knew.

I knew so so early in that pregnancy that there was a new life inside me. I tested positive on a pee stick 8 days after ovulation, when I was only 3 weeks and 2 days pregnant.

There may be others, other photos that other people took of me when I was pregnant, and I cling to these photos because it's all that I have left. I have my hospital bracelet sitting on my jewelry box. I have the scar on my wrist that may never go away, one inch to the left of the IV scar from G's birth. I have second-baby's first ultrasound pictures, and a morbid part of me wishes we had images from the ultrasound that diagnosed the miscarriage. Second-baby had been so utterly beautiful to me at that moment.

I hate so badly that I deleted those photos of me 10 weeks pregnant, except for the one above. I wish I had taken some when I was 13 weeks pregnant, a week before all of that baby was lost to me. I promise myself that I'll do better with the next one, but that doesn't erase the heaviness that always lingers on my chest.

It's been almost 8 weeks since the day we found out about the miscarriage. Sometimes it feels like it never happened, especially as I sit here in my very not-pregnant body. Sometimes it grasps at my running heels as though it was yesterday.

a lesson on grief

If I was still pregnant, I would have been 20 weeks along today. We would have found out the gender of our baby yesterday.

The following blog post was originally written as a guest post for Annie over at Letters to Mo. I've edited it a bit before deciding to post it here. It's heavy stuff, but it suits my mood for today as I think back to that moment six weeks ago when we realized something was very, very wrong.

...

The day before my doctor's appointment, I threw up in the car on my way to work.

It was the morning of Valentine's Day. I had to drive back home with chunks of food hanging off my wrist and bile seeping into my pants. I thought, today can't get worst, right? I thought, damn pregnancy. I'm almost 14 weeks. The nausea should take the hint already. I thought, I gotta call the school and tell them I won't make it. Awesome.

Later, I'd regret most of those thoughts.

The evening of Valentine's Day, my 20 month old son decided to bend over to pick up his sippy and busted his eyelid open on our coffee table. Oh, the jokes! Once stitches were ruled out, anyway. How'd you not see that coming, G? Seeing as how it hit you in the eye. People would sympathize with our toddler, about how he had fallen on the coffee table. Oh, no, we would say. He just bent over. Ha.

This was the day before my doctor's appointment. I still wish I could go back to that day of barf and blood and four hours in the emergency room. That day sucked so hardcore, but I would trade it in an instant with any of the others that have followed. I cursed my pregnant body, thinking nausea was the worst of my woes. I held my toddler close, silently tsking at his random injury that cost us $400.

But that day, my 14 week old second-child, baby #2, my son or daughter, Grayson's brother or sister, was probably still alive. Because by the day after Valentine's Day, second-baby just wasn't.

I have learned a lot about grief in the weeks following my missed miscarriage.  

One. There is a lot of silence you'll want to fill up. Your doctor will search search search  for that damn sweet little heartbeat you were supposed to hear for the first time that day. The flatlines of your baby's no-heartbeat won't make that low tone of the movies that signals that life doesn't exist - it'll simply show up on the screen, smooth lines where there should be waves. The ultrasound technician will check the baby over and barely speak a word to you. You'll be handed so many tissues, the white wads of paperthin stuff spilling out of your hands, but no one will hand you a "your baby died" or "you miscarried" or "sweet Jesus, life will really suck for you for a long time now."

No one will even want to tell you how far along the baby was before it died, and so you'll have to ask. 14 weeks exactly. The horror of that will never go away. It could have happened only moments ago.

Two. A D&C makes things a little quicker, a little easier, than letting nature take its time. But when you wake up from anesthesia with tears streaming down your face, your hands outstretched even though you don't remember lifting them, mid-sentence of "give me my baby back," no one will look you in the eye. The nurses will ignore you until they decide it's time for you to pee now and get out, thank you very much. The minutes between consciousness and when your husband walks into the room feel longer than they are. He says your doctor heard you say, "the baby waved at me," when you first woke up, but you'll never remember saying those words. Only dream every fuckin' night of a tiny red hand held up in the air.

Oh, by the way, you'll throw up in the car on the way home, just like you did on Valentine's Day three days ago. But this time it's not from pregnancy hormones but from the anesthesia that kept you asleep while they took your dead baby out.

Three. Everyone and their sister has lost a baby just like you. A tiny few are worse, a few were further along or stillborn, and your heart can't even consider that pain. But most came early, way early, and you'll wail inside, I saw my baby at 9 weeks and baby was fine. Baby was healthy. Baby was kicking its miniature feet and tossing that head - oh god, its brain wasn't growing right and we didn't even know - and we should have heard a heartbeat that day, not silence.

You'll learn that people are awesome, even the ones you barely talk to anymore. You'll learn that your boss gets nervous, in a way you've never seen him in the past 12 years, when he brings up that in an effort to be a friend, and you'll be really touched. You'll learn that you can't keep your mouth shut about it, and it's not that you want to broadcast to everyone that you miscarried, but that it's all you can think about.  

Four. You'll grasp at any way possible to keep that baby alive in your life. Could I get a tattoo, when I have never considered one before? Could I get a special necklace or ring? Could I print out a picture of the 9 week ultrasound, put it in a pretty frame, and stare at it day after day? Could I get a stuffed lion, second-baby's birth sign would have been Leo, and cry into its fur in the middle of the night?

You'll have nothing but some old ultrasound pics and a hospital bracelet and three extra pounds that won't fit into your old jeans and a $4000 bill. And you can't change that. And you've never felt so helpless.

Instead, you'll cling to your toddler's life, your throat closing up anytime you let yourself pause. Every time he stumbles, somewhere deep inside, you gasp with fright. You'll have nightmares and think he's not breathing until you turn on the light and shout his name and shake his shoulder like a lunatic until you hear his sweet wail because you scared him you freak.

Five. Your toddler has an incredible ability to heal you from the inside out. When you come home from the hospital, he will sit in your lap and not want to leave, touching first the IV bandage on your left wrist and then the hospital band on the other, a furious look of concentration on his chub-chub face. He will hug you tightly and often, sometimes refusing to be parted by your side except for food and sleep. How does he know, you will wonder, that this is exactly what I need because he's not even two and he doesn't even talk yet. Maybe it's because you talked so often about the baby in your tummy and suddenly you didn't. Maybe he just knows in that psychic baby-just-knows-his-mama way.  

Last. Eventually, people stop talking about It, and you don't bring It up anymore because you'll sound depressed or obsessed or something else that makes people uncomfortable. Those on the fringes of your life will nod and think everything is okay now. Those with the down-low might know better. Really, it's because you become better at hiding the crack in your armor, the knowledge that perfect life can so quickly become broken life.

Eventually, or maybe instantly, you'll start to obsess about getting pregnant again in 1 or 2 months. Every twinge in your body becomes a sign of ovulation, and you'll count the days until a possible period over and over. And every once in a while, you'll stop and cry and promise second-baby that you're not trying to replace it, that if you had any choice you would still have him or her snugg-a-bug in your belly and dreaming of finding out its gender. Dreaming instead of refusing testing on the body so that you'll selfishly never know because your heart probably couldn't take it.

Eventually, or at least hopefully, you'll get pregnant again and give birth to a healthy baby with a healthy brain, and in the darkness of 2 am, with that baby tugging at your breast, you'll whisper, You had a brother or sister that we lost. Second-baby was so *beautiful*. 

And the memories, out they will spill.

it's guest-blogging time

I'm guest-blogging over at Letters to Mo today! Annie is so funny, and her son Cash who just turned one is seriously cute. I'm blogging about my miscarriage and what I've learned about grief. It's heavy stuff, but if you've been here for a while, you kinda know what to expect from me, right?

Go check it out!

grief

Because I'm a writer, I have to write this.

I'm  starting this post at 12:30 at night, Thursday morning. I'm not sure when I'll post it. I've been watching the clock as time moved into the next day, and the worst day of my life turned into yesterday. I'm wishing right now that yesterday was just a nightmare I just woke up from, and that tomorrow won't bring yet another nightmare I won't be able to forget.

I had started a different post yesterday but never got around to finishing it. I was going to title it "My Valentine's Day from h. e. double hockey sticks." Cute, right? My Valentine's Day really sucked hardcore.

I was going to write about how I threw up all over myself on the way to work. You know. The usual pregnant lady bitching about the nausea and why isn't it over yet? What a way to start Valentine's Day. I also got chocolate that morning, though, and chocolate can make most things better. Right?

I was going to write about how, yesterday afternoon, G busted his eyelid on the coffee table. He dropped his sippy cup on the floor, bent to pick it up, and somehow didn't see that coffee table coming out of nowhere.

We can joke about it now, but at the time there was blood and a lot of talk about stitches. We were told to go to the children's ER, so off we went. After making it through triage, we waited two and a half hours only to be told, hmm, you know, it's more superficial than anything, so we'll leave it alone. We made it home late after being at the hospital for almost four hours. Poor G hadn't eaten since 3 o'clock because stitches near a toddler's eye means sedation, so we'd been told not to give him anything. Yeah, I'm still kind of pissed about that.

I was going to write about the super awesome Valentine's Day package my mom sent us in the mail. G still hasn't gotten to open it, though.

Of course, Valentine's Day is now the day before yesterday.

Yesterday, we had a routine monthly exam at the OB to see how baby #2 was doing. We had G with us since it should have been a simple in-and-out visit. I believe my words were, as my OB squirted gel onto my stomach, "I can't wait to hear the heartbeat for the first time."

I guess I should have kept my mouth shut.

The seconds ticked by. My OB searched and searched and searched for that heartbeat. I stared up at the ceiling. Where are you, baby? Say hi for mommy, okay? Stay calm, stay calm.

My OB left and returned with a rather old ultrasound machine. We were probably the last appointment of the day, and not many people were still around. It was pretty easy to see that there was no movement in the chest cavity to indicate a heartbeat.

I think that's when I started crying. My OB didn't say much yet, but I knew. Oh, I knew. She mentioned that the head seemed misshaped. I asked if that was because the baby had started to decay. She said probably, yes. I don't think anyone ever said, your baby has died. Maybe there are some things that just don't need to be said.

My OB called around to find a real ultrasound technician. It took a while, but one was found. They stayed late for us, taking measurements of the baby. The technician asked if I wanted to watch the monitor. I didn't hesitate and said yes. I owed my baby that much, to catch my last glimpses of him or her. I couldn't look away now.

The baby didn't look that bad. I saw a head, the body, some hands, some feet. It was beautiful. Hi, baby. I'm sorry Mommy couldn't protect you. I'm sorry we can't meet you in August like we were supposed to. The technician scanned the chest cavity and the heart rate pattern came up. Only straight lines. I'm sorry we never got to actually hear your heartbeat. It was so strong at 9 weeks. I love you, I love you, I love you.

The technician didn't say much. I was handed tissue by various people. I did ask her how far along the baby was measuring and she said 14 weeks. I was 14 weeks along that day. The baby had likely passed sometime in the past few days.

We went back to our OB. The office was pretty much shut down, with just her and her nurse there. We talked about why this might have happened (who knows?) and since it was my first miscarriage, it didn't raise my chances of having another (though it was a later miscarriage), and here were the options of how to pass the baby (naturally or D&C; we've now decided to do the latter).

She gestured at G, who was in Dave's arms and being so patient. She said to focus on what we had, that we had proved a pregnancy of ours could turn into something so beautiful.

I nodded. But inside, I was selfish. I wanted my other beautiful baby too.

She said she could probably do a D&C on Friday, if we wanted. That's what we've decided to do now. Apparently passing a baby this far along naturally can be very painful. I want to do what's best for me, and I also want to do what gives my baby the most dignity.

I'm not at all grossed out by the fact that I'm still carrying my baby right now. I won't be able to ever hold him or her in my arms, but I can hug he or she with my whole body for the next two days. I can whisper that I love him or her, I can say I'm sorry, and I can promise that I will see them again one day. 

Tomorrow, I will be put under anesthesia, with a breathing tube down my throat. When I wake up, my baby will be gone. I won't get to see him or her or take him or her home with me. I won't be pregnant anymore. I'll have to finally make myself say goodbye. The image I want burned into my brain for the rest of my life isn't one from these last few days - the misshapen body of my baby, the heart rate monitor that showed no heartbeat, how much flatter my belly will be tomorrow evening.

I want, most of all, to remember how much my baby, looking perfectly healthy, moved at our first ultrasound at almost 9 weeks. How he or she wiggled hands and feet and threw that head about, testing the waters of this newfound movement. I will cherish the images we have of our second child, and think, so very often 

Mommy loves you.

2011 in review

January:

February:

 
March

April

 
May

June

July

August

September

 October

November

December

2011 was a huge year for G. He went having no signs of crawling as a 7 month old baby with NO teeth to running around with confidence as an almost 19 month old toddler with 12 teeth! He went from having almost no hair to having hair so long in the back that we may have to trim it up soon. He's in the 95% for height, but he's always been tall and skinny. He smiles easily and freely. He understands about 70% of what I say directly to him, and who knows, I'm probably underestimating. He still has no words except for "bmoo" (cow) and "ah-ah-ah" (monkey), but he can point out 12 of his own body parts and he knows the signs for more and all done. His favorite things to do are 1) read, 2) play with blocks, 3) run around like crazy, and 4) dance.

It was a big year for us, too. We lost one of our kitties, Bill, to kidney failure. We took our first family trip to Miami to visit the Cuban family for a wedding. I started school (again). We're expecting baby #2 sometime in August.

All in all, it was a fabulous year. I'm looking forward to 2012, when G will (hopefully) start talking, baby #2 will be born, and I'll work on more of the classes portion of school. 2013 will bring a ton more changes as the kiddos both slide into (or more into) toddlerhood, and I finish the class portion of school. 2014 will bring graduation (yay!), a full time teaching job, and a new house!

At least, that's the plan. :)

Bye bye, 2011. You were pretty awesome, but I'm glad to see you go!

when life happens

Thanksgiving was fantastic. My mom was in full g-mama mode, running around with my kid all day, every day while I got to do a bit of lounging about the house. It was heaven.

Then we get home and check our mailbox, and bam, we're back to reality. A notice that our health insurance won't be covering yet another thing from G's emergency room visit. This time? $600 for his xrays. That's on top of the $200-300 we've already received.

Oh hi. Merry Christmas.

It's just one more big charge we've gotten slammed with in the past two months. I need life to seriously take a chill pill for a moment.

Our cat needed teeth pulled. $130 to figure that out. $230 to pull them. Oh, and maybe you should lower his thyroid meds since his levels are a little off. $40 to retest. Oops, now they're off in the other direction. Next month? Another $40 to retest.

I go to the dentist for a routine check up. Oh, by the way, your fillings are over 15 years old and need to be replaced. Bam, $880.

My car's thermometer goes bad. $120.

At this point, I'm just praying that nothing else goes wrong until next year. Come on, life, give us a break, okay?

We did set up our tree this evening while playing Christmas music - that at least calmed me down. And I snapped this pic to cheer me up.

We got these little salt n pepper shakers from Target a few weeks ago. I love them so hard. Every time I see them, I try to refocus my mind on the upcoming holidays. The money will take care of itself, and I need to give G the best Christmas possible by focusing on him and not on what's stressing me out.

Christmas is about love and family. And little cheek kisses. I love little cheek kisses.

Especially when they come from my little cheeky toddler.

what 11/11/11 means to me

When I was in college, I always went to bed around 11pm (except, of course, on weekends). This meant I was usually pretty focused on the clock around this time, so I often saw when it turned 11:11pm. Often, the mantra was "It's 11:11 - make a wish!" Sometimes I didn't. Usually I did.

Of course, this past Friday was extra awesome, being November 11 of 2011. A friend of mine from college turned 30 that day, so we spent Friday evening at her house partying it up. What a day to turn the big 3-0! My 30th birthday won't be near as cool, since mine this year is on the 70th anniversary of Pearl Harbor. Awesome, right?

Anyway.

I've always been big on wishes. When I blow out birthday candles, I still make some kind of wish. I wish on shooting stars and coins in fountains. If I find the wishbone of a turkey or chicken, I make someone break it with me so I can wish if I win. I don't know how much I believe in the power of wishes and how much they might come true, but I do believe that they represent a powerful thought that everyone should have. Everyone should have something to shoot for, something they want so badly. I find that one of the sweetest aspects of life is hoping for the future.

On Friday, we had an hour drive to my friend's and an hour drive back. My mother-in-law was babysitting, but not overnight, so we knew we had 6-7 hours to sleep if we were lucky. Normally, we wouldn't have been awake that late. Usually, we're in bed by 10, especially right now as G hasn't adjusted fully to the time change yet.

We were in the car, almost home. The hubs poked me and pointed at the dashboard.

The clock had turned 11:11pm on 11/11/11.

I made a wish.

the want of a child

This morning, we had G evaluated for a speech delay. At the age of 17 months (and 5 days), he has no words. The most he'll say is something that kinda sorta sounds like moo if you ask what a cow says. But he'll turn right around and give the same noise for a monkey or kitty.

Sigh.

We got the answer that we pretty much expected: check back later. His other skills are so high - he tested great for even the 18-24 range - that he wouldn't qualify until later. Basically, we're supposed to check back at 20-22 months if he's still not saying anything.

Anyway, I was amazed at how quickly G took to the evaluator who came to our house. He can be quite poker-faced with people he doesn't know, but he was showing her his dimples in a matter of minutes. I think she was quite charmed by him. As she was leaving, she called him a rather "pleasant" kid, and yes, he is actually very pleasant most of the time. We get comments all the time about how well behaved he is. Sometimes I do want to scoff that they're lucky to see him when he's having a good moment, but really, G's bad moments are really not all that bad.

I've gotten a bit off track, as my main point of this post was that I've come to realize that my kid is an actual kid now. And what I mean is that he has feelings. I don't think babies have much in the way of feelings when they're tiny. You can hurt them in the sense that they won't feel secure where they are - as a small baby, G hated being passed around among people he didn't know - but I wouldn't say you could hurt their feelings like you can that of a child.

Sometime over the past few months, I began to notice G's feelings. And I must say, he's a bit of a sensitive soul.

If anyone ever calls my kid a wuss or makes fun of him (or worse, calls him a girl, because crying =/= girl) for crying about something, I will punch them in the face. Seriously. But that idea isn't even what I mean.

You look at that little face, and you just know there's a whole lot going on in there. He can give that poker face like it ain't nobody's business.

And of course, like any toddler, he's fantastic at the look-how-pitiful-I-am-because-you-can't-pick-me-up-right-this-second face.

I actually feel kind of bad for snapping that picture. But I was replacing the card in my camera, so I had it in my hands anyway, and he was being so absolutely ridiculous that I decided to save the whiny face image for when he's older.

Oh, my grandbaby is giving you a hard time? Well, take a look here, G. See what you put us through when you were tiny? That toddler phase is totally normal.

Ahem.

The evaluator from the state, he took right to her. He tried his hardest to build a tall tower of tiny blocks to show off his skills. When he accidentally knocked them over on the seventh block, he jerked his eyes to look at her reaction. "Uh-oh!" she said, meaning it in a nice way. But his little face just crumpled up and his lower lip trembled. He wanted her approval so badly, and I really think he got upset that he'd failed her. He didn't cry, but he did later when she had to quickly take some raisins away from him. I saw it coming, that he'd try to eat them instead of put them in the little container like she wanted. And his crying wasn't a pissed off because you took something away cry. It was much more of a you hurt my feelings cry.

A few days ago, another toddler pushed G down at the playground. The other toddler couldn't have been more than a few months older than G. Definitely under two. G was a little taller than him, but he seems to have a bit more skills. The kid took two steps toward G, lifted both arms, and shoved G right in the chest. G fell backward but didn't hit his head. I was too stunned to do anything but pick my kid off the floor and comfort him. If I'd had more of my wits about me, I would have said something. The toddler's parent was right there and never said a word.

Grayson was just stunned. You could see the shock all over his face. He looked at the toddler with a clear question on his face - why would you do that to me? Then that lower lip came out. It doesn't very often, and it's almost always tied to G's feelings. I can't ever get a shot of the pouting lip because I'm always much more focused on the comforting. If the lip is out, G needs it. You could literally see him pull himself together. He cried for a few seconds, a heart-breaking wail, and then he straightened himself up, brushed me off, and went on his way.

For the rest of the time on the playground, whenever the kid came close, G would stop and watch him. He always wanted to know where the other toddler was. The trust was broken.

I'm not sure if this is even justified, but I hate that even more than when my kid gets physically hurt. A bump on the forehead because he fell into the coffee table is one thing. Those mend. A few seconds later, he's forgotten about it. But he remembers how he felt about something. The hubs says the next day, when G went to another park, he was watching the other kids more closely.

G rarely pays attention to other kids unless they physically get in his way. Then he might point to where he wants to go. He did that when I was watching him at the same playground where he was pushed down. A girl was blocking some stairs. He stood, he paced, he pointed and grunted at her. She just stared at him. I didn't press the issue since there were other stairs to explore, and he eventually gave up and left. That's G for you. He won't push you out of his way. He'll try to squeeze past you, in more of a oh hey, can I get over there? way.

Mom told me that later I might have to deal with G getting stepped on by other kids. You know, the "stand up for yourself, kiddo!" conversation. And I say, I'd rather have that conversation than the "stop punching other kids, kiddo!" one. I mean, really.

Besides, G has plenty of opinions of what he wants and doesn't want in life. He has a pretty clear idea of those and lets you know about them when he chooses to. But with other people, at least for now, politeness seems to come first.

And I admit it, that thought just makes me all puffed up with pride.

a list of 5 ickies

Well, it took only just over a week until I got stumped for NaBloPoMo blog entry ideas. Alas! So I'm going back to my listing roots. Here's a list of things that have happened in the past week.

1. My car broke down on Halloween. Except it wasn't really broken down, just had a broken thermostat. And I thought I had forgotten my phone but I hadn't. That day sucked.

2. G almost broke his leg on the slide and had his first emergency room visit.

3. I had to put on my big-girl panties about a situation when really I just want to get angry. Again. But the anger just isn't worth it.

4. Another toddler pushed G down on the playground. I was so stunned, all I could do was help my kid back up and brush away his tears. I wanted to punch the other toddler in the face, but that would have caused more problems, I think. I should have at least punched the dad in the face for not saying anything to his kid.

5. I have yet another dentist appointment today about those old fillings I had replaced A MONTH ago. Looks like a crown might be in my future because the pain won't go away. I'm so upset about it, but what can you do?

Eh, that's it. I'm just drained from work and school and motherhood, and wanted to rant.

I'll return you to your regularly scheduled baby-ness tomorrow.

baby's first emergency room visit

Yesterday, we went to the zoo.

We go to the zoo a lot. We usually let G walk around at his leisure, and he usually heads straight toward the playground. Nashville's zoo has the largest community-built playground in the country. And it's definitely large.

I'm kinda in love with it.

G is just getting to the point where he can explore the area. He can even walk up some of the steps by himself as long as he has something to hold onto.

Toward the end of our visit, he indicated that he wanted to go down one of their many curly tube slides. It looked like this:

I had gone down many slides with G. I knew to watch out for his feet so they didn't get stuck. But the confines of the tube slide were tighter than I expected. We curved to the right, but G's left foot stuck to the side of the tube.

I swear his leg didn't even move that much, but he cried out. Then he started crying the way he does when something hurts or when he's scared. However, by the time we got out of the slide and I picked him up, he had stopped crying. In fact, rather quickly, he wanted back down to run around. I put him down, but he almost immediately cried out, stumbled, and collapsed to the ground.

We took off his shoe and sock, check out his ankle. It looked fine with no immediate swelling. We decided to take him to a more level type of ground to test out his walking again. So we did. But again he pretty much wouldn't put any weight on that foot.

At this point, I was trying very hard not to completely freak out.

Being a Saturday, we couldn't take him to our pediatrician, but we did call the after-hours triage nurse, who directed our concerns to the on-call doc. He told us to just go ahead and go to the children's hospital.

I really did lose it then. In the back seat behind me, G was babbling up a storm like nothing had happened.

We didn't have to wait long at the hospital to be seen. I basically had time to pee and that was it. G still couldn't walk on his left leg. He hated everything they did to him - taking his heart rate and blood pressure, looking at his leg, taking xrays. He was on high alert, so anything even remotely off made him cry. The whole experience just broke my heart. All in all, it took about three hours to get there, have xrays done, and get the results.

NO FRACTURES. Thank God!

They said he likely tweaked something a bit. They didn't rule out the possibility of a hairline fracture that wouldn't manifest itself until later in the week. If he's not better in a couple of days, we're supposed to take him to our pedi to get reevaluated. Even on pain meds, his sleep last night was awful. This morning, though, he's been in his normal high spirits. He's walking with a limp, but that's expected. As long as he doesn't get worse, we're assuming he's fine and only bruised up.

I feel so bad for what happened, especially because he was sitting on my lap at the time. I'm swearing off slides until he's fifteen! I know this is only the beginning of what we face with our bundle of energy, but I had hoped this stuff wouldn't happen until he was more of a kid than a toddler, you know?

I really hope he continues to heal. He's certainly in much better shape than he was yesterday. There's no swelling or discoloration, so everything points to a full recovery soon.

Bill the Cat: August 1995 - March 21, 2011

Billy the cat seemed fine last week, but we returned from Alabama yesterday, and bam, he had gone downhill fast. He had a long history of health problems, including once when he almost died from liver problems. He wasn't eating or drinking, and he had obviously lost some weight.

We took him in today, and our vet gave it to us straight: kidney failure. Not anything we could do.

Bill was an old cat. We knew his time would be coming up. But it was so sudden. On the one hand, we were glad he didn't have a long time to suffer. On the other, we didn't have a lot of time to sort our own feelings. Walking out of the vet's office with no Bill in the carrier was so difficult.

When I first moved in with Dave, Bill mainly hung out in the office. His brother was a bit of a meanie, and he would chase Bill out of the living room. I spent many months working with him, coaxing him bit by bit. Eventually, he had freedom to move about the house again. Phil, his brother, wasn't a fan of Billy's new-found independence, but Bill didn't care. He'd find any open window and lay in it for hours. Same with sun. He loved in the tiniest bit of sun on the floor.

Bill was a cuddly kitty. He'd cuddle with anyone. Even his litter mate, who lives with my mother-in-law now. He's the larger and darker of the two in this pictures, the one to the left.

 

When Phil (a rather grumpy cat) went to live in a house all of his own, Bill started cuddling with Simon, our younger cat. This is the most current picture of him we have.

He would dry to cuddle with anyone, even if he didn't know them well. He'd try to sleep with whomever slept on the fold out couch, including my mother. Bill just loved to curl up and cuddle, even with a chair.

But he wasn't a fan of being picked up. He'd go all stiff, stare at the floor, and howl his displeasure.

He could be so goofy. The water bowl had to be kept a good ways from the dry food because he'd try to dip the dry food in the water. So weird. He loved to lay and stretch out his little paws. The pic below looks like he's saying, "Pet meee!" Or "Feeeed me!" Or "I will eat your sooooul!"

String was his favorite toy; he liked a good bout with a laser pointer, but string drove him nutso. He also loved to play with Simon before he got to where he didn't want to move around much. When he got really fat after his liver disease, he would back his butt up to Simon and sit on him. Once he could move around more and lost some weight, he would raise his front paws up and body-slam Simon. We'd get so tickled watching this giant cat. 

He was just a big ol' cat. Super fluffy. You could brush him and brush him, and hair would still come out. I loved how much he loved to be pet and brushed. He especially loved being patted on the butt, right above his tail. If you patted it just right, he would topple over with pleasure onto the carpet. I loved that.

RIP, Billy-billy. I miss you already.

oh my poor car

So yesterday I got in a car wreck.

I'm still kinda pissed about it.

Well, no "kinda" about it - I'm still pissed.

I was having lunch with my dad, my first lunch with him in the new year and my first lunch with G without the hubs. I was excited to stretch my ability to go out and about with G by myself and involve eating. I saw Applebee's up ahead, so I turned right into the parking lot. I go forward, and soon my dad cries out, and I see a large SUV's butt backing into me.

It was way too fast for me to do anything but try to pull to the left a little, but of course there wasn't much room. She hit me in the front right side of my car. I heard a loud crunch and my car rocked sideways.

I was kinda stunned, so we sat there for a moment. The woman got out of her car and ran over, immediately apologizing. Dad said to get out of the way with the car, so I pulled into a nearby parking spot and got out to check on G. He was just looking around, sucking on his paci like nothing was wrong. He didn't even seem alarmed. I kept checking on him during the process of taking pictures and exchanging info, but he was perfectly fine the whole time.

Anyway, I didn't call the police to handle it the way that I should have. My dad though the law was different in Tennessee than it was, and I really should've stood my ground about it. The wreck was obviously the woman's fault for not pulling out slower than she did, so I'm hoping her insurance will cover it. Her vehicle only had a few scratches, while mine now looks like this:

My poor red baby. Hmm, I think that tire needs a little air.

Due to the way she dented in my door, my passenger side door won't open more than a foot. It'll probably end up being a pretty expensive fix due to all the dents and paint. Who knows, but my car's only worth $5000, so we're looking at a fix that'll be a good portion of that.

And I have to hope the lady was honest with her insurance. I'm worried they'll convince her to not admit fault, even though she said that it was her fault over and over. And my insurance guy was a jerk about the fact that I didn't call the police. Not really what I wanted to hear. I felt bad enough as is.

Rar, the whole thing just boils my blood.

At least G's fine and the car is drivable. I'll contact the insurance company tomorrow to see what's up. Hoping for the best!

my boobs of love and not-so love

This will be long.

So I've been sorta kinda considering quitting breastfeeding before G is a year old. I was thinking April when G is about ten months old, and we'll have enough milk saved up to continue for another couple of weeks. I won't quit before then, so I have a lot of time to decide either way. I keep going over and over in my head my list of reasons for continuing or stopping.

Here are my pros and cons for continuing to breastfeed past April.

Reasons I Want to Quit
Cheese. Glorious cheese. I got my first taste of it (in the form of chicken parmesan) in months last Saturday, and I savored every minute. G, while much better in his allergy, is not savoring the aftereffects, though his reaction has been way less severe than before. Meal planning is just so difficult without milk or cheese type products. I can't even use a lot of soup. I do feel as though I eat the same things week after week. After over five months without dairy, I'm just ready. It's clear that it will still be a while before I can eat cheese regularly, maybe well beyond G's first year, if I continue to bf.

My boobs hurt. They just do. I have to be careful about smooshing them with my arms. I can't hug G tightly because they'll ache. Hell, I can barely hold him in the morning without crying out in pain when they're full of milk. Right now I'm stuck at work and it's been three hours since he ate off me, and I just hurt.

My boobs are huge. I'm hoping they'll shrink at least a little after I wean so I can fit into some regular clothes again. I'm going to need a swimsuit this summer, so I'd like to wean in time for them to go down before I buy them. Maybe I'm asking too much in that regard, but a girl can hope, right? As a girl who used to be a B, I really hate my size DD/E boobs.

Pumping. Sucks. I have to pump whenever I'm away from G, which is three days a week, sometimes more. I don't get out much, so usually I have to pump twice to make a bottle. It's rather painful, and my nips will be sore for a while afterward. I did quit pumping in the middle of the night, which is heavenly.

I seem to have plateaued in my weight loss. I still have 5ish pounds to go and a lot of toning. I'd like to work out again in some capacity, but I'm paranoid about lactic acid making my milk raunchy. I need to lose this baby pooch!

G kinda is starting to ask for it. I mean, it's heart-warming and awfully cute, but I also worry that it means it'll be more difficult to wean him the longer I wait. I think it'd break my heart to have to tell him no if he's standing there tugging on my shirt and crying. This is also filed under "reasons to continue" below.

I'm tired of wearing nursing bras and nursing tanks 24/7. I'm a girl who used to sleep in only underwear or maybe some pj pants if I haven't shaved or it's cold. Wearing a shirt was a huge adjustment for me. Having to wear a bra to sleep starting when I was pregnant was even worse so. But having big boobs flopping around when they're all achy is not a good thing at all. 7.5 months into breastfeeding and they still leak. I want to be able to come home, take off my bra, and just let it all hang out. Is that too much to ask?

Sigh. This all sounds rather whiny, doesn't it?

Reasons I Might Continue
G loves the boob. Seriously, he looooves it. I'm actually afraid of the emotional damage I'll cause when I refuse to give up the boob. I think he finally figured out where I keep the boobs because he tries to get at them at random times. Like when I'm holding him, he'll duck his head down. Or if he's standing in front of me, he'll bend over and grab at my shirt. He's gotten better at turning side to side, so he'll twist sideways in my lap, grab onto my tank top, and mouth my chest. It's a weird new thing, kinda heartbreaking because I usually say no - no, dude, you just ate! I think he'd nurse off and on all day if I let him. Kinda sweet, too. But then, do I want to continue into toddlerdom with all the grabbiness? My boobs, kiddo.

G takes his naps on my lap. He falls asleep while nursing and often naps for hours this way. My baby needs a lot of sleep, and nursing to sleep is by far the easiest way to ensure that he gets it. He nurses to sleep at the beginning of the night, too, and often in the early morning when he has trouble getting back to sleep. I really don't look forward to not having that crutch anymore. I love being able to pop a boob in his mouth and off to sleep he goes. Plus, he sleeps on me, which I lovelovelove. I will miss his snuffles, his warmth, the way his shoves his free hand down my cleavage and leaves it there.

He wouldn't have to drink formula. If I wean before a year, I guess we'd have to switch to formula for a while. I doubt he'll be over his milk allergy enough to drink milk at a year old, and I'm not sure what options we'll have in that regard. We'd have to find out what fake milks are best for a one year old, or maybe give him toddler formula. I'm sure his pedi could help out. Formula kinda grosses me out (sorry, but it does). I'd prefer that he never had to drink it.

It's easy. He's hungry, so I pull him onto my lap and unclasp my tank top. That's it. When he's done, he pulls off or takes a nap. La di da.

All the usual breast is best arguments can go here. It protects against colds (G's never actually had one beyond one day of a slightly runny nose), it's the perfect food for him, it's healthy for me, blah blah. None of that changes, so we'll just add it to this list. I'd love to continue to provide for G that way. And myself, as well. He's starting to eat solids like a champ (though he still gags on anything that contains even tiny chunks), so I'm not worried about him refusing solids for boob.

And of course, there's this.

I know when I wean, I'll miss these quiet moments of breastfeeding. He often reaches up to touch my lips, chin, cheeks, neck. He loves when I kiss his fingers. He grabs a fistful of my shirt and pulls himself against me.

Maybe I won't be ready to give that up just yet...

30 days of truth: I hope I never ever

Day 6: Something you hope you never have to do. 

I read a lot of blogs. Between that and some forums, this is really how I spend my time breastfeeding. G rarely has much interest in interacting while he's eating; only on the rare occasion has he tried to look up at me and eat at the same time. Focused on food, that one. Because he's still eating every two hours (and because he often wants to boob-nap), I tend to have some time to spend on the Interwebs. I really only have one hand to do it though, so I tend to blog hop.

I have my favorite categories of blogs: mommy, baby, food, news. Sometimes I'll jump onto one blog and bounce from one to the next through their links. That's how I stumbled upon a thread of blogs concerning babies born with heart defects.

We're very lucky that G was born super healthy and has been fine ever since. The most we've had to deal with is a small bout of jaundice and some milk protein allergy issues. I can't imagine him going through more than the pain of vaccines or some spitting-up. But there are so many mamas who have babies with severe problems, and often they know about them from the 20-week ultrasound. During my 20-week ultrasound, I was more concerned with whether it was a boy or a girl and not if my baby's heart or kidneys or lungs looked normal.

Worse of all, there are so many mamas whose babies don't make it. Sometimes I just have to stop reading those blogs because I can't deal with their pain of losing a child they carried inside their own bodies for so many months. It's so selfish of me to turn off their pain when they can't, but I do, and I hold G close to me or stroke his hair as he lays in front of me feeding.

I hope I never have to know what it feels like to bury a child. It has to be the worse sort of pain in the world, no matter how old they are. I'm not really sure how I'd make it through that. The hubs would be my rock, I'm sure, and there are all these mamas who are still living day-to-day. From my outside perspective, however, it seems like something too impossible to deal with.

If G wasn't asleep, I'd go cuddle him right now. Instead, I'll flick on his video monitor and watch him breathe for a bit.