Little C's Birth Story

I know it's been 12 weeks since Little C was born.  But I've been dealing with a lot of things in the last few months and so I haven't really had the motivation to write it down here until now.  If you've followed my blog at all you will know that we had a c-section scheduled for March 24th.  I'm not going to get into a debate as to whether it was necessary or not.  I have a happy, healthy baby.  That is all that matters to me.  My c-section experiences were wonderful and my recovery was crazy fast.  I healed beautifully the first time and this time I healed just as nicely.  Again, if you've followed my blog at all, you'd know how I felt about c-section versus the VBAC.


K and I decided to bank our baby's cord blood stem cells this time around.  Some people felt we were silly and that it is a waste of money.  Well, that is okay.  It isn't your baby and it isn't your decision and you are entitled to your opinion.  K and I have decided that this is what is best for our family.  We felt it was like life insurance.  Hope you don't need it in your 30's, but glad you do if something happens so your family will not have to take on the burden of such a huge expense.

Wednesday morning, March 24th at 5:30am we arrived at the hospital.  My husband was with me of course, as was Big C, my dad and my brother.  My cousin Ashley arrived a bit later, while we were in the OR.  After checking in and verifying all my pre-registration information, I was taken to a triage room and prepped for my c-section.  IV was started, and my blood was drawn for the maternal draw for the cord blood collection.  After a few minutes my doctor and the anesthesiologist came in to see me and we went over the details of what was going to happen.

After the usual chit chat, it was time to get the show on the road.  I slid out of my bed and kissed my Dad & brother and took my darling boy into my arms and I hugged him and kissed him and told him that I loved him.  It was different this time.  I was excited to see this baby that I have been growing for 40 weeks.  But I was scared.  Scared that I would be leaving my son without his mother if something went wrong.  Its funny how children change your outlook on things.  I slowly began my trek down the hallway to the c-section OR.  A nurse beside me pushing my IV pole, I waddled steadily, my husband walking beside me.

Thoughts began flooding my brain.  Will the spinal go OK?  Will the baby be OK?  Is it a boy or a girl?  Crap, we still haven't decided on a name yet!  OMG...this is really happening now.  Jesus, how did this day come so fast already?  Wait...I don't think I can feel the baby moving anymore.  Oh God, please let this go well and fast!  I want to hold my baby and know it is OK.  I hope Big C is behaving with Dad & J.  OMG...will there be the burning at the incision like it was last time?  Man, that sucked!  Will the cord blood collection go right?  I don't want it to be contaminated and useless.  Did I bring everything?   Please, please PLEASE God keep us safe and healthy.

Yeah....all those thoughts weren't helping keep me relaxed.  In fact, it was giving me more anxiety than I think I had ever experienced.  I felt my chest begin to tighten.  When we arrived at the doors to the OR...I kissed my husband and walked inside as he sat down in the chair outside the door and waited for the spinal to be done.  I sat on the table and the nurse smiled at me.  I remembered her from my last c-section.  She was the one who gave Big C his first bath.

The nurse told me to lean into her and to relax.  I felt the anesthesiologist swab my back and begin poking at my spine.  A few moments later he told me about the sting I would feel...and I did.  No big deal.  So he inserted the needle into my back, searching for the epidural space to inject the fluid that was going to numb my body from the waste down.  My chest is continuing to tighten.  The nurse squeezes my shoulders and tells me to relax again.  I take a deep breath.  I can hear the doctor behind me making sounds as he is trying to hit his mark.  And they don't sound promising.  Beads of sweat being form along my forehead and my legs and back are beginning to ache.  I feel the pinch of a needle pushing into my skin and I wince, but don't dare move.  The nurse again tells me to relax and that everything is going to be OK.  Another pinch.  I feel it 4 more times, but I don't say anything.  I just want this over with.  I see both my OBs standing there...waiting.  The anesthesiologist asks one of the nurses is Dr. So-and-so is in the hospital and can he come down to the OR and give him a hand.  My mind begins racing.  My chest tightens even more now.  OMG...if they can't get this spinal they are going to have to put me under.  No...no, no, no.  I want to hear my baby cry.  I want to know everything is alright right away.  This can't happen like this.  I feel another pinch and then the exasperated breath of the anesthesiologist as he apparently misses his mark...again.

After a few minutes the other doctor walks thorough the double doors.  After some discussion, he comes over and begins pressing on my back.  I'm sweating pretty hard now and the nurse is rubbing my shoulders and telling me things are going to be fine.  Yeah...sure...they haven't been so far.  I feel another pinch, this time from the other doctor.  I wince a little and a few seconds later I feel what resembles an electric shock shoot down my left leg.  I stammer out, "I felt that" and they ask me in which leg and I tell them.  Phew.  Finally, its in.  Egads where the hell was this doctor before?  I didn't have this much trouble with my first child.  This took 30 minutes.  30 freaking minutes!!!  My heart is pounding, my chest is tight and I'm sweating bullets.

They help me to lay down and swing my legs up onto the table before I go completely numb.  Suddenly, I can't breathe.  Not that I can't feel it...but I start having an anxiety attack.  My arms have been strapped down to the table and my neck is hurting.  I can't move to rearrange myself.  I need to move.  OMG...I can't stay like this.  So I tell them that I feel like I can't breathe, my neck hurts....I can't move...I need to move.  I get a bit phobic when I feel trapped.  I start shaking and crying, which only leads to the tightening in my chest and now I am hyperventilating.  The anesthesiologist tries to calm me and tells me he is going to give me something.  One of my OBs rubs my shoulder and tells me I'm feeling like I can't breathe because the baby is squishing my diaphram because I'm now laying flat and that I'll be fine as soon as the baby is out.

I am still crying and all I can say over and over is I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but I can't help it.  Please, I'm so so sorry.  They assure me that it is normal and that before I know it the baby will be out and everything will be fine.  Soon I begin to feel my chest relax, my neck stops hurting and although I still feel like I can't breathe well, I am calming down.  I close my eyes and just keep telling myself that soon I'm going to see my sweet, darling baby.  Just a few more minutes and then I'll be so excited about the baby I'll forget about everything else.  The sedative the doc had given me was kicking in.  They finally brought K into the room while they finished prepping me for surgery.  He held my hand, and kissed my forehead.  I told him how I freaked out.  He told me he knew...he could hear it from outside.  Damn.  Now I felt really stupid too.  Stupid for freaking out like I did.  I looked at him and I asked him to just keep talking to me so I didn't start thinking about a million things.

So what is the first thing he says?  "Have you decided on a  name yet?"  I laughed a little.  That is what happens when you wait until 2 weeks before your due date to decide on names for your baby.  You are laying on the table and waiting for your baby to be yanked out, or you are bent over pushing your little bowling ball out while trying to decide on what to call him or her.  Everything went pretty quickly from there.  Before I knew it, I felt some tugging and I was being rocked back and forth a bit.  I heard the sound of the big suction, some soft murmurings of the doctors and the sound of a bulb syringe.  And then it happened.  The most beautiful sound a mother can hear.  The sound of her baby taking that first breath of life outside her womb and then crying.  I was so overcome that I began sobbing like a crazy woman and asking if the baby was OK.  The doctor poked the baby's head over the big blue drape and I laughed and cried at the same time.  Various voices were speaking all at the same time saying the baby was fine and how cute and what a beautiful baby and of course, Happy Birthday!

If you've followed my blog during my pregnancy, you will know that we did not find out the sex of our baby this time around.  We tried in the beginning, but it was hard with a fetus who was camera shy.  K and I were so excited and happy at hearing the baby cry and seeing 10 little fingers and toes that neither of us even bothered to ask the sex.  The doctors were murmuring once again about blood bags and the cord blood collection kit.  They were in the midst of collecting the blood when a nurse came over and asked, "Did anyone tell you what the sex is yet?"  I looked at her and shook my head no.  They carried the baby over to be examined.  The nurse leaned down and she said to me, "It's a beautiful little girl."  At that I fell apart again and cried.  I really didn't care what sex the baby was, I just wanted a healthy baby.  But a girl.  A girl!  I had a boy and now...I had a girl!

I'd like to tell you that instantly I knew what I was going to name her.  But, I didn't.  I had names narrowed down to 2 for a girl and 2 for a boy.  I knew I was going to name her after my mother.  We had it narrowed down to 2 choices.  Later that day it was pretty clear that she was going to be Little C.  My beautiful Little C.  Once we rolled into recovery the first person I wanted to see was Big C, but they wouldn't let him come back.  But my brother and father did come back and each assured me he was doing fine, although tired and starting to get cranky.  That's my boy!

I looked at my husband and I said to him, "We have a daughter."  A daughter.  I now have a son and a daughter.  I thanked God for the beautiful, healthy and amazing children he has blessed me with.  I try to thank him everyday.  I pray that he reminds me just how special I am to have them, how precious they are and to never once take them for granted.

On a side note, the incision did not burn like it did the first time.  In fact, the second c-section was considerably easier than the first.  I wasn't ready to go out and boogie across town or anything, but I had Little C on Wednesday and they told me the earliest I could go home was Friday.  So I did.  I even drove home.  Unfortunately, my first outing, other than taking Little C to the pediatrician was when she was 7 days old to my Uncle's viewing and funeral.  It was pretty much life as usual, except I couldn't pick Big C up...because he weighed like 30 pounds!

So that is it really, in a nutshell.  Little C was born healthy and is amazingly beautiful.  There were a few snags this time, which I really could have done without.  But the ends have justified the means.  I have a beautiful healthy daughter.  She was worth every second of it all.

I Thought We Were In The Home Stretch

With the acid reflux.  But no.  Little C had her 2 month check up on Monday.  Things went well.  She is in the 60-75th percentiles for height & weight and 90% for head size, which Dr. L said was just fine.  She has that nice, round c-section head shape.  Anyway, we discussed her crying/colic situation.  And he saw it first hand for himself.  It is his opinion that even though the gas issue has improved that she is hypersensitive.  Meaning she will cry at the drop of a hat if she is disturbed.  He told me not to worry and that most babies do grow out of this at about 3-4 months.  So, we will see, we've 4-6 more weeks to go.  He reflux seemed to be getting under control until Tuesday night.  It was horrible.  She was spitting up every single time I burped her, bringing it through her nose and then going into a flat out panic, squeezing her eyes shut, shaking, unable to catch her breath and then finally screaming hysterically.  Even after the episode was over I noticed her squeezing her hands tightly into fists, arching her back and throwing her legs straight out, literally she probably could have stood straight up if I had been holding her that way, while she screamed.  Not cried.  Oh no.  This was flat out hysterical, panicked screaming that clearly says, "Something is wrong."  It was the kind of scream where you knew immediately it meant "I am in pain."  I couldn't get her to eat any more formula either.  I finally got her settled down and she did sleep through the night.  She awoke at 4:30am and drank her whole 4 ounce bottle and we had no problems.  I was relieved.

Then came later that morning.  I tried to feed her again at 8:30am.  The same thing happened.  She drank, burped and spit up bringing it through her nose, panicked, screamed, cried and continued writhing in pain, refusing to drink any additional formula.  I called the pediatrician and told him what was going on.  He told me to stop the Zantac and called in a script for Prevacid.  Hoping this will remedy her problem.  I do too.  Things have been unchanged thus far, but she has only had 2 doses.  I worry that I can't get her to drink more than 2-3 ounces at a feeding.  She is clearly not herself.  And although she may be hypersensitive and crying a lot, she is still my sweet girl and I want her crying because she can cry, not because she is in pain.

This is a real blow for me considering the PPD.  The feelings of being inadequate and worthless as a mother did rear their ugly heads yesterday.  It happened during the time that Little C was screaming and crying so hard that I broke down and I cried with her.  I yelled at God and asked why He was doing this to me, to immediately apologize to Him and again feel guilty and shameful over my outburst and inability to control myself from yelling like a loon at the crucifix on my wall.  I looked at my screaming baby, in obvious pain and distress and could do nothing.  Nothing.  I can't make this go away.  Helpless.  I can't even soothe her when she gets like this.  She almost has to cry herself out because she gets into such hysterics and that also scares me.  I don't want my baby doing this to herself day after day.

I've also got other things going on that isn't helping my situation.  The dog with cancer is at the vet.  I'm waiting to hear back from him as I type this.  While I was at the pediatrician with Little C on Monday, my brother called me to tell me, Savannah...my very old Bulldog died.  Granted I know she was old, less than 2 months shy of her 14th birthday, which is unheard of in Bulldogs.  Still, it was something I wish wouldn't have had to happen NOW.  And I don't even want to get into the situation with one of the horses.  Ugh...she really gouged herself up and so I've been playing veterinarian to her as well.  Having to come in and shower before I can touch my kids because I certainly am not going to transmit any kind of infection/bacteria from the animals outside to my kids.  Again, it would have been nice if this didn't happen at all...but especially not now.

Oh and I also didn't mention my father getting into a car accident on Saturday.  He was rear ended by a driver in a SUV who was then hit by the car behind him.  My dad was waiting to make a turn when the guy behind him tried to go around him, he must have been in a big hurry and plowed into the back of my dad's car.  Its an old car...a 1986 Buick.  So there was no collision on it.  And they are going to total it since it can't be driven.  If they decide they can fix it I'll be very surprised.  My Dad hit his head, blacked out for a few minutes and had a good bit of bleeding.  But he refused treatment saying with was only a scratch and that he was fine.  I begged him to let me take him to the hospital or to an urgent care facility at least.  And he refused...telling me he didn't want to hear any more about it.  My Dad is 71.  He is the only grandparent these kids really have as my in-laws are 3,000 miles away in Oregon and my mother is dead.  Big C adores my father.  This has been stressing me out.  I love my father and he is the only parent I have left as well.  I don't want anything happening to him because of his stubborness and refusal to see a doctor.  Especially if it could have been avoided altogether.  But what else can I do?  I can't *make* him.  And I tried.  I laid guilt trips on him and everything and he won't budge.

I so need to find the strength to get us all through this.  Now if only someone could drop a big chunk of it in my lap for me.

OK, So Here it Goes

I normally don't discuss very private things on my blog.  But this time, I'm going to.  I touched on it a little in a previous post.  I've been suspicious for a while, but after seeing and talking with my OB today, I'm ready to admit it publicly because I think it needs to be done in order to help others.  I'd like to thank Heir To Blair first though, for giving me the courage to come forward by displaying courage of her own to also come forward in an attempt to help bring about more awareness of this condition.

I have Postpartum Depression.  At first I thought it was just "baby blues" and waited for it to get better.  It didn't.  The more I try to compare my last pregnancy with this one I am realizing that I probably had it to some degree with my first child as well, perhaps I was just not as aware as I am now.  I became pregnant with Little C just 6 months after Big C was born.  During the course of my pregnancy I cried. A lot.  I just thought it was normal pregnancy hormones coupled with the additional responsibility of taking care of my infant son.  I kept telling myself that things would be better after Little C was born.  Boy, was I sorely mistaken.

I've always been somewhat neurotic, a compulsive worry wart.  At times, pre babies it would come on strong, usually when family members were ill or when I had a litter of puppies to raise.  During this pregnancy with Little C, I hadn't noticed how out of control it had become.  I would check on Big C constantly.  While he took naps or at bedtime I was so terrified that he was going to stop breathing that the constant checking in on him would wake him up.  After moving Big C to his crib in his own room, which is right next to ours, I would lay at night with the monitor pressed to my ear listening making sure I could hear him breathe. I kept the lamp on in my room while he was in there so I could see him and make it easier to get up for feedings through the night.  After he moved into his crib, I continued to leave the lamp on in my room.  Months later and I couldn't bring myself to turn it off.  As if leaving that lamp light on would somehow get me to him faster if something was happening in his room.  That lamp is still lit every night.

I won't bore you with every detail, but the idea of having PPD didn't really come to mind until after Little C was born.  I was am still crying a lot.  I just assumed that it was the postpartum hormone crash mixed with all the things I have going on right now that was making me feel like I was losing my mind.  I mean having my dad & brother both with medical problems, a tantrum throwing 16 month old to run after, a screaming baby with unresolved colic issues, a husband who is gone for 14.5 hours a day, in-laws visiting for 2 weeks, the baby's baptism, having my old tub/shower ripped out and new one put in, PECO energy destroying my property value and appearance not to mention my memories by hacking down my tree lined driveway and running to doctor appointments could bring anyone to tears, right?  Oh, and my vet called yesterday to tell me one of my dogs, Martha has lymphoma and a mass in her chest and that it is probably too late to do anything and she'll be dead soon.  Oh!  And I forgot...its also Mother's Day this weekend!  Yeah, it's going to be a wonderful day for me.  My mother will be dead 13 years next month so I'll be visiting her grave this Sunday.  I really could go on, but why?

The continued crying and meltdown moments are draining.  But what really gets to me is feeling so out of control, overwhelmed and inadequate.  This is so hard.  I look at my screaming baby and some days I am super mom and I am rocking her and soothing her with the best of them.  I am so in tune to her needs and cues that I can just about read her mind and it is a really good day.  Other times all I do is stare at her blankly while she screams and screams.  And still there are other times, and these are the most difficult and I am embarrassed to even type it out, that I just can't take the screaming any more and I scream back at her to just stop screaming or shut up already!  I snap at Big C when he is doing something I don't want him to do or if he is whining about something and....the way he looks at me when I yell at him, his little eyes fill up and his bottom lip quivers....it just kills me inside.  Immediately after I yell at either of them I grab them up and hold them too me crying and telling them I'm so sorry over and over, apologizing for being such a horrible mother.  The guilt is overwhelming and I just crumple into a sobbing mess.

I do NOT want to harm myself or my babies at all.  Those thoughts have not crossed my mind in the least.  I have never felt detached from my babies.  Never had the feelings of disinterest.  In fact, I am just the opposite.  Some might say I am obsessed.  I have to be everything to them, even if that means sacrificing my relationships with others.  My husband & I have not been out alone since before Big C was born.  I just can't bear to leave them.  I know it sounds so cliche to many moms who are out working and don't want to leave their babies.  This has nothing to do with that.  Me personally...I can't leave them.  I want to go do things on my own, have a date with my husband or a night with my friends.  But I can't.  Not without being miserable and worrying the entire time.  And I have tried.  In rare instances I will leave them with my husband to get something done.  And then I'm calling home all the time checking on them and making him insane.  Other times I've left them, I've felt guilty, worrisome and I loathe myself for it.

Speaking of husbands, mine is amazing.  He really is wonderful with our son and he adores his little girl.  When my day has me stretched to the limit and I'm ready to hand Little C off to him after he gets home, I don't.  I need a break from the screaming and I want to spend some time with my son, but when he asks me if I want him to take her I tell him, "No, I'm fine I got her."  Then, I get pissed at him for not taking her and giving me a break.  WTF?  Do you see the insanity I am living with right now?

Is it PPD or something more?  I don't know.  I probably should seek therapy for it.  But for right now, I'm going to take the advice of my doctor.  I've been too proud to admit that I need help.  Or perhaps I've just been too afraid to ask for it.  I hate the idea of taking medication for something I feel I should be able to handle on my own.  It makes me feel weak and inferior as a mother.  But I can't don't want to go another day like I have been.  So I have finally swallowed my pride and asked for help.  I'm hoping that I'll be a better mother for it.

I'm Back! Did You Miss Me?

Well kinda sorta.  I've never been an everyday writer.  But you know what I'm saying.  So let's see, I'm going to play catch up and just make it short and sweet.  No need to draw it all out with details since it's done and over with and we've since moved on to newer things.

Last Saturday I awoke at 4 in the morning having a panic attack because I couldn't breathe.  Seriously.  Nasal congestion was at it's worst because I caught Big C's cold that just so happened to layer itself on top of one I was fighting myself.  My chest was so tight I felt like I was being crushed.  Mouth breathing is NOT something I am readily able to deal with.  Since my sinuses were completely sealed shut, the mouth breathing commenced only to find no relief because I couldn't get enough air in!  Long story short, I made it through the night and into the morning so I could call my doctor who told me to head over to the nearest ER and get checked out.  There was a question of whether or not my thyroid meds may need adjusting because of the pregnancy since it can cause the heart racing/can't breathe symptoms.

The boy awoke and he was crying and coughing to the point of throwing up and I decided that I was going to just take him to the ER with me.  Something had to give for this kid.  Again, long story short...after blood work and a breathing treatment for me and an exam for Big C we were discharged with a diagnosis of an ear infection that was just starting for him and sinusitis coupled with bronchitis that was just starting for me.  Lovely.  Good thing was we caught Big C's ear infection before it really even got started.  So he was spared the agonizing pain of an earache. That was a total win.  We are recovering for our ills...I slower than Big C.  Mine actually got worse and is just now starting to let up.  But we are on the mend.

As far as my 32 week update, which can now be a 32 and 33 week update.  Things are going OK.  My Sciatic has reared it's ugly head again and it makes for a difficult night's rest.  Plus the peeing through the night...trust me when I tell you it's no less that 4 times a night.  Baby has begun to slow down with movement a bit.  Gave me a scare yesterday and today.  But I did get some movement.  And my OB told me as long as I get one occurrence of good active movement once in 24 hours, then we are good.  Not that that helps my overactive neurotic worrisome mind.  Thursday will mark the 34 week period as well as my next OB appointment.  So I'm greatly anticipating the appointment with the baby's slowdown, which according to the doctors, nurses and books is normal at this stage in pregnancy since the babe is getting bigger and the accommodations for him or her are getting smaller.  I'm hoping the snowfall will not hinder me from getting to this appointment.  After the epic snowfall of about 20 inches overnight we are expecting upwards of another foot Tuesday night and all day Wednesday.

Oh Em Gee...is that like, a car under there?

My sonogram appointment last Friday was kind of sucky.  The technician, whom I've never had before was a total wench.  My OB told me that she'd be able to tell me the weight of the baby as well as gestational age and the percentile in which the baby is in.  When I was pregnant with Big C they told me those things when I asked with no problem.  This B refused to tell me anything.  Well almost.  I did get 1 thing out of her.

Tech:  "We aren't allowed to give out that information, you'll have to get it from your doctor." 

Me:  "Seriously?  He's the one who told me to ask YOU!  OK well can you tell me what we are looking at?"

Tech: "Your cervix."

Me: "Is the baby head down?"

Tech: **Silence**

Me: "Is that the baby's head right there?  The top of it?"

Tech: "Mmhm."

 Me: "What is that?  Are those the baby's hands?"

Tech: **Silence**

Me: **Infuriated** "Now what are you doing?"

Tech:  "Getting the baby's heart rate."

Me:  **Seething** "Well can you at least tell me THAT?  Are you ALLOWED?"

Tech:  "Yeah, it's 135."

Seriously I felt slighted.  Sonograms are a very intimate and important part of one's pregnancy.  You don't get them that often, which is a good thing actually.  Healthy pregnancies don't need lots of sonograms.  But damn.  By brother and my dad were there with me and this chick was just robotic.  Most other techs are happy to point out baby's features, face, fingers, legs, toes and heart.  They have told me what they are doing, looking for or measuring.  They are pleasant and genuinely happy for you.  I basically got hustled back into the room, measurements taken without a word and hustled back out of the room like cow who is being milked.

So I've decided to have a 3D sonogram done this weekend.  I'm pretty excited about it.  I can bring my family with me and they can see the baby on two huge screen plasma TVs.  I thought about doing it before but never made the decision since I didn't have it done with Big C.  But this latest sonogram experience left me feeling so empty...like I had no time to spend with my baby.  I know it may sound silly to you, but that is how I felt.  The sonograms are my opportunity to *see* the little wonder who makes all of those movements inside me and it's very special.  That technician totally ruined that experience for me.  Depending on the results of that sonogram, I probably won't have another one unless the doctor is worried about something.  So that is why I decided to have the 3D sonogram done.

*GASP*  Who is that handsome boy?  No more hair in the eyes!

In other news, this Sunday I figured it was time to give Big C his first hair cut.  I did cut off a curl and save it for his baby book.  I was kind of bummed that I didn't get to take him to the barber shop for the whole experience and pictures.  But it's snowed every single weekend I planned on taking him!  The hair was in his eyes, curling around his ears and he was forever fussing with it.  The kid was miserable so it was time...barber shop or not.  I have to tell you...I so didn't want to cut it.  It was the hair he was born with!  Sort of...he was kind of a baldie...just little wisps of blonde hair.  But I knew after cutting his hair for the first time that he would look grown up and well...he's my baby and I don't want him looking so grown up so soon!

-MoM-

A Note To Fellow Bloggers, 29 Weeks Update & Random Thoughts

29 weeks already!  Sometimes it feels like it's going slow, but being busy with Big C has helped in that department.  I think I'm pretty close to making the decision to just go and schedule a c-section.  I'll wait until my next sonogram @ 32 weeks, but I'm almost 100% on going ahead with it.  I have 10 weeks until I get to see and hold this baby.  I still can't believe it sometimes.  I don't want to sound like a broken record here, but I am so truly blessed and thankful to God for my son and this newest baby.  I am not without my own trials that I've had to face, but I have been fortunate to get pregnant on my own, without medical intervention, maintain a healthy pregnancy and deliver (even if by c-section) a healthy, happy handsome little boy.  AND I am fortunate to again been able to conceive, and so far so good on maintaining a healthy pregnancy and I pray it will continue to a problem free delivery and a happy, healthy baby.

K and I got married in August of 2001.  And although we didn't immediately start trying to have a baby, we didn't prevent it either.  I've battled with female troubles since I was 14 years old.  Had my first D&C @ 14 then had to have another @ 16.  My hormones have never cooperated and were in *wacky* mode all the time.  Skipping a period or 2 then bleeding non-stop for the better part of 8 weeks.  I have been put on probably 3/4 of the birth control pills known to man in order to try to regulate my cycle.  Some worked, some didn't.  I've had ovarian cysts in the past as well.  After I got married, I began weaning myself off the BC pills...hoping that my cycles would continue to be normalish.  And for a while they were.  Normalish for me is just having a cycle once a month.  I never have and never will be an every xx day kinda girl.  One month it'll be a 25 days cycle, the next month it's 32 days.  Long story short, after a few months I kicked the BC completely and was cycling once a month.  The months passed, and so did the years and I never conceived.  Hubs and I pretty much gave up on the notion of it happening for us.  We talked and thought about fertility treatments of various sorts and the potential of having to consider IVF if Clomid wasn't successful.  And IVF was just something we could not afford.  We just didn't have that kind of money to put out in a chunk.  So we decided that if God had planned for us to have a child or children, then it would happen.  It was out of our hands.  God did have a plan and he did give us a beautiful son.  He decided when, not me.  You know, 6+ years is a long time when you are TTC.  I know what the longing feels like.  I know that twinge you feel when you see mothers with their babies.  When you see friends and family having babies, and there you sit with an empty womb and empty arms.  I was never jealous, but I did hope that one day, I'd have a baby of my own to love and cherish.

I follow many blogs.  And I have been there with you when you have written about your disappointment of a BFN.  The profoundness of experiencing a loss, be it before or after a delivery.  I have sat here and shed countless tears for you...with you.  I have prayed for you.  I have gone to bed at night thinking of you and admiring your strength, courage and faith.  For those of you that have experienced wonderful things after such heartbreak, I have laughed, jumped up and down and cried with happiness for you.  And for those still waiting, I wait with you, praying and hoping that you find the happiness you are seeking.  I'm not a stalker...seriously.  But just so you know, you have another person in your corner, rooting you on and ready to celebrate your victory.

OK, so I know that was a bit heavy so on to 29 week news.  I see my doctor again in a few weeks and I really need to ask him.  "Why does my crotch feel like it's going to fall out?"  No, really.  It's not the baby-feels-like-it-is-going-to-fall-out pressure.  It's my pelvis.  I think I can hear it crying.  It hurts SO bad.  It hurts to just walk, but if I try to swing a leg over a gate, or heck just lift it up high enough to step into the tub to take a shower it feels as though it is going to crumble.  I never had this with my first pregnancy, so I am assuming it might have something to do with only having 6 months to recover from a 9 month pregnancy and a c-section before getting pregnant again.  By week definition I am 7 months pregnant.  I've been experiencing and expecting discomforts.  But this one in particular is totally new for me.

Sleeping is off and on sucky.  Some nights are good, others...meh.  Half of it is because I get clogged and can't breathe...thank you sinuses and allergies.  I'm still tired, but I found myself needing a nap while the boy napped this morning.  Not that I felt like taking a nap.  I mean I needed it.  The babe still moves a bit erratically, which throws me into panic mode.  But I keep reminding myself as long as I feel something no matter how subtle, things are OK.  This was the part that drove me crazy with Big C.  I wanted him out because I couldn't stand not being able to *check* on him all the time.  So if he decided to take a snoozer day, I freaked thinking something was wrong.  On the same note, I wanted him in because inside he was protected from all the outside dangers.

I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday and I'm coming to the realization while talking to her that being a parent, a mommy isn't just hard in the sense of the word.  But I find myself worrying about Big C all the time.  I mean even in the sense of him being an adult.  I want him to grow up into a good man.  Not an alcoholic or drug addict or a player who just uses and manipulates women.  I want him to want to be a good man himself.  I don't want him doing stupid things like drinking and driving or getting into a car with someone who has.  I see news reports of someone running a child over with a car only to leave the scene and my heart stops for a moment, worried that that fate could find my son.  And that is only part of it.  More immediately the thoughts rolling in my head are how boys do silly and risky things to show off.  How am I going to teach him to be cautious without being afraid to try new things?  I mean sometimes it can be a fine line between going out for the football team and wanting to do stunts on a dirt bike.  No, really!

I don't want to be the crazy mother who never lets him do anything, or sends him out of the house with bubble wrap duct taped to his entire body.  But I also don't want to just let him "Live & Learn".  I can't.  He is a child and doesn't know *how* live and learn works!  What lesson will have been taught to him if he kills himself or ends up in the hospital paralyzed?  I am a chronic worry wart.  And yeah, I probably should be seeking therapy for it before I make my children worse than me.  For now, I'll just continue to pray that he and the baby stay safe, make good decisions and ask the Lord to keep them and protect them.  After all it is His plan and if anyone can keep them from harm, it is Him.

-MoM-