My ResistBot message.

For three years, I tried to have a successful pregnancy. From summer of 2012 until February of 2015, I suffered five miscarriages. Each of those miscarriages is noted on my charts as an abortion. They were spontaneous abortions and missed abortions. I had one stubborn blighted ovum that made me deal with morning sickness until my doctor suggested I stop torturing myself and have a D&C to expedite the miscarriage procedure. I went to her office every week from weeks 4-11 of pregnancy, while my symptoms increased, my HCG levels increased, and the empty sac kept growing. It was torture. I finally opted for the D&C for my own mental wellbeing and to get my body ready to try again to be pregnant. 

I finally had a successful pregnancy and delivered my son in December 2015. He is a true miracle I never thought I'd ever see. Almost three years later, he became a big brother in September 2018. 

I wear a necklace with all seven birthstones. The five babies I never held are small circular stones set in silver. My two miracle children are ovals set in gold. 

The testing, the ER trips, the mental anguish, the physical and emotional trauma, the missed work, the isolation, the disappointment every month when I wasn't pregnant, the heartbreak every time I lost a baby... I was choosing life time and again, but my choice was ignored. My body took my choice from me. I felt powerless. Hopeless. I distanced myself from people. 

I wanted nothing more than to hold those other babies. I think do them constantly. They are in my charts as abortions because that is the clinical term. I didn't choose to abort. I did everything I could to prevent it from happening. The trauma I endured will never leave me. But under restrictive laws like in Georgia, I would be charged. I would have to prove that I'd been doing everything right. I'd have to relive the worst days of my life (and I'm a Katrina survivor, so that's saying something) to prove to someone that I was innocent. 

In addition, I know what it is to be denied choice. I chose life. I was denied it time and again. I was powerless and hopeless. You may think I'm advocating for such laws after what I've been through, but I'm not. I want everyone to make the choice that is right for their family and situation. There's nothing worse than not getting a choice because thins are out of your control. 

Please allow women to keep choosing. Don't adopt draconian laws like Georgia and Alabama. Don't have happily married women trying to build a family stand trial or get locked up because their bodies failed them. Let them heal, don't prosecute them and cause them to relive the trauma. 

One thing after another.

My girl has kept me on edge from day one.

Not only was she a shock, considering my history, she had me go through so much more. Part of that was that I’d be delivering at 39 years. To recap, because I don’t remember if I discussed it all, here’s why I was almost more nervous this time around. Some I haven’t discussed. Some is new.

1. My typical fear following five miscarriages kicked into gear. I don’t truly relax until that first cry happens.

2. Everything was fine when I finally saw my doctor at 11 weeks. Everything was fine the next week at the MFM.

3. Due to my age, we did a quad screen. It came back with a 1:60 chance that she would have Downs Syndrome.

4. I didn’t want an amino because I’m high risk already and didn’t want to raise my risk factors.

5. The MFM made me get the MaterniT 21 screen, which came back normal.

6. Part of her heightened concerned over the quad screen was that I had a two-vessel cord. The cord could mean Downs, a heart defect, growth restriction, or a pregnancy that would not last.

7. I had to wait until 24 weeks to see a pediatric cardiologist at Children’s. Everything came back fine, but with the caveat that a very small moving baby is hard to read and they couldn’t guarantee perfection. However, she was very confident in what she saw.

8. I had to have growth scans every four weeks.

9. I had to take my baby aspirin and my prescription B vitamin.

10. We discovered an under active thyroid and I went back on meds for that.

11. I failed the first part of my glucose test. By a good bit.

12. I failed one part of the second glucose test. This ruled me glucose intolerant and I had to eliminate most sugar from my diet. It wasn’t gestational diabetes. But it was enough to restrict my intake.

13. I had to do my NSTs starting at 31 weeks this time.

14. My blood pressure actually cooperated the whole time.

15. Eliminating most sugar and then later raising the dose of my  thyroid meds made me plateau in weight gain because both things happened around the same time. I was worried that she wasn’t growing. But the frequent growth scans confirmed that it was the meds plus the diet change.

16. We got in an accident at 38 weeks and I had to go to the ER and to be observed in L and D.

17. I went into labor early Friday evening but didn’t know it until Saturday morning because I had a cold. All I could take was Robitussin and Tylenol PM. That knocked me out and I slept through the early parts. Then I lost my mucus plug and my contractions picked up.

18. After my water broke Saturday night, they discovered she had meconium and the NP was called in.

19. They held her up and confirmed that she was female. I didn’t get to hold her because they had to examine and clean her to make sure the meconium hadn’t caused issues.

20. Meconium was not an issue. They cleaned her a bit and I finally got to hold her before they did the actual bath, stats, etc.

21. The next morning, eating breakfast in a daze, my husband went to the cafeteria to get something to go. This was immediately after she had her hearing tested and passed. The hearing lady put her back in the bassinet and on her side facing away from me. A pediatrician walked in and freaked out. What I couldn’t see and mistook for the sound of her slurping her hand again, was that she was spitting up, had it coming out of her nose, and was basically choking. The pediatrician yelled “oh my god!” in the middle of introducing herself. She picked her up and flipped her and patted her back, auctioning her with a bulb, and got her ok. She whisked her away to deep suction her. I couldn’t eat the rest of my breakfast.

22. They brought her back eventually. The pediatrician was not from our office, but she recognized me. We had gone to high school together. She was our valedictorian. I felt confident that, given her intelligence level , the baby had been in good hands. They kept her in the nursery for observation after the deep suction. Doctor brought her back and everything was fine. She showed me what to do if this happened again. I never found out why a pediatrician from a different practice came in, but man was I glad she did.

23. She continued to spit up through her nose and mouth until after we had been home for at least a week. One explanation for why it kept happening was that her digestive system hadn’t fully matured and so when she tried to poop, the spitup came out. Every time it happened and we got a nurse to come in, she had pooped. She had a couple more scary ones and was deep suctioned a few times. She had one more where they kept her for observation, too.

24. Our pediatrician left the practice when school started. My love bug has never been in school and was a very healthy kid. Until he went to school. Doctor wouldn’t be at her new practice until December, originally, but she moved it up and started the same day I returned to work. So in the meantime, we saw another doctor in the practice. He’s okay but he’s not my favorite. He had one of the brand new doctors with him when he finally paid us a visit. Dr. Valedictorian mentioned that baby had a sacral dimple, but it didn’t seem to be deep and wasn’t anything to really worry about. Dr. For Now, however, was concerned about it. He also detected a hip click. He said we would need to get her in for ultrasounds around six weeks.

25. The ultrasound finally happened. The sacral dimple was not a sign of spina bifida. It was not tethered to her spine. This was excellent news. The hip click also was not a sign of hip dysplasia. This was also awesome. Apparently, the presence of both was alarming to him. I’m glad we had her checked and even more glad she was fine, but it was so nerve wracking.

26. My son is a walking Petri dish. At two weeks old, baby had her first cold.

27. When I returned to work Halloween week, she was six weeks old. That is a travesty and America needs to do better. That’s a different post, though. By the next week, I had a nasty cold. They sent me home from work on Wednesday. We were having our overnight on the north shore and the other teachers conspired to get me sent home. Thank god. I didn’t want to go with a 7-week-old baby at home. Husband took the night off work so he could stay home with the kids. I didn’t go on the trip, but he was able to let me sleep. Since I’m pumping, all o could do was let it run its course. The next week, my son started showing signs of the cold. He went to the doctor. They called it a cold. He got worse. He went to the kid urgent care. They ruled it RSV. We did what we could, but the baby and my husband both caught it. She had a mild version, most likely due to the antibodies in my breast milk since my bad cold was actually RSV.

Basically, while she’s a good-tempered baby who started sleeping through the night at 7 weeks, she has given us a real run for our money with health scares.

Though she be but little, she is fierce

My nurse had asked how my last delivery was and said she thought I’d go much faster than the two and a half hours of pushing I had the first time around. Last time, if you remember, I was induced and progressed slowly. But I went from 5-10 cm in half an hour before the long stretch of pushing. I was expecting it to be not as long, but still take a while. I was also expecting the rapid dilation.

Going into labor on my own was so different. I took a while to get to 8. Mark got back from getting dinner and that’s where I was. He wasn’t back very long before I started feeling that familiar “you need to shit” pressure.

Haha how could I forget? A little before this point in labor, I felt a blurp. I don’t know how else to describe it. But there was definitely wetness. I called the nurse and told her I thought my water broke.  She checked and said no, it seemed like it was just the rest of the mucus plug.

So how big is a damned mucus plug? I never was aware of losing it the first time around. I definitely saw it earlier that morning. I was still encountering some of it when I was in the observation room before going to my L and D room. How the hell was it still coming out? Ugh.

We called the nurse to tell her I had a lot of pressure. Last time, they topped off my IV with some pain meds but this time, they didn’t know if there would be time. When the nurse came, she checked me. In the process of doing this, she said, “I can feel yo-“ and all of a sudden, I felt a gush of wet. The nurse was trying to say that the sac was bulging into my birth canal and was almost done. But when she reached in to see how dilated I was, she popped the bag and got covered in amniotic fluid.

I was mortified. I mean I know it probably happens  fairly often enough, but I was still mortified. I apologized profusely and she laughed at me. She was a little disgusted, I think, but was so nice about it. As she was going to change the padding under me, though, she noticed there was meconium in the fluids.

I knew this could be bad. They called for a nurse practitioner to be present.

I was just about to 10 cm, so they called my doctor, who lives downtown. It took a bit for her to make it to Metairie.

In the meantime, the pressure and poop urge were getting intense. Because I was so close and because my doctor was coming and my water had broken and the anesthesiologist would take a while to come back, I didn’t get anything to take the edge off.

I needed to push. Like ten minutes ago. But they wouldn’t let me because my doctor wasn’t there yet. We had been watching a “Married...With Children” marathon but now “Blades of Glory” was on. A nurse I hadn’t met yet was part of the delivery team and she was pretty into the movie. I was in pretty serious pain from the pressure. I don’t know how nice I was because I wanted to push but not only were they refusing to let me do it yet, they just wanted me to breathe. No. Screw You. Haha.

I was so miserable that the nurse wanted to check me again. I was afraid to open my legs for her. I waited for the contraction/pressure to subside and she took a look.

What I didn’t see but Mark saw was that when she looked, she shot a “yeeesh” look at one of the other nurses.

After what felt like an eternity, my doctor made it. She walked in and said “Why is she in pain? She didn’t get the epidural?” They explained it was just serious pressure. It felt like forever before they had her in her splash gear (for lack of the actual name of what they wear for a vaginal delivery). They weren’t sure how to work the stirrups on the bed because it was apparently new and was different from the rest of the beds and none of them had really had to fool with it yet. Seriously? The contractions/pressure were almost constant so they decided to just lift my legs. I made them wait until the latest contraction/pressure ended and up they went. I felt the next one start. I took a breath to push. I didn’t have to push. I felt serious pain and screamed, then realized what my doctor was saying. I opened my eyes and she had my daughter in the air. It was 10:39 p.m. when my fierce little girl entered the world fast and furious.

“Wait, that’s it?”

They laughed. The nurse said “I told you it was going to be quick!”

They immediately got her to the nurse practitioner since she was covered in meconium. He checked her out and she was fine. They cleaned the bulk of it off of her.

The intense pain I felt was a second degree tear. It only took a couple of stitches, but since she came so quickly, there wasn’t really anything to be done to prevent it.

“Good thing you had your legs clamped shut like that; she would have rocketed across the room if you hadn’t been like that!” my crazy doctor said.

As Mark put it, it took longer for Doc to suit up than it took to deliver.

At 18.5” and 6.8 pounds, she was much smaller than her brother. She also had a very full head of dark hair (which I saw in one of my last MFM ultrasounds) and very deep dimples. Despite all of the prenatal scares, the accident, and the meconium, she was perfectly healthy.

Work Work Work Work work

Mark works on Sundays and is the only person trained to do the Saints shift. When our son was born, he tried to convince them to train a backup person in case I went into labor on a weekend. They didn’t, but neither did I. I had an induction on a Tuesday and delivered on a Wednesday. So once again, it was Saints season, and my due date was approaching. He kept reminding them. His rule was that if I went into labor Friday through Sunday, they would be SOL. I guess since I had the induction and a weekend birth didn’t happen last time, that would be the case. 

So here we were on a Saturday in the early stages of labor. Mark called his two supervisors to tell them sorry not sorry, but he wouldn’t be in the next day. They had to scramble to find someone capable enough to get a crash course. 

In triage, I was definitely having contractions every five to six minutes, edging closer to five. On Monday, my cervix was clamped shut and baby was very high. When I had the emergency visit on Thursday, baby was still high but I’d dilated to a 2, headed for 3, but not very soft. I figured with all of the contractions and with the time that had passed, there would probably be a big change. Nope. I was getting stretchy, at 3 moving to 4. Baby was still a little high. They kept me on the monitor for 30 minutes, checked all of that, and called my doctor. 

They needed me to dilate to 5 before I could be admitted. Because I was still only 38 weeks, I couldn’t get any sort of induction to get things moving. However, according to the nurse, my doctor “isn’t mean.” She said this with a wink. Sounds like maybe she would have helped things along if installed out. That would be nice, because I was getting tired of contractions and I couldn’t get an epidural until after I was formally admitted. 

Mark had to coach his sub over the phone, so he walked to the waiting area outside of my MFM doctor’s office. Since it was a weekend, that office was closed. It’s also accessed through the doors that we weren’t able to enter from the parking garage since it was a Saturday. As a result, it was dark and deserted. He was on the phone for over an hour. I flipped the tv to Family Feud (being Saturday, there was nothing else to watch) and texted with some people. Including, but not limited to, my friend who was going to be my long-term sub. She was going to have to take over withoutbgetting to shadow me as planned. But the best part of being friends with your sub is that you can text and keep up and help out the whole time with ease. 

After the nurse talked to my doctor, she said I needed to walk. She gave me another hospital gown to wear like a robe and showed me what to do with all of my monitor wires. I wandered around slowly for almost an hour. At one point, I ran into Mark. I could hear his voice echoing and followed it. I had to take a break by that point and sat in the lobby with him. When he finished coaching his sub, we walked together. I had to stop frequently to let contractions pass. We ran into one nurse coming on shift and two older women waiting for their niece  to go back for a c-section. They had the same names as my mom and her twin, which was funny. They said I looked nice and low. But I carry low, and people always accused the baby of dropping already, but that was never the case. Other than that, there was no one. That was nice because under my front and back gowns was nothing. And I’m not into being braless around people. 

After I was back in my room for a bit, the nurse came to hook me back up. About half an hour later, she came back and checked me. I was almost to 5 cm and my contractions were picking up. I was getting admitted! 

They rolled me down the hall to my labor and delivery room. It was a little after 6, 6:30 I guess. I immediately put in the order for my epidural. That didn’t happen until around 8. My nurses changed shifts in between rolling me to my room and getting the epidural. All of the nurses there are so nice and professional. I’m not the biggest fan of this Hospital, but I have loved the L&D nurses for both births and recoveries. 

I at one point said to the new nurse that I didn’t know how people could labor all the way to the end. She agreed. With the induction, I got my epidural pretty quickly because they knew I was definitely going to deliver at some point. Because this time they needed me to labor to a certain point and didn’t know how long that would take, I was not given the chance to get it early. And that sucked. 

As soon as I got the epidural, Life was so much better. I told Mark to use that time to go eat dinner and I banned him from the room until he’d eaten. He had to leave during the anesthesia anyway, so he may as well have been productive. 

By the time he got back, I was close to 8 cm. 

D-Day

With the cold my darling son brought home from school, I was absolutely miserable. I was allowed to take Robitussin for the cough and Tylenol PM to help me sleep. I took one Friday night. The coughing and sinus pressure plus the Braxton-Hicks contractions that returned Friday night were going to make sleeping difficult, and I got some pretty solid sleep out of the deal.

The Braxton-Hicks in the hospital felt like period cramps. They were gone when I woke up Friday. But by that evening, I started having occasional cramps. The type you feel when you’re about to rocket liquid shit. But it kept passing. (Not passing as in farts, but passing as moving on.) I figured out it was just more Braxton-Hicks and went to sleep.

I guess it was after the Tylenol PM was wearing off, but I woke up around 6 on Saturday morning feeling more of them. I was able to doze off in between and didn’t think much of them. Around 8, I was uncomfortable and awake, which was generally how my saturdays went. I was still feeling them, but they weren’t horrible. More annoying than anything. I got up around 9 to go to the bathroom again. And there was the horror show that was my mucus plug.

We always joke about “Have you had your bloody show?” It’s in “Knocked Up,” and the delivery has always made us laugh.

Welp. I did indeed. I didn’t have it with my son. I was induced and he had been content to try to go full term, but it was doctor’s orders. I went back to our room and woke Mark. I told him that I had actually had the bloody show and we laughed about it. It doesn’t necessarily mean delivery is imminent, so I didn’t give it a lot of thought. We heard a chorus of “Dadaaaaa” coming down the hall, so Mark obliged. By the time they came into the room, I had decided to start timing contractions. I didn’t say anything just yet. They were stronger and more annoying and were coming every eight minutes or so.

J had a nice snuggle session with me and we took some silly selfies while he ate a plain waffle. I had mentioned to Mark that the Braxton-Hicks were getting more annoying and more frequent, so I wasn’t ready to get out of bed. I decided to clue him in as the contractions hit 7 minutes.

 I’d been too tired to shower the night before, so I decided to take a bath. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sit in the tub if it was going to be delivery day. I also knew it would be nice to have smooth legs, in light of the fact that I had people holding them as I pushed for two hours the first time I delivered. I understood, while bathing, why women want water births. I noticed the contractions were now almost 6 minutes apart, so I told Mark to pack J’s suitcase. After I got dressed, I called my parents.

“What are you guys doing?”
“We’re just leaving (grocery store close to my house). Why?”
“I think I need you to come pick up J.”
Mom panics.
“Did your water break?!?!”
“No. But I lost my mucus plug and my contractions are six minutes apart.”
“We’re three minutes away.”

Mom and Dad picked up J. Mom was freaking out. I told her I wasn’t calling the doctor yet because my contractions weren’t close enough yet. She was not pleased. But I didn’t want to go in on a false alarm or get sent home based on not being close enough.

As it was, Mark’s brother and sister-in-law were coming in from Mobile that day to help. I get put on pelvic rest while pregnant, which restricts lifting, too. They came to help get rid of some furniture in the back room, which we are going to turn into a playroom/office. He called them to see how close they were, and they weren’t too far. So they came over and I sat on the couch and didn’t move other than to time contractions. They finished helping and left. Mark got lunch for us. Mom kept texting to see if I’d gone to the hospital yet and then chastised me every time I said no.

Finally, around 4, I was flirting with 5 minutes between contractions. I had Mark call my doctor because I didn’t want to get hit with a contraction while talking. I was so nervous. What if my doctor wasn’t on call? But then I realized she probably was. She’d been out of town the two previous weekends and rotates with two other doctors I’ve never even seen since they are all private practice located in different offices. He called, talked to the answering service guy, and we waited. I held my breath as his phone rang. I could hear that Cajun accent over the phone and almost cried. She was working this weekend. I was going  to have my own doctor deliver my baby. She asked to talk to me and said “Well, let’s go have a baby. Get to the hospital!”

We grabbed our stuff and slowly made it to the car. I sent a quick FB message to the event invite for the ladies night my friends and I were having, and everyone flipped out. We parked on the 4th floor, which is where the Woman and Child Center is, and walked up. Only then did we realize something important: it’s locked on weekends and holidays. You have to go in on the second floor. So we had to reload the car and slowly waddle to the car and then back to the second floor entrance. They set me up in the same triage room I’d been in on Thursday. It was getting very real very quickly. 

A new wrinkle

My dad’s aunt (whose birthday was today) died the Sunday before I hit 38 weeks. Her funeral was scheduled for Thursday morning. I also had a regularly scheduled NST that afternoon, and we were going to schedule my induction for the following Wednesday. As a result, I took a half day off at work. Because I live in America and teach in an independent school instead of a catholic school now, I didn’t get any paid leave. I could do up to 12 weeks through FMLA, but I wouldn’t be able to afford that. I had five sick days roll over from last year plus three personals and seven sick for this year. That covered three weeks off. Then one week is our fall break, which wouldn’t count against me because no one was at work and I wasn’t missing anything and they didn’t have to pay my sub. So by taking six weeks off, four would be covered and I would only miss two weeks pay. Yay America!

But now that I knew I was getting induced on Wednesday, that presented a problem. It would have made sense to take off Monday and/or Tuesday, depending on what time my induction was scheduled. But now I had a funeral to attend. So I went in to make it a half day absent and would definitely go in on Monday.

They hadn’t been able to find a sub for me, but I convinced my amazing friend Melinda to apply. Spoiler alert: they hired her Thursday afternoon. Back to that in a minute.

But they wanted her to shadow me on Tuesday. So it looked like maybe I would at least go in for half a day Tuesday.

On the way to the funeral, we got into an accident. I was fine, baby was moving, no bleeding, and since I had the appointment in a few hours, we went to the funeral and then the reception at my aunt’s house. My car has a lot of damage, and our son was at school, but we were fine. Mark brought me to my aunt’s house and went home with my car since he wasn’t going to take it to work. My mom picks my son up from school every day, so she was going to bring me with her, pick him up, then bring me to my doctor appointment and then take us home.

We got to my doctor, and she immediately sent me to Labor and Delicery. I found out later it was so they could make sure my placenta was functioning properly in light of the accident, but she offered no explanation and ordered me straight to the hospital. I got to L and D and they sent me to the ER because it was a car accident. I spent a couple hours down there before getting cleared. They needed to make sure I was okay and cleared of trauma before L and D could see me. Then they brought me back up to one of the triage rooms up there and hooked me to a monitor and checked my cervix. At my appointment on Monday, my doctor said that I was “sealed up hard and tight” and the baby was “sitting in your throat.” When they checked me, I was starting to dilate and was almost to 2, but baby was still up high and my cervix wasn’t very soft.

When they sent me to the ER, I had my mom take my son to her house. Didn’t want him exposed to lord knows what in there. When I thought I was just going to be there for an hour or so at L and D, they were coming with me. But ER seemed like a bad place for a 2 1/2-year-old to hang out. So I spent more than an hour just hanging out  in the ER waiting room. A very conservative family was there because the grandma had fallen, and the nurses sat me in a wheelchair by them. They were very friendly and were good company. Grandma and grandpa were going to pray for me and I got to hear all about the family. It was an okay way to spend the afternoon. I bit my tongue over a few things they said, but they were sweet to me.

After half an hour on the monitors, the baby’s heart had two deceleration events. They weren’t major, but they were enough to make them keep me for observation until after 11 p.m. in events like this, they like to observe for 12 hours following the incident. Since it happened at 11 a.m., that’s why they had me stay until then.

Mark had been at work for a while and I told him to stay unless there was any reason I needed him. It was basically a longer version of my usual NSTs, so nothing he could do.

They wouldn’t let me have water because with the deceleration events, there was a chance of emergency c-section.

While I was there, I started feeling more of the Braxton-Hicks contractions. Some were a little strong and felt like period cramps. I was nervous and lonely and a little bored.

The nurses periodically checked on me and said that baby was behaving and they had a feeling that I would probably go home at 11.

While I was in the ER, my friend texted me to say that she had been hired, and my head of school sent me an email about it. I told her about being in the ER and that I would keep her posted. Once I found out that I was stuck until at least 11, she arranged a sub for the next day. My sub hasn’t done paperwork and fingerprints yet, so she couldn’t come in. But I would be at work Monday, so no big deal.

They scheduled a very intense ultrasound session for me. Eventually they came back with the results and said everything looked good and the nurses said it was looking like I’d probably go home. One even said she’d almost be willing to put money on those odds.

I was texting with friends for a while and my cousin Alicia decided to come keep me company. I was so grateful and it gave me more reason to keep Mark at work. He was able to leave a little earlier than usual because his relief guy got there early. He went home, packed a bag for our son, including at outfit for the next day because that was school picture day (I only remembered when his teacher texted out a reminder!), showered and had dinner since I couldn’t eat and he was afraid we’d be admitted and he wouldn’t get to shower, then brought everything to my parents. Around 11 the nurse came in and said “Feel like going home?” Yay! Baby and I were fine and getting released. We had quite a walk to the car because Mark arrived after the nearest garage was closed and parked in a weird lot. Took a lot of walking because a lot of entrances were not open. But we made it. Picked up our son, got me a bottle of water, and the. Stopped to make sure I could finally get dinner.

I was supposed to take it easy and was glad school arranged a sub already. I sent an email to my students to let them know that I would be back Monday and that everything was fine.

Friday morning, the Braxton-Hicks were gone. I had a nice, restful day at home and rode with Mark to pick up our son from school. He gets our way before I am allowed to leave, so I never get to pick him up. It was nice to dinthat two days in a row.

I was looking forward to a weekend of getting the house more in shape and relaxing with my lady friends at a Pizza, PJs, and Prosecco Night. We do this every few months. We wear pajamas and watch cheesy movies and eat and drink the title items. I was going tonbit have the Prosecco obviously, but was very much looking forward to one last night before things got crazy.

But otherwise, it was good.

While I had some scary possible diagnoses for my unborn child, the pregnancy was good. Mostly.

I never had acne as a teen. But this time, I developed acne on my right cheek early in and it stayed until after she was born. Almost three weeks later, it’s not all gone yet. I also had very intense nausea, starting before lunch and lasting until I was asleep at night. It lasted until probably 16-18 weeks. For my son, it was periodic, not predictable, and it lasted until about 13 weeks.  And the exhaustion was very real. I had the joy of doing this with a toddler around. I feel guilty over not being able to be the mom he deserved, but I was supposed to rest, was on pelvic rest, and felt miserable. My old friend sciatic pain returned. I’ve only ever had it while pregnant and it goes away as soon as I deliver.

Those scary possible diagnoses were awful. One by one we eliminated the possible problems. I got the all-clear from the second round of genetic testing. The cardiologist saw no real issues. And while smaller, the baby grew steadily. It was just a matter of making it as long as I could. With each passing week, I wanted to relax. We crossed the point of viability successfully and then hit the glucose test. I took the one-hour and failed. The same thing happened last time, so I wasn’t concerned. I took the three-hour test and didn’t fail, but I didn’t pass. One of the blood draws came back high but the others were all within range. So while I didn’t have gestational diabetes, she called me glucose intolerant. I had to cut out sugar. I could have a little each day (a diet I saw online said 130 g a day).

When I got my initial blood work done, my thyroid cane back under active. I’d suspected that for a while, because it had been low years ago. But then I lost a lot of weight and we discovered it kicked into overactive. She reduced my meds and it was still too much, so she took me off the meds. She started me on meds again, and rechecked it around the time of the first glucose test. It wasn’t where she wanted it to be, so she increased my dosage. For about a month, I gained no weight. My belly was growing appropriately and the growth scans were fine, but between increasing my thyroid meds and cutting out almost all sugar from my diet, I plateaued. Which, honestly, is fine by me haha. When I did start gaining again, it was very slow. Technically I gained less than 20 pounds the whole pregnancy, but due to the thyroid and the glucose intolerance, that is skewed a little.

At 31 weeks, my MFM suggested that I start the non stress tests. Previously, I started at 34 weeks. I was concerned about why she wanted them early, but it was just precaution due to my hypertension and the cord and placenta issues. So twice a week, that’s what I did.

At 37 weeks, my doctor went on vacation. I was terrified. I would be early term, but she would be gone. She has a private practice and is the only doctor. Two other OB/GYNs are in her same strip, and apparently they rotate being on call. One of those would have delivered if anything had happened. But I’d never seen them before. And I love my doctor. I didn’t want anyone else in the room doing what she does.

In addition, there was a chance of a tropical storm coming. And Mark had jury duty that week. Plus, it was Labor Day week, and people were already making jokes.

But I made it! I counted down the days until she was back in town. I knew she would be back by Sunday because she’s a Saints season ticket holder. And she would be in the office on Monday. If I could last until then, everything would be perfect.

And I did.

That Sunday night, we were about to leave my parents’ house when my aunt called to tell my parents that my dad’s aunt, my grandmother’s sister, died. Her funeral was set for Thursday.

I saw the MFM the Tuesday of week 37. Her recommendation was to deliver at 39 weeks. Last time, she said that to prevent him from getting too big because they overestimated his size via ultrasound. This time, it was about getting the baby away from the cord and placenta. In addition, my OB/GYN has already mentioned that new study where they said inducing at 39 was better anyway, so I was sure she’d want to do that. I also had to go to the MFM office for an NST, and everything was fine. But once again, baby wasn’t cooperating and kept coming off the monitor, so it took a while.

On Monday of Week 38, my doctor decided that we would set the date for induction at my next appointment, which was Thursday. I caught the bad cold my son brought home from school (he started pre-k 2!) and couldn’t take anything. I can’t take Sudafed because of my blood pressure and I can’t take couldn’t take most other things because I was pregnant. I was allowed Robitussin and could take Tylenol PM to get sleep.

School had not been able to find a sub for me and I convinced my friend to apply. I was planning to work until I couldn’t. With my aunt dying, I was going to have to swap out days. I would take off Thursday and go to work Monday.

On the way to the funeral, we got in an accident. I felt fine. I had my seat belt under my belly and the airbags didn’t deploy. The front end of my car on the passenger side got a lot of damage. Since I felt fine and felt the baby move and wasn’t bleeding or anything, I went to the funeral. We went to my aubt’s house after and then I rode with my mom to pick up my son. She was driving me to my NST appointment. If I hadn’t had the appointment, I would have called her after the accident. But since the appointment was only a few hours away, I just waited. When I showed up to my appointment, she sent me to the hospital to Labor and Delivery. They sent me to be cleared by the ER. I had Mom take my son home and was there all alone. I was seated by a nice family. A little too conservative and religious for my tastes, but they basically adopted me for the duration of my wait. But they were very genuine and it was nice to have company. After a few hours, I was able to go up to L&D again. They put me on the monitor and told me I had to stay until 12 hours after the incident. That meant I was there until 11 p.m. Mark was at work and Alicia came to keep me company. They wouldn’t let me have water because if anything was amiss, I would need an emergency c-section. Baby had two decelerations at first but the NST was beautiful the whole rest of the way. They discharged me around 11  we picked my son up from my parents’ house.

While I was in the ER, I found out my friend accepted the position of subbing for me. I needed to take it easy on Friday, so school got a different sub to take my class.

I’d been hard and tight with no signs of dilation on Monday. And the baby was “sitting in your throat,” according to my doctor. While I was in L&D, I had dilated to 2-3 cm but it was still hard and baby was still way up high. I had a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions, some powerful, but they determined I could go home.

I was on a break

I haven’t posted much this year. I was afraid to post. But up until 16 days ago, I spent every day of the year pregnant. Surprise! I had a second baby. And again, I didn’t want to post because of how my past is.

We never thought we’d have one child, let alone two. We were grateful to have the perfect son that we were somehow able to have. We never wanted to only have one. However, we wished and almost hoped. When I went for annual exams, my doctor would ask if we wanted another. I said if it was a guarantee that it would be a successful first attempt, I’d be okay with it. But with my history, that seemed impossible. We always said if one would happen, we wouldn’t be mad. We assumed it would never happen and settled into acceptance that we would have an only child.

And then, the week in January where it “snowed,” I realized that maybe something was up. I’d had a digital test leftover from before. It was still good. And it came up positive. And I cried. I didn’t know how to feel. I assumed my body would slip into its old habits. I didn’t let myself feel anything. And I said nothing to anyone. Not even Mark.

Right after his birthday, I broke the news to him. And much like before, we didn’t talk about it or hope or anything. It’s such a weird place to be in. Here you are, with incredible news. You don’t share it. You don’t allow yourself to think about it. You just go about your business like your world isn’t about to change.

I mean. I thought about it. Every time I went to the restroom and braced myself. Every time I could barely hold my eyes open after work. Every time I picked up my increasingly heavy toddler. Once I hit six weeks and got much stronger nausea than I did for any other pregnancy. Every time I pretended to drink alcohol because it was Mardi Gras or school Gala or St. Patrick’s Day or a wedding.

Oh that nausea. Lasted from before lunch until I fell asleep at night. I lived on ginger candy and Coke icees. I barely ate. And I developed a peanut butter aversion, which was devastating. Two and a half weeks postpartum, I still haven’t eaten any. I have to work up the nerve.

I didn’t call my doctor until 9 weeks. I couldn’t get an appointment until 11 weeks. They were as shocked as we were. The first visit confirmed a single baby in the uterus with a heartbeat. And I still didn’t tell anyone. But I did get closer to accepting that this was probably a viable pregnancy and I almost let myself get excited.

The next week, I saw the scary but excellent maternal-fetal medicine specialist. Everything seemed okay, but at 12 weeks, you can’t really see much to be sure.

After that appointment, we finally told our immediate families. But that was it. Just parents and siblings.

I had the quad screening done because I would deliver at 39. And the test showed that there was a higher risk for the baby to have Down’s syndrome. It wasn’t a “yes, you have a child with it,” it was a “hey, there’s actually a fairly large risk that your baby may have it.”

The MFM asked me at my next visit to get a second test run to see more conclusively if this was real. Why? Because the umbilical cord has two vessels instead of three. A healthy cord has two arteries and one vein. Mine had one of each. And a 2-vessel cord means something could be very wrong. What I was facing: a Down’s syndrome diagnosis, a baby with heart problems, restricted growth, or a non viable pregnancy. I wasn’t given a printout of the ultrasound that day but was given paperwork for an appointment with a pediatric cardiologist and the second blood test, Materni-T 21, to check chromosomal abnormalities. I also barely held it together until I got in my car. I sat in the garage and sobbed hysterically. I finally calmed enough to drive. I had to go to my parents’ house because they were babysitting and Mom knew something was wrong as soon as I walked in.

I’d told my head of school about my pregnancy and then shared it with my teaching cohort. They were the only work people who knew. And once I got this scary news, I didn’t want to share with anyone else.

Somewhere along the way I had my class’ major presentations and got through then without vomiting on anyone and not losing my cool on anyone. When that quarter-long project ended, we went to Miramar Beach for Caroline and Gordon’s wedding. I’d come clean to our friends because I knew it would be impossible to hide.

We also had to tell extended family because we were going to mg cousin Kate’s wedding the following week. I had my class overnight on the north shore the day before that. I couldn’t help carry much and I had to take it easy. Once again, I had placenta previa. Also, while I had a weird section of the placenta that wasn’t working when I was pregnant the last time, it didn’t prove any harm. This time, in addition to previa and the bad cord, the cord had a marginal insertion. My fears increased with all of this.

My cousin Alicia, as my son’s godmother, wanted to get him a big brother T-shirt. I asked her to please hold onto it because my already high-risk pregnancy (advanced maternal age, MTHFR, and chronic hypertension, in addition to 5 first trimester miscarriages) was now very high risk. I didn’t want to have the shirt and have my worst fears come true and then to be stuck looking at the shirt.

I had to wait until June 7 to see the pediatric cardiologist. I had to wait a few weeks to hear the chromosome test results. Such a relief to learn that the test came back normal. But because I didn’t know what the cardiologist would find, I was afraid to share my news with other coworkers and my students. I eventually told my coworkers, about two weeks before school let out. It was graduation night, we went out for drinks, and I had to tell them why I was just having tea and not a margarita like the rest of them. Come to find out, the two male teachers who came with us on the overnight knew, because my partner teacher had to tell them I wasn’t being lazy or too good for things... I was a high risk pregnancy. And they kept the secret and did so very well.

School ended and I finally was able to see the pediatric cardiologist. After a lengthy and intense ultrasound session, they concluded that the baby’s heart looked fine. There was the caveat that since the baby is small, something could be missed. But in all subsequent ultrasounds with my MFM doctor, things appeared fine. I had to continue seeing the MFM doctor, though, to monitor growth. If growth slowed or stopped, the baby would have to come by c-section as soon as they discovered the growth issue. Thankfully, the baby l, though never in the top percentiles, continued to grow and stay relatively on target.

Baby shower

Need to hit something lighthearted.

My cousin and my best friend handled my baby shower. It was lovely. We had trouble getting a venue together because my dad's aunt is on oxygen and Mark's grandmother can barely walk, and the first few venues required stairs or parking far off. They picked a not-glamorous but perfectly located burger joint with a "banquet room," and it was excellent. If anyone wanted a drink, the bar was steps away. The food was good. The room was great. Go figure!

Another "problem" was that so many friends had their babies or were days from having babies. Jessica was due a week and a half later, and she started serious Braxton-Hicks the day of my shower. I'd actually hoped for that to happen, because I picked that day in the pool at her shower haha. I ended up losing. So it ended up being mostly family, but that's okay.

The theme was baby monsters and Yanna found some super adorable baby versions of classic monsters. It was right before Halloween, so it was perfect. Gender-neutral. They had a table set up and labeled "Treat Yo Self," with my amazingly delicious cake and a candy selection.

Got some great gifts that were on the registry.

Most importantly, by having the two in charge who were in charge, no games were even attempted. It was a classy affair that was just my speed.

They tagged me in pictures on Facebook, but I didn't approve them to appear on my timeline and I also don't allow most people to see pictures tagged of me anyway.

However, a few high school friends saw pics because they are also friends with my mom and saw her get tagged. It was getting close to the end anyway, so it wasn't a huge deal. Plus, I was about to see some of them at my friend's wedding in a couple weeks, so the cat would be out of the bag with them anyway.

We brought everything home and it landed in my kitchen. A few weeks later, Mark's cousin brought over a bunch of her baby items. That all ended up in the kitchen, too. Mark couldn't keep up and I couldn't lift anything. It was a mess. It stayed that way until the weekend we came home. I mean, we got a lot of things out of the way when my parents came to help us one weekend. But it sucked having to take so much rest.

The girls made thank you cards for me that matched the invitations. They made a booklet to match to write down gifts and they included a print out of all of the addresses to make thank you card writing simple. It was genius. I highly recommend that when planning showers for people. Especially baby showers, when the new mom is going to be overwhelmed, exhausted, uncomfortable, and scatterbrained.

I actually didn't get around to finishing them until after he was here. I have no idea what I wrote, because I did them on pain meds hahaha. I'm sure they were lovely.
J
We had to vote in an election right after the shower. The ladies were all gushing over my belly. We went back for the primaries in March, and they really couldn't handle him. And every time we vote (every election), they gush over him and how they remember the day I came in so huge. I guess we're the only "young" regular voters. We rarely miss an election. Most people in our neighborhood are renters who don't stay long and old people who have been here forever, so I guess we stand out. I appreciate that, but damn. Go vote, people!!

The first Christmas

I don't know how I skipped this part.

His family is an hour and a half away from us, and with a due date of December 8, I started stressing over Christmas. What if he came late? What if I had to have a section? What about an episiotomy? How was I going to bring a brand new baby that far and how was I going to last through the car ride? What about nursing? And since that was such a disaster, it eventually turned into "what about pumping and all of the paraphernalia involved?"

My parents had the same thoughts. We were being told to come for his family's Christmas. No one gave thought to the exhausted new parents, and especially not to the new mother and her comfort levels. But my parents did. They offered to host his parents and his brother and his sister-in-law on Christmas. My parents are a 15-minute drive away in the same city we live in.

When he called to extend the invite, they originally thought he had asked to have them and they were very squirrelly about it. He kept inviting them and they kept blowing it off with a "we'll see."

At my shower, my mom asked his mom in front of their family and mine if they would please come eat. She was kind and generous. And his mother said "oh uh well we'll see." My relatives commented at various times about how strange that response was. My mother was flabbergasted.
My BiL and SIL were planning to do Christmas Eve in his hometown and in hers, 20 mins away from his. Then they were making an 8-hour drive to northeast Louisiana to visit her extended family. But the more his mom begged off about coming to my parents' house, the more they discussed the fact that his mother was really going to miss her only grandchild's first Christmas. So they planned to detour to New Orleans because there was no way she would miss BIL and the grandchild together.

After two or three months of us practically begging them, they came.

After Christmas, Mark called and thanked them for coming. Another gaslighting situation arose wherein she said that they were always planning to come, what was he talking about? Thankfully, my SIL and I had had extensive Facebook conversations via messenger, so I know for a fact that we weren't imagining their hesitation. He told them that he was glad they came because he was worried that they were being rude and that they had never once committed to coming and had blown my mom off at the shower. But they kept on gaslighting us.

To combat gaslighting, it is suggested that you keep listing things you know to be true. Every time I bring up what they're doing and he starts making excuses, I lost this as one major situation that we know to be true but they keep denying ever happened.

That escalated quickly.

I loved my job. I loved what I did. I loved my students. I loved my coworkers. But to get close to a living wage, I had to have five stipends. Most of them required me to be at work late at night. With a child, I couldn't afford to work there any more. I'd always called it my happiness tax, but I had to take care of my family, first.

I tightened my social media pages and stuck my inlaws in that tighter security group. It was something I'd always wanted to do. I just wasn't sure when would be appropriate. I never wanted to accept their friendship on there because I felt like it was too much. Mark isn't friends with most of my family, but since he's more of a public figure due to work, he's a little less strict with who can see his stuff.

A few weeks went by and I was back at work. One day, we got a phony call demanding that I allow them access to my page. Um? What now? Mark informed them that I was job searching, hence the heightened social media security. That is 100 percent correct. I didn't block or unfriend them. I just locked them down. No more pats pr photos were visible to them. A little more time passed. And at Easter, Mark called to wish them a happy one. And instead of exchanging pleasantries, they chose to tear into him and rip him a new one. He, who never raises his voice, raised his voice to them. He tried setting boundaries and explaining that we feel like they do not respect us as adults. That they don't respect us as parents. Every time we ask them not to do something, they do it. If we ask them to do something, they don't. Like buying the base for the car seat, for instance. Spoiler: that base could only be used with the bucket seat. When we upgraded to the bigger seat, those were useless. They never once used it and were miffed.

Anyway, I refused to try to tweak my settings because I was job searching. I'd planned on eventually letting them back in, but I decided against it. Eventually, unnoticed his mom unfriended me, based on the fact that she popped up as a person I may know, haha. C'est la vie.

At this point, I said they needed a time out. They were not exhibiting sane behavior or wise actions. I banned them from the house until further notice. They were going to be allowed here for his birthday, but that's a more tragic story yet to come.

Basically, they are allowed supervised visits and they must be in public. If it's something in their hometown, I chaperone.

I'm sorry. This is too unstable.

After some time, they claimed that when Mark called them out on condemning us to hell and saying what they said about the miscarriage, they denied it. They began a gaslighting campaign that keeps rearing its very ugly head. Gaslighting is scary.

Listen to new parents

If it isn't your baby, you get no say.

If it isn't your baby, the parents get all of the say.

I don't care how many kids you had, how many kids you didn't have, how many kids you've taught, or whether your child is one second older or five decades older.

Not your kid, not your say.

Think the parent is neurotic? Crazy? Depressed? Ignorant? Don't care.

Is the child's life or safety in danger? Ok.

No matter what the parents say, that's what you do. And when you are in their home, you are the guest. You. Have. No. Say.

The next visit from my in-laws was a major turning point. I never did care much for them. I lost my respect for them when they blamed my third miscarriage on us not attending church.

As of this point, they were buying things we told them not to buy. They were trying to visit every weekend. We managed to hold our feelings and stay polite up until that day. She insisted on whispering. She constantly accused the baby of having a pain.

When they visited, they sat on my couch, leaving her perfume smell and his cologne smell for days afterwards. They held him and whispered and took pictures. They stayed for hours. They kept bringing things into our house that we asked them not to bring. And then it happened.

They brought us food from Zea's. I was trying to finish my meal and the baby was in his swing, a.k.a his favorite place in the world. She wolfed down her food and grabbed her camera and went to the baby. I asked her to please wash her hands.

He was maybe two months old? Just shy of it? He hadn't gotten those important vaccines yet. It was still cold and flu season.

My M-I-L only eats fried shrimp when she goes out to eat. I like to bring them places without fried shrimp in order to make her branch out. Then she orders whatever I'm eating, because I guess she figures if I eat it, it can't be bad. So that's when I get things with hummus on them haha.

Anyway, Zea is a rotisserie restaurant and she ordered, you guessed it, fried shrimp. You know, a high allergen food. And it's greasy. And! She hadn't washed her hands before eating. So, barf.

I asked her to wash her hands first. She ignored it. I repeated myself.

"Oh, I will."

Please. Please wash your hands first.

"I will."

Shoot a glance to Mark.

"Mom. Please wash your hands before you go near him."

"Oh, I did."

What. The. Actual. Fuck. No. She. Didn't.

I said "No you didn't. You came in. You handed out the food containers. You sat down. You ate. You went to the baby. Please wash your hands."

"Oh, I did it at the restaurant."

I almost exploded.

So you went to the restaurant. Used the restroom. Washed your hands. Touched your credit card. Signed the receipt using a pen at the register. Opened the door. Walked to the car. Used the handle. You yourself talked about how everything was covered in pollen. Touched your door and your seat belt. Touched then again to get out. Shut the door. Rang the doorbell. Came inside. Ate without washing your hands. Ate greasy shellfish. Didn't wash your greasy shellfish hands. Went straight to the newborn.

"I'll do it."

She sat there.

Mark: "Mom. Just please wash your hands."

She ignored him. I was boiling. I was trying to finish my food and couldn't get the last bite of corn grits to stay on my fork. On the fourth failed jab, I went "Oh, son of a bitch."

His dad was sitting across from me. He spoke:

"I heard that."

This is a man who will drop worse curse words at times. Not often, but he's not clean.

I looked up, confused. Was he joking?

Then I saw the hatred and anger on his face. He was practically shaking.

I said "I'm sorry. I didn't know I couldn't swear in my own home."

He continued glaring and shaking. "I. Heard. What. You. Said."

And then it hit me: He thought I was calling his wife a bitch.

I'd like to go on record as saying I wish that I had. Because if I had, I would have had something to apologize for. I also wish I had because, you know what? That was a bitchy thing to do.

I was a teenage girl. I made it through my teen years without EVER calling my mother a bitch. Do you know what an accomplishment that is for many people these days?

I said "Ohhhh. Oh. I was mad because my food wouldn't stay on my fork."

He glared.

"I was frustrated. I said son of a bitch. About the food."

He continued to glare.

"Didn't you see me repeatedly stab it? You're sitting right across from me."

Pause. Why was he so convinced I called her a bitch? Was it because that thought crossed his mind? That she was doing something extremely bitchy?

Mark didn't hear this happening. He came to see if he could grab my empty takeout container. I slammed my fork down and said yes. I got up, grabbed my pump, and went in the baby's room. I stayed for a while. I kicked them into a tighter privacy setting on FB. I was job hunting anyway. I needed my profile on lock.

When I finished pumping, I put the milk away and cleaned my parts. I said nothing to anyone and went into my bedroom and shut the door. I refused to go by them. Mark eventually came to see what was up. I said I was not going anywhere near them. He had no idea what had happened. They finally left, hours later. He told them I was napping because I was going out with friends that night and needed to rest. I hate that he lied. Lies are his family's language of love.

When they were gone, I filled him in the rest of the way.

I assumed it would blow over. I was very wrong.

We're home. Now what?

We were discharged on Friday, Dec. 4. Mark was DJing winter formal for my school, and Alicia had offered to come give me a hand. I was so grateful. She did a few things and helped me out.

You don't realize how much you rely on your nether regions until they are stitched up and recovering from a trauma, no matter how "normal" that biological process may be. I couldn't get out of the chair or bed. I had so much trouble shifting once I was seated. It was almost impossible while holding J. It got better as the days passed, but holy crap.

That night, I asked Alicia to be his godmother. She squealed and hugged me so hard that she bent my glasses haha.

We discovered that the baby swing was the key to us doing anything so quickly.

We decided that since it was so hard for me to get up and move, the best case scenario was to put him in the Rock 'N' Play next to the bed on my side. We are strongly opposed to the concept of cosleeping. ESPECIALLY at the newborn and infant stages. Don't try to tell me benefits and convince me otherwise. What works for you may not be what works for me. So back off and get your own blog.

Anyway, I barely slept all night. Infant breathing patterns are terrifying. They pause. They gasp. They breathe in different speeds. It's insane. And woke me up immediately every time. I managed to get some sleep and woke up to that beautiful little face staring back at me on Saturday morning.

When I opened my eyes and saw that little face, I melted. He was here. He made it home. He made it through the first night! This wasn't a dream.

People always complain about the baby keeping them up all night, but other than my own insecurities and terrors, he slept about six hours. We had the best baby everrrr. We thought.

That day I realized I could reenter the world of deli meats. I'm not a vegetarian, but I don't eat a lot of meat. I went through a brief period of craving meat and had Mark make a lot of meatloaf and burgers and tacos and chicken and stuff. It's weird how every pregnancy is different. One pregnancy had an aversion to chicken. This one couldn't get enough meat. That is highly unusual. It also made me grossed out by cheese. I always keep microwaveable mac and cheese that has a long shelf life at school just in case I forget my lunch. One day, I reached into my bin to grab one early on and was repulsed by it. I could handle shredded cheese or cubes or wedges or whatever. But melty liquidy cheese turned my stomach. I had to walk down the block to get a sandwich that day haha. Cheese is my favorite food. That was rough.

Anyway, I never really want meat. But because I wasn't allowed to have deli meat, I had Mark order po-boys for us. While we ate, the delivery men brought my glider and ottoman. We ordered it from a local store on Halloween and it took that long to come in. We had registered for a chair and then it was discontinued and we didn't get the email in time. It was the only chair I liked that I found comfortable and would be good for anyone to sit in with the baby. I didn't find out until the day we went to buy it. I was heartbroken. I hated all of the other chairs. We tried chairs in so many stores. None were good. But this furniture store had a great saleswoman who asked what chair we had wanted. They carried that brand but not that chair. She brought me the catalogue and we found one very similar and ordered it. She was my hero. I'm sitting in it right now, waiting for him to go back to sleep. I love this chair.

In addition, my friend Michelle dropped by with a gift. She had her third son in September and couldn't stay long. We also had a visit from my brother and his new girlfriend. They started dating about halfway through my pregnancy. She only knew me as pregnant. It dawned on me that a lot of people at work only knew me that way. Very odd to think about.

Most people never knew they knew me as pregnant. We kept it so low key. If you knew, it was because you saw us frequently or you were a relative. We didn't ever publicize it anywhere. After he was born, Mark took a picture of him. While we were enjoying our hour of skin-to-skin, he sent it to me and I finally got to talk about the baby on social media.

We blew a lot of people away with the news. They had no clue. Some people thought they missed it. Some people were a little annoyed. Almost everyone was surprised and ecstatic. When I shared his birth, I just explained that we had a hard time getting him here and that I never felt comfortable sharing it. That is 100% true. I didn't want it posted and have people see it, then have something go wrong, then have people not see the follow-up. I didn't want to be subjected to Timehop pulling those statuses up. I just didn't want any trace of it online. Almost everyone was very understanding and kindly did not push for details.

It has taken more than two years since giving birth for me to put any of this down. I wasn't sure I wanted to go public. But I think it is extremely important to do so. So many people suffer in silence. I want to be able to be there for them the way that my pen pal was there for me. Because try though they might, unless you've been through it, you WILL say the wrong thing. You won't mean it. But you will. I have a thing typed up on The Care and Feeding of a Habitual Miscarrier. I wrote it way before J. I'll dig it up one day and add it here.

Anyway, back to that weekend.

On Sunday, Mark had to go to work. Craig and Aryanna came to help me around the house for part of the time. We never truly had it ready for J because I was on bedrest, sort of. I couldn't lift or carry. Bending was no good. Sweeping made me bleed that one time. So the house just wasn't ready. Honestly, two years later, it still isn't haha. His room is finally complete, so there's that. But we moved my office into the back room, which is now the room where things go to die. Also where the cats mostly hang out. My office became the nursery. But because I couldn't do a lot, it wasn't really ready. He was sleeping in our room at first, so it was okay if it was not ready.

The Saints were playing (hence Mark having to work) and normally that meant going to my parents' house. But for the first two weeks, they came to me instead.

They lost that day, so that was disappointing.

Mark and my mom had both taken off the next week. I wish they had staggered things better. She was able to run a few errands for us, though, so that was nice.

The one week doctor appointment found that he wasn't gaining weight. When the doctor heard he was sleeping for six hours at a time, she put a stop to it. We had to wake him every three hours and feed him without fail in order to get his weight up. He hadn't pooped since the hospital and was a bit jaundiced. She said once he pooped, it would probably clear up. She wanted to see us two days later.

He still hadn't gained weight and still hadn't pooped. He wasn't constipated. He just was using up his food. The problem was me. I wasn't producing enough milk. He was sleeping so much because he was essentially giving up on eating because he knew he wouldn't get any more. We started using the supplemental formula in addition to breastfeeding. I was an emotional wreck. How could my body, which finally didn't fail by successfully carrying a baby to term, fail that baby in this way? How could I, as a mother, fail my child in this way?

It was decided that I needed to exclusively pump. That way, I knew what he was eating and I knew how much to supplement. The most I ever got in the beginning was one and a half ounces in an hour of pumping. That was a good day. I drank so much water and ate so many lactation cookies. I ate oatmeal and took fenugreek supplements. I drank that disgusting Mother's Milk tea (I hate licorice and it tastes like licorice). I massaged and hand pumped and everything. I was on a tight schedule of pumping. And it didn't help. Not. One. Bit.

But I wanted him to get what he could. I set a goal of getting him what I could for six months. I limped across that finish line. It didn't take long for it to dry up when I stopped. I'll revisit this later.

He did poop that afternoon though. Jessica and her husband and their 5-week-old stopped by to visit. While they were there, poop! We had a hearty chuckle over how excited all four of us were.

That following weekend was the first visit from my in-laws. In it, they said they planned to come every weekend. Mark didn't even have to see my panic-stricken face. He said that since he's only off on Saturdays, that was not going to work. We needed our four days a month to be a family and adjust to each other. They offered every other weekend. He gave them a "We'll see." He told me later that he had no intention of saying yes. He just wasn't playing all of his cards immediately. He didn't feel like an argument.

It took a lot of us telling them no and then a pretty major incident in February to get them to quit asking for that visitation schedule. I'll get there.

When they came to visit, they insisted on whispering. We kept telling them that we wanted noise. It's unrealistic to make a baby sleep in silence. Keep your normal routines and make them learn to sleep in chaos. They'll be better sleepers as a result. But they insisted on whispering. They bought a car seat base and had it installed by local police. We had already said multiple times that they shouldn't. They live an hour and a half away. We're not leaving him there without us. Save your money. But they didn't listen. Every sound this newborn made, his mom asked if he had a gas pain. Every. Single. Noise. No. No he didn't. You would KNOW if he did. There was one day where I snapped that at her. I said please don't say that any more. Why? Because she was holding him and he made a content sigh in his sleep. And she asked him "oh, do you have a little pain?" NO! Have you never seen a happy baby? Lord.

These little things were the first pebbles in a major avalanche that was on its way.

Hospital days.

I was essentially awake from 10 a.m. Tuesday, December 1 until J was born at 3:07 p.m. Wednesday, December 2, 2015. And I still wasn't able to sleep. We waited for me to be sewn up after the episiotomy, for the room to be cleaned, for the baby to be checked and cleaned, for an attempt at breastfeeding, and for an hour of skin-to-skin. Then the families came in to visit. And I was finally able to eat. I scarfed down the sandwich like there was no tomorrow.

I mentioned how my in-laws burst in first and monopolized everything. They took photo after photo of themselves holding J. And of Mark holding him. And not one single person took one of me or the three of us. I was so out of it that I didn't think to ask. I think they would have followed us to my room, but my parents made a big deal about letting me get some rest and giving the three of us time to be alone. I guess they actually got the hint for once.

It was about 7 p.m. and we were finally alone. But could we rest? No. Nurses kept coming and checking on the two of us. Mark went home at one point to feed the cats. He returned a little after visiting hours were over.

Our friend's ex-husband worked in the hospital. They were still married and he was working there when I had my first miscarriage. He was the friend who came to check on us a few times that night. When my dad had his heart attack a few years ago, he checked on him. And his girlfriend was the one who was due two days after me but had the baby four weeks early. He had seen on social media that J was here and came to visit, which was nice, even if we don't see each other any more.

Every time we almost dozed off, a nurse would come in for one of us. I was not having success with breastfeeding due to his tongue-tie. We got a nipple shield and a lactation consult. They decided I should try pumping and consider having a frenulectomy done on J to make things better.

It was at least 1 a.m. by the time I could finally doze off. I woke up all night long to check on J because we delivered at a baby-friendly hospital and he was rooming in. So I was basically awake and delivered a baby during the hours of 10 a.m. 12/1-1 a.m. 12/3.

They woke us a few times during the night. At 7:30 or so, L came to check on us on her way to the hospital. And right after she left, the photo people arrived. We were not prepared and I should have asked them to come back later but rolled with it. I'm wearing my hospital gown still. Mark needed to shave. Poor J is in 0-3 month pajamas because we didn't realize that was different than newborn. So they rolled his sleeves and tucked the pajamas as best they could

Not long after that, the pediatrician came in. He was one from our practice, but not the doctor we fell in love with when we interviewed pediatricians. He said if we wanted the frenulectomy, let them know. We wanted to try breastfeeding again first and would then decide. But I was bleeding from it already.

As soon as visiting hours started, my in-laws burst onto the scene. And they stayed the whole day, except for when we were under the hospital's cuddle hour. An hour for us to do whatever with no visitors and no doctors. Exceeeept he needed his 24-hour labs done during that time. So they took him. I got to shower finally. We tried pumping again. And as soon as cuddle time was over, there they were again, loaded down with gifts. Cause that's exactly what every new mother needs: a ton of shit to take home in addition to the tiny baby.

My friend Melissa showed up, as did my cousin Alicia. Mom came by after work. The small room was crowded so his parents actually left. They were staying in a hotel nearby and had to start the hour and a half drive home. They took J to get circumcised, and so she and I were able to privately visit. L stopped by to say he'd done well and was recovering. She did the surgery herself. And every doctor had compliments for her on how well it was done. Go figure. My aunt, uncle, and cousin stopped by for a while. Mark had gone to dinner with his parents during this and then he was heading home to feed the cats again. He also put the baby swing together.

J finally got to return right before my last visitors left. After Mark came back, we had one last visit from our best friends, Craig and Aryanna. They brought me a bottle of Moët which I saved for a while because Mark doesn't drink champagne. I needed someone to savor it with.

We had another restless night with one sweet night nurse sneaking us a few bottles of Similac supplement formula. Thank god. I was hurting. He couldn't latch properly. It was a miserable situation all around. As a baby-friendly hospital, they push breastfeeding on you. It's insane. I was already on board for trying it and had no plans to do otherwise. I was sold. You didn't have to be so...militant.

The next day, we had a different doctor from the pediatric group. She suggested the one we saw the day before to do the frenulectomy because he apparently enjoys doing that. J was gone for a while for that. I got to eat lunch and then we left a couple hours later. It was time to head home.

Induction

Recap: Dr. L said that based on what Dr. C recommended, she felt it was best to induce a week early so that the baby would not get any bigger. If she couldn't use any tools to assist in delivery, the baby needed to get out. Otherwise, I'd have to have a C-section.

I didn't want a section, but more than that, I wanted a safe, healthy delivery of a safe, healthy baby. Whatever my doctors thought was best, I was on board 100%.

Both doctors seemed to think the early induction would be enough to let me deliver safely. I was glad to hear it.

My due date was December 8. They like to induce a week early, so that meant December 1: my dad's birthday. It was also the day my coworker was being induced.

Unfortunately, it looked like I was getting a 10 p.m. slot. The hospital was full of sections and inductions already. My coworker had a morning slot, so her daughter was born the same day. There was a slight chance that some women would deliver early, clearing the way for me. But no.

On Saturday, we went to dinner for my dad's birthday. We went back to their house for cake. Then, my nesting instinct was kicking in. We went to buy a table for the humidifier, a rug for the room, and blinds for the room. A student's mom dropped off a baby gift while we were gone. She hadn't realized that the Friday before Thanksgiving was my last day. It wasn't originally, but when we scrapped the due date in favor of the induction, it didn't make sense to me to go back for one day. So when I went on Thanksgiving break, I was on maternity leave.

Sunday had Mark working and so I went to my parents' house, as usual. Monday had us taking care of things around the house, resting, and my final NST appointment. I also had to go to my pre-op appointment. History, blood pressure, paperwork signing.

I woke up Tuesday and couldn't believe that that night was hospital time. I was nervous but scared but excited but terrified but pleased. I was tired of hauling myself in and out of bed, of needing Mark to shave my legs, of having to consider ingredients, of peeing so many times a day. But how terrifying is birth? Especially when our country has such high rates of mortality during childbirth.

I haven't mentioned it yet, but we didn't know what we were having. I didn't want to know for a few reasons. One was that if it was a girl, I didn't want pink everything. Oh it would happen later, but if I could head it off at the pass, then I would. Another reason is that if we're doing this only once, we should enjoy the full ride. Another reason: There's so few real surprises any more. Another? It pissed off my in-laws. Another? If I knew what I was having, I would get attached. I'd think of the baby by name. I'd imagine activities with him or her. And if something went wrong, well...

It drove everyone crazy. Surprisingly, Dr. L couldn't stand it haha. After I'd been to Dr. C for the big anatomy scans, she looked at the notes and knew.

When the baby had the reversed urine flow, I looked it up. 90% of the time, or something like that, it happens to boys. I originally felt I was having a girl. I'd changed my mind and started thinking it was a boy. Once I heard that, I was convinced it was a boy. But I had no proof.

It was exciting to finally know what this little person would be and look like. The last 4D ultrasound was close. I couldn't imagine life with this little person and was hoping I would get that chance.

We got IHOP for dinner because they said I could and should eat something, just nothing major. Pancakes sounded perfect. I took a shower and watched Mark hang one set of blinds. I intended to help, but I was too uncomfortable. Soon enough, it was time to go. We grabbed our bags and got in the car. We checked in on the women's floor and were hurried to my room. I had my SLR camera with me, and I wanted Mark to do a picture. But I had to take everything off and put on the gown and get in bed. I was so nervous that I forgot.

For about three weeks I was dilated about a centimeter. I had a lot of work to do.

My nurses were all dolls. One was new to the hospital and one was new and had someone paired with her at all times. Every one of them was just awesome.

The new girl went to do my IV and missed. Then blew the vein. Then the other nurse blew the vein on my right hand. And finally got it on the side of my left hand. So that was fun.

The nurses got the little pill in me, which was also fun. They checked me later and decided I did need the second dose of it. Because I tested positive for group B strep, I had to get antibiotics in my IV.

I tried to get some sleep, but between the IV and the early contractions that had started and the fact that if I tried rolling over, the baby would get off the monitor and a nurse would have to come in to reposition things, it didn't happen more than about five minutes probably. Meanwhile, Mark was out for a good while.

Around 2 a.m. I was ready for the epidural. It wasn't bad yet. But it was starting to give me flashbacks to my first loss. And my third. And my fourth. And I was feeling anxiety. A lot of it.

I sent Mark to tell the nurses. I was first in line. It would take 45 minutes for the anesthesiologist to arrive and it takes a while for the procedure. They had me curl up like a shrimp and sent Mark out of the room. For the best. He passed out once watching me get two stitches on my arm. The relief was so quick and amazing. I loved it. But I did have to get a catheter, which I thankfully couldn't feel. I tried to sleep again, but the baby kept getting off the monitor.

I had already said I didn't want anyone but Mark in the room. Around 7:30, the visitor worst case scenario happened. Mark was on his way out of the room to get some breakfast, and I watched as he walked to my door. The door opened, and there were his parents. We didn't give them my room number on purpose. He said he told them not to come in, but there they were. Breaking rules and ignoring decorum, as usual. He escorted them out with him and I was saved.

I texted my mom to complain and then my parents showed up. I didn't really want them there, but at least they're MY parents. I had given them my room number. While they were there, L came to check on me on her way to work. She said I was at 3 cm finally, and was going to break my water to see if she could move things along. She would be back at lunch to check on me. My parents left when she went to break my water and I didn't let them back.

A weird thing that happened with the epidural was that I felt like I was wearing velour pants. I know that makes no sense. I had no pants on, and I certainly don't own velour pants. But for whatever reason, I was convinced I had some on. It all had to do with how numb my legs felt. I still think that's hilarious.

Anyway, when L came back at 11-ish. I was only 5 cm. Everyone was disappointed. Mark found Criminal Minds on TV and I was watching that. I was fine. Why not go get lunch? Just take your phone.

About five minutes after he finally left, a nurse came in.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm okay."

"How are you feeling? Any pressure?"

"Uh, I don't know."

"Well, do you feel like you need to, uh, use the bathroom?"

Embarrassed, I admitted that I did feel like I could, so I wasn't looking forward to the fact that was going to poop while delivering.

"Ummmm I'm going to check you. I've been seeing some things on your monitor that we only see when it's time to push."

She checked me and said that half an hour after being only at 5 cm, I was suddenly at 10 and ready to push.

I panicked. I tried texting Mark but it didn't go through. I called him. They were calling L. I was startingg to feel contractions despite the epidural. They got the anesthesiologist to add something to my IV to take the edge off. They sat me up like a frog. I felt like the baby was going to slide out, so I crossed my ankles and squeezed.

I don't know why they don't tell you that if you feel like you need to take a huge shit, it's time to push. Everything is just called pressure. Or urge to push. No one mentions you think you're going to crap.

L made it from her office and I started 3 hours of pushing. The baby was stuck under my pubic bone for half an hour. They were about to give up on me but he shifted.

I started to tear, so I got a nice big episiotomy.

At 3:07 p.m., I delivered a healthy 7 lb., 14 oz. baby boy after 17 hours of labor.

I held my breath until he cried. I stared at him in wonder. I delivered the placenta. They took him to bathe him and my doctor stitched me up. I lost count at six stitches. Ugh. When they finally sat me up, I was shocked. It looked like an episode of Dexter. I thought it was weird that they had the tarp all over the place. But then I saw why. Holy hell. Blood everywhere.

They tried to get him to nurse, but the lactation lady basically gave up. She got me a plastic spoon and squirted a small amount of milk on it and spoon fed him.

He was tongue-tied, which gave him a lot of trouble.

While I was being stitched, Mark went to tell our parents and siblings that we had a son. When he came back, we had our hour of skin-to-skin. Finally the families could come in. And who led the way? HIS parents. Not the people whose daughter's life was hanging in the balance. But the assholes who have no social skills. I was so hungry. I had sent word to my parents to please bring me food. They went and got me a chicken salad sandwich. It was probably the best I've ever eaten but only because I was ravenous.

I had to get the catheter back in because I hadn't urinated. Once that happened, they wheeled me to my room. It was room 468. And everyone made the joke of it being easy because it was 2 4 6 8 blah blah stupid lameness.

Everyone finally left. They were all so busy holding him and my in-laws were so busy taking pictures of them holding him that NO ONE took a picture of me with him or of the three of us as a family. I'm still very bitter.

But he was here. He was healthy. We both survived. I was exhausted but got basically no sleep.

Hitting the third trimester

Once I hit the third trimester, things started feeling like maybe they would work out. I didn't relax, but I did slowly start releasing that breath I'd been holding. At the same time, my anxiety went up. I couldn't bear the thought of what would happen if something went wrong at this point.

I've mentioned before that August 29 is evil. It's the anniversary of Katrina. It's the weekend I started losing my first baby. It's the due date of the second lost baby. It causes me anxiety every year.

So in 2015, we decided to take it back.

I had resisted doing a registry. But now it was about three months until my due date and my cousin and my best friend were planning a shower. I needed to get some things on the registry. I decided that August 29, which was the tenth anniversary of Katrina, would be the day we would go. It had been such an awful day for ten years. We were going to give it a good event and would also keep my mind off of things.

We made it through almost the whole store and ended at the breastfeeding stuff. I was worn out and my feet hurt and I was just ready to give up because I had no idea what I needed and what I didn't need. So Alicia said she'd go back and walk me through it another day. She called while we were registering to ask my opinion on a few things for the shower because she and Yanna were planning the party at the same time. And while that happened, her son took his first steps. 😁

Anyway, other than being so tired and dealing with a sizeable amount of round ligament pain, we went home. It was as close to at peace as I'd felt on this day in ten years.

Slowly, my friends were having their babies. All of the summer ones were here. The August one was here. September was gearing up. And as each baby came, I moved further up to the front of the line.

I failed the first glucose test and passed the second. I started my NST tests twice a week at week 34. At 36 weeks, I saw my MFM specialist for the last time. More on that later.

I was working my ass off at school. I had to keep up with my extracurricular activities as usual.

That meant bowling with six teams of four kids every Wednesday and keeping stats. Thankfully, my friend Doris, who was in her second year at school, had decided to be my assistant coach. So I started training her to handle all of the bowling responsibilities: schedules, stat tracking, rules and regulations, etc.

That meant coming up with a schedule of events for the year and making sure a journalism kid was assigned to take pictures at every event, as well as assigning yearbook pages through February.

That meant coming up with lesson plans for the week before Thanksgiving (just in case) until Mardi Gras break. And compiling everything for all four preps into a huge binder. That meant running copies so the sub wouldn't have to worry about it.

That also meant directing the school play. I had to hold auditions in August and begin rehearsals in September. Rehearsals started ending at four and ran Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday until November. I moved the play up a week just in case, too, so I had one less week to prepare the kids. By the week of dress rehearsals, I was there until 6 p.m. Every day. I was also 36 weeks pregnant at the time.

The play was Romeo and Juliet. Doris was my art director and also the person I was training to take over in case I got put on actual bed rest or went into labor early.

I had to get two senior parents who always helped with set builds and Doris to help me out. I couldn't be around the paint, sonart teacher Doris handled it. I came up with designs and she made them come to life. I couldn't lift anything or carry anything. The year before, when we did Aladdin, I made most of the costumes. This year I had the kids get their own. Doris was my angel. She did everything she could to keep the kids from raising my blood pressure haha. It was one of our best shows ever.

The weekend of our final build, we were building Juliet's balcony. I brought the giant cardboard box the baby's dresser arrived in to cut up and paint. And then the blade slipped and cut my left hand pretty bad. I almost went to the ER, but I got the bleeding under control. May have needed a stitch or two, but liquid bandages helped a lot and I survived. I was up-to-date on my tetanus shots anyway.

But the best thing of all? The dresser's name was on the box. It was: Verona.

Too good.

The play was amazing. Probably the best show we ever did. I was so proud of them. They presented me with flowers, a card, a Babies R Us gift card, and a framed collage of goofy pics of the cast and crew (including me). It was so wonderful. I love those kids.

That night, we left the play and went straight to Morgan City for his grandparents' 60th anniversary dinner. I thought my bladder would burst. That's an hour and a half in a car at 36 weeks. I don't know why I thought that was a good idea. I was so uncomfortable. But we weren't really given a choice. Remember that several posts from now.

In addition to work stress, I had emotional stress. I mentioned that my Dad's ulcerative colitis was at its worst. We really thought we would lose him. His doctor finally said she'd done all she could and that surgery was the only thing left. He finally had come to terms with this possibility about a month prior. His surgery was scheduled for mid-October. They moved it up a week when he went for his next appointment. Then, they moved it up again. The hospital didn't want to do the surgery then, we found out later, because he was so dangerously anemic. The doctor and the surgeon fought for him and said that if he didn't have his colon removed, he would die. It was an emergency. And so they let it happen.

I left work early that day to keep my mom company at the hospital. Everything went well. It took hours for them to let us see him. They finally let us go to the recovery room. He looked awful and you could see he was in terrible pain. They moved him to his real room and we went to see him. He was so groggy and kept saying to the nurses "That's my grandbaby there."

The next day, I had an MFM appointment. We had my mom come with us since it was at the same hospital where my dad was. She was so excited to see that little face in 4 D.

When that was over, we went to see Dad. He kept saying things like "Take care of that grandbaby for me."

Please note that my dad thinks ultrasounds are disgusting and that he refused to look at any of them. He didn't even want to hear about that appointment, not even drugged up, haha.

Every Halloween, the faculty dressed in costumes to a theme. I started that my second year there, and it was my responsibility to pick the theme. I usually picked it based on a costume I had for camp already, or for a costume I just wanted to do. This year, I had to consider my new body. What would I be? I'd been googling pregnant costumes, and everything sucked. Well, I did see Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force, so I would do that for our friend Halloween party. But what could I do at school?

Watching a Saints game one day, there was a shot where I went "Who's that pregnant woman?" Then I realized it was defensive coordinator Rob Ryan in profile. I knew. That was my costume. I bought a grey wig and a maternity Saints shirt. I got sweatpants, too. I borrowed Mark's headset mic for his computer and got grey face paint to make a beard. I decided the theme was celebrities. Our religion teacher came as Sean Payton and the secretary upstairs was Drew Brees. A lower school teacher was Marques Colston. So that was a fun group costume. We had a half day that day, so we went to Fat Harry's for lunch. I was a huge hit in my costume.

I was Carl for our friends' party and then I was a black cat on Halloween.

My school held a Thanksgiving Feast the Thursday before Thanksgiving break. There's a picture of me and the girl due right after me standing in the hallway. We both look so done. I was 37 weeks, she was 36. She had a girl. The bellies we have prove that. I had a boy and carried him so low. Her girl was up very high. I also had dropped already. The Friday of the performance, one of my coworkers came to congratulate me after the show and she said "Somehow, you look way more pregnant tonight than you did this morning!" That's when I knew he dropped.

I was thankful that when he dropped, he turned. More on that in a minute.

The Feast was a half day, and then we had a staff meeting. I was very annoyed until I found out that the staff meeting was a cover for a small party for the two of us. Kelsey had a scheduled induction on December 1 to make sure her mom would be in town for the birth. I had an appointment that afternoon and would see what my doctor had planned.

The week before, I went to the MFM. Some good news: the baby had a urine issue early on. That had completely resolved itself. She was very serious as she told me important information that had me slightly worried, though. She said the baby was breech and also that the stomach looked bigger than the head. While that didn't mean anything was wrong with him, it did present a problem for delivery.

The head is supposed to be the biggest part. It paves the way for the rest of the body. The birth canal adjusts to the head size. So if the head is bigger, the rest should come out easily. But if the belly is bigger, it presents a problem. The birth canal will have trouble adjusting to release the rest. It didn't mean that I had to have a c-section. But my doctor would not be allowed to use forceps, vacuums, etc. to remove him. She would have to go slow and be careful.

But other than that, I was done with her.

The Monday of Thanksgiving week, my doctor basically said the MFM had her scared on the phone that day. She thought she'd have to cancel her appointments and scrub up haha. But she did agree that we should probably induce a week early, which would be December 1, my Dad's birthday. The same day as Kelsey from work. That meant we had a week and a day to prepare.

Thanksgiving was an NST day for me. My doctor would be having Thanksgiving with her family in Cut Off and was bringing my MFM doctor with her, since it was Dr. C's first holiday without her parents around. That's incredibly sweet, but I was concerned. L told me not to go into labor, because they would be together and the food was too good to leave and/or miss. So since neither of them could do my NST, I had to go to the hospital. I parked on the women's center floor of the garage and walked all the way down to the entrance only to realize that because it was a holiday, the entrance was closed. Waddled all the way back to the car and drove to an open level. Cruel!

So an NST is easy. You lay on the exam table propped up. They attach two Velcro belts around your middle. It measures heart rate and movement. You hang out quietly and listen to the heartbeat. The test checks fetal movements. You get left alone for a while and they have the volume up loud enough that they can hear it down the hall. One day, he had hiccups and kept smacking the monitor. So you heard the heart beat and then what sounded like someone smacking a microphone over and over again. L came in at one point to see what was going on, because you could hear him in the lobby!

I used to love listening to him and watching him move then.

It was at one of those appointments after he dropped that we discovered that he was no longer in breech. We know because when the nurse went to hook me up to the machine, she couldn't get it in the right spot to find the heartbeat. She said "oh maybe it flipped!" and she put it cattycorner to where he normally was. Boom. Nailed it. I was so excited.

Oh and one day, I was trying to put the sheets on the crib, but I misjudged the space I had. I turned badly and smacked the hell out of my belly. I bruise easily anyway, and since I take aspirin for the MTHFR, I bruise spectacularly. The nurse had a hearty laugh when I explained my disgusting belly bruise.

Have I mentioned that nurse is named Hope?

Anyway, the test went quickly Thanksgiving morning. I had to go alone because Mark was at work. The test went quickly because he was so active. The nurse running the test at the hospital would be working while I was being induced. As I left, she said "See you Tuesday night!" It was Thursday. Holy crap. Things were getting real.

Confident that I was going to make it to Thanksgiving across the lake at my aunt and uncle's house, I happily left. I had been nervous about the drive, but my aunt and their two daughters are nurses and my cousin's husband was in anesthesiology school, so I knew I'd be in good hands if I went into labor. Spoiler alert: I didn't.

But guys. God's gift to pregnant women is 9-months-pregnant Thanksgiving. I ate all the things. I had on a maternity dress, so there was no tight pants situation. I could just eat. And eat I did.

They wanted to take a group picture of the great-grandkids and they wanted my stomach in there. I didn't want that all over FB. I also didn't want the memory if something went wrong in the next few days. I regret it now. But at the time, I couldn't handle it.

The next day was Black Friday. Mom and I always have lunch and hit sales in the afternoon. We went to The Esplanade because it would be practically empty. I barely made it out of Macy's. We needed pajamas I could wear in the hospital that buttoned. We slowly made our way to Target and I had to take a break. The end was near and I just couldn't do it. So we went back to their house for dinner.

The countdown was on. One last NST on Monday, and checking into the hospital Tuesday night with hopefully a baby Wednesday morning.