Wilson’s Birthday

Leading up to Wilson’s birthday, I thought a scheduled c-section would be less stressful than the emergency c-section I had with Gus almost four years ago.

I was mistaken.

Turns out when you’ve been in active labor for several hours without an epidural, and your baby is suddenly in danger, you don’t have much time to process what’s about to happen as you roll into the OR (and then almost sleep through the whole thing from sheer exhaustion).

This time I was wide awake, over-thinking everything, and walked myself into the OR past tables of terrifying surgical tools before getting my epidural on the operating table.

The actual delivery went well, but caught me a little off guard only because a few minutes before we got started they got word another baby in L&D might be in distress and they warned me they may need to go to the other OR for an emergency delivery (Been there! I’ll wait.)

The next thing I knew: the doors opened, doctors and nurses were everywhere, someone turned on the radio (raise your hand if “Despacito” was playing when your baby was born!) and they were just talking like it was another day at the office.

“Did you see Roberta’s haircut?”
“Who has the medieval torture devices I sterilized?”
“Let’s make the first incision.”

Wait, what was that last thing you said?

No, hello. No, we’re about to get started. No husband (wearing a beard cover) sitting patiently by my side. No, ready, no set.

Just, GO.

Mike was there a few minutes later, but surgery was well underway at that point. And while I definitely didn’t feel pain, the amount of pressure I could feel was so overwhelming that it was extremely uncomfortable.


Ultimately I needed two extra doses of my epidural during surgery, and three doses of additional pain meds while they closed my incision.

Recovery has been going well, and we’ve been home for four days now. Aside from the usual newborn woes (mainly not sleeping) this time has been a lot less stressful for all of us.

I already know how to breastfeed (even though my milk didn’t come in until last night), I’m sleeping as much as I can when I can, I’m staying on top of pain meds and physically I feel really good.

The biggest difference: my mom is living with us this time, so we have an extra set of hands to help with baby and Gus. When I think about one day getting this baby fed and out the door in time to get Gus to preschool on time, it makes my eye twitch but I know we’ll get there eventually.

Wilson is a pretty good baby, and Gus LOVES him. It’s only been a few days so we’ll see how long it lasts, but he loves to help with diaper changes, he kisses him constantly, and whenever he cries, Gus sings him customized lullabies (“Rockabye Wilson” is his go-to, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Wilson” is a close second).


I genuinely still can’t believe this beautiful, healthy baby is here right now, after everything that happened in the last year. And in a few weeks, we’ll celebrate Gus’ fourth birthday as a little family of four!

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Two Weeks To Go

Yesterday we had our last growth scan, and Little Brother is currently weighing in at 6 pounds and 7 ounces (the 53%, and already a full pound bigger than Gus was when he was born).

I have four NSTs to go.

39 injections left, which sounds like a lot, but I take three a day.

All the baby clothes are washed. My hospital bag is packed. I finally bought a few packs of diapers.

We finally got a 3D sneak peak of his face that doesn’t look like a deformed Halloween mask, and he’s got chubby little cheeks and his dad’s nose.

I was fully prepared to suffer through carpal tunnel and De Quervain syndrome again, and miraculously (a theme for this pregnancy in general!) it never became an issue.

The trade off though, seems to be horrendous pelvic pain, that I can only compare to, like, riding a bike with an old metal seat for eight hours a day, EVERY day.

So that’s been pleasant.

Overall, I’m feeling good, and I’m ready to have this baby.

Tiny complication? In two days my mom is flying halfway around the world for 10 days. She gets home about 60 hours before my scheduled delivery.

She’s convinced my water will break as soon as her plane takes off.

So if you need me, I’ll be sitting here (on an ice pack) with my legs and my fingers crossed, for the next two weeks.

This is Easier/Harder Than Last Time

Having a normal sized baby, after having a teeny tiny one, is much easier than I was prepared for. 

It’s easier to go to the doctor, get NSTs and BPPs, there’s a lot less monitoring and blood work, and none of the medical professionals I see throughout the week come at me with a doom-and-gloom attitude.

My NSTs are over, passed with flying colors, in record time. My BPPs are literally just fluid checks — no dopplers, no practice breaths counts, no constant talk of growth scans. 

I’m not laying awake at night frantically reading about IUGR causes and complications. 

Doctors say things like, “this is all a testament to how well you’re managing your gestational diabetes!” as I stare blankly over their shoulders, thinking about plates of French fries and bowls of ice cream. 

It’s also harder though, physically.

While it’s only the matter of a few extra pounds, I’m feeling the difference between carrying a baby in the 10th percentile versus one in the 50th. 

My belly button is gone, and I’m horrified, and I can’t even look at it (which is difficult since I have to give myself multiple abdominal injections a day). Oh god I hope it goes back to normal. 

And then there are all the regular third trimester wonders like heartburn, and round ligament pain, aching back and ribs, and (new for me this time!) Braxton Hicks, all of which seem intensified this time, but that could just be my pregnancy amnesia talking. 

But of course, like any lucky former infertile (a former infertile with a miracle unicorn accidental pregnancy no less), I’m trying not to complain. 

Checkups and Confirmations

Today we had another appointment with our high-risk team, to check on Baby [Name Redacted] Little Brother’s heart.

As far as we knew, there was nothing wrong with his heart, but a Fetal Heart Echo is standard for 1) IVF pregnancies (which this was not, but I guess history counts for something?) and 2) anyone who has gestational/good ole’ regular diabetes.

His little heart looked perfect, and so did his itty bitty wittle face (pardon me, I’m biased).

I also had them confirm for me that he is, for sure, a he, since I finally broke down and started buying things I need (but also mostly DO NOT need, namely: tiny baby clothes).

While I was there, they also did a quick growth scan, and he’s currently measuring right on target for his gestational age, and is weighing in at a hefty 1 lb, 1 oz. Gus’ growth didn’t start to slow down until around 28 weeks, so I’m scheduled for another checkup with them next month to keep an eye on things.

And, speaking of Gus, I think we have a little clone coming our way (which, again, totally biased, but it’s going to be adorable in here).


(big brother/little brother)

17 weeks to go!

A Teeny Tiny Update with Little to No Information.

I’m still here.

Still (miraculously, amazingly, unexpectedly) (18 weeks!) pregnant.

We’ve told our families (shock!) and our friends (awe!) and all my new various doctors (confusion!) and I’ve technically told the internet full of strangers (hello!) but we haven’t made anything Facebook official.

Why?

Eh, I don’t know. Probably because every time I tell one new person my first thought is, “WHAT HAVE I DONE?!” and every time I purchase a new baby outfit (twice) I immediately think, “YOU MONSTER, YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING.”

So, I guess you could say I’m dealing with a little bit of anxiety.

Despite having four or five ultrasounds now, and doctors repeatedly finding the heartbeat on the doppler, and maybe feeling something kick me sometimes, I’m still finding it a little bit difficult to believe this is happening. That it’s happened at all. That it will continue to happen.

Someone asked me a few weeks ago when I felt confident in my pregnancy with Gus, and I told them, completely honestly, when I was walking into Labor & Delivery and my contractions we’re two minutes apart.

And yet, I am surprisingly less anxious than I was back then. Maybe it’s the fact that now I no longer feel the pressure of being barren forever. Maybe my cold agnostic heart has been touched by a freaking angel, and I can’t help but feel like this is something that is supposed to happen.

Time will tell, I guess.

So far, so good.

 

Bacon & Birthdays

Next week, I’m throwing my BFF a party to celebrate his 30th birthday.

First of all, I’ve been friends with this man since 2001. I’d say I’ve been best friends with him since… 2004? And even now, after 11 years of friendship, I keep learning new things about him.

Like, he is irrationally afraid of things. Particularly seagulls. And he hates anything that touches his neck. His biggest fear, is that a seagull will attack, and go for his throat. But I’ve known this for awhile. (Our other best friend is afraid of mascots. Ironically, our college mascot was a giant seagull — so they were both essentially terrified for four straight years.)

He also hates surprises.

This was new information for me.

I happen to love surprises. But I’m nosey, and sneaky, and am therefore rarely surprised by anything. Maybe that’s why I love them so much — because they are few and far between.

Anyway, in an attempt to not kill my best friend via heart attack, I decided to include him in the party planning.

It went like this:

Me: Do you want to have your birthday party at my house, and do you want to eat bacon pizzas?
Him: Yes. And yes. I think the party should have a theme. Bacon is a good theme. Bacon and pajamas.
Me: Mike just pointed out that he sleeps naked, so I guess that’s your present.

And that’s how I found myself planning a bacon-centric birthday party. I even found bacon desserts (but have decided to improvise a new favorite to include bacon, I think).

Our sole vegetarian friend is really out of luck.

But the rest of us are really looking forward to it.

It’s a … gourd?

Someone left this little guy on our doorstep last night:

Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to leave this morning, and there was a gourd-baby staring up at me.

I’m not sure if he’s a goose or a snake? I think he’s a little bit of both. So he’s sort of like a Basilisk?

Clearly, I need to be more specific when asking the stork for babies.

I asked Mike if we could keep him, and he said yes (but I’m pretty sure what he meant was, “yes, until he rots.”)

Oh, you want to know his name?

Gordon.

Gordon Bombay Schall.

Welcome to the family, Gordon.