When 'Perfect' Isn't (part 2)

The morning of the appointment with the specialist. I don't think it's a coincidence that the song I wake to is Just Breathe by Pearl Jam. It's a song that is special to me for a number of reasons. It calms me despite it's quick tempo, dramatic swells and sometimes somber sentiments. I'd hoped it was a good sign. I worked until 12:30 and then Micha came to take me to the appointment with the genetic counselor and neonatologist.. We first spoke with the genetics counselor who took our family history and explained that, in fact, the ultrasounds from our doctor's office indicated multiple soft markers for Down Syndrome or another chromosomal abnormality. In addition to the asymmetrical ventricles, Scarlet is missing her nasal bone, shows a thickened nuchial fold and a 'double bubble'. Our doctor had never mentioned the other markers, only the asymmetrical ventricles. We were taken totally by surprise. After we visited with the genetic counselor we were taken in for the ultrasound. The doctor confirmed all of the markers and also noted that one of Scarlet's long bones measured short. She also explained the the 'double bubble' or duodenal atresia would need to be corrected surgically before Scarlet would be able to eat. She talked to us about the amniocentesis versus the blood draw to determine whether or not it was in fact Down Syndrome and gave us a few moments to talk and decide what we wanted to do.

I'd already been fighting back tears during the ultrasound. Micha held my hand and at one point I could feel his hand starting to shake and I knew that he was feeling what I was. Hope was slipping away. We'd walked into that appointment really feeling that Dr. McFarlane was just being overly cautious, that this was a big deal over a small thing that would probably correct itself in utero or shortly after birth. And even if it didn't, the doctors would place a shunt and viola, problem solved. But as the doctor confirmed each of the markers, we realized at the very least our baby would need surgery within days of being born and that she probably had  Down Syndrome. We decided to get the amnio since a diagnosis of Down Syndrome would affect her surgical plan. I listened to a guided relaxation MP3 on my phone during the procedure. It hurt no more than getting a shot would and it didn't matter anyway. The worst of the pain was in my heart. Micha drove me home where more bad news was waiting for us. Because I have a high deductible insurance plan and we'd been using our savings to make ends meet since Micha's unemployment began, I applied for medical assistance through the state of Kansas. Hoping for one piece of good news on an otherwise crappy day, I opened what I had hoped were approval letters. Instead, I found that the state had denied our application for medical assistance. I started to cry, sobbing really, so loudly I thought the neighbors might hear.

Once I stopped crying, I became angry. Really angry. I had no doubt that God existed but He was a bastard and he could go pound salt. I'd lost everything once already. I wasn't doing it again so what ever lesson He was trying to teach me, He better figure out another way. I wasn't blaming Him for Micha losing his job or for the state denying our coverage, but the baby, that was different. He had control there. He could've given us a healthy baby. There are idiots getting pregnant all the time that don't even want their children, that drink and do drugs and their babies are ok. I, we, wanted this baby and I took care of myself and avoided anything that might be harmful. Micha tried his best to comfort me, and at one point I think he'd bowed his head and closed his eyes in prayer. I wanted to tell him 'Stop it. I've been doing that for months now and He isn't listening so don't waste your breath.' but I didn't. Micha had just as much right to do whatever might make him feel better as I did. He chose prayer. I threw a grand tantrum, complete with swearing, smashing stuff and punching inanimate objects....in my mind. The most I could muster in reality was throwing my tissue and sobbing loudly. Then came the guilt. I momentarily forgot everything I learned in Genetics and started asking myself 'what if this was something I'd done?' We hadn't really been trying to get pregnant again, at least not yet, and it was close to the holidays so I know there were a couple occasions when I drank before we knew I was pregnant. What if it was my hypothyroidism? I tried to be good about taking my medication but I've never been good about taking pills. Maybe it really was my age. Had I been so selfish in wanting another child that I ignored the odds? I haven't gone to church, or prayed or helped the poor as much as I should've. I'd been blessed and fell short on promises I'd made to be a better person.

Over the next few days, I came to grips with the probability that Scarlet was going to be diagnosed with Down Syndrome. Even though the genetic counselor told us that there was still only a 20-30% chance, I'd had enough false hope in the last 4 weeks. I didn't know anything about raising a child with Down Syndrome. And what about our other children? A new baby takes so much attention, how would we make sure they still got the attention they needed? And that wasn't even the most immediate concern. I worried about making it full-term, as duodenal atresia has caused hydramnios (excess amniotic fluid) which can cause pre-term labor. I also worry about her having such a traumatic first few days. As I understand it, she'll have to be in NICU for a couple days before she has surgery and then she'll have to stay until she can eat all on her own. It bothers me that she won't just get to be with us the way Charlie and Tay were. I think about her having tubes to keep her stomach empty and being hooked to machines. How will I comfort her if I can't nurse her? Will she feel hungry? I worry what not being able to nurse right away will mean for our breastfeeding relationship. I tell Scarlet that her first few days Earth-side might be scary so take as long as she needs to cook. I'll do my best to help her through the first week or so until she can come home and then her Dad and I would do everything we can to show her how not scary the world can be. I also resolved some of my anger at God. I realized that probably none of this is about me, the life I've led or how 'good' or 'bad' a Christian I've been. I can't say I'm 100% over it, but I know that this baby will be no less a blessing for us than our other children.

When 'Perfect' Isn't (part 1)

Another sleepless night. I've had a number of them during this pregnancy. Micha lost his job just a little over a month after we found out we were expecting. Needless to say, worrying about our finances has kept me up a few nights. But last night it wasn't money that was troubling me.

With Charlie I became convinced that my Ob/GYN's favorite word was 'perfect'. Everything was always 'perfect'. Funny word; perfect. I used to hate the word 'perfect' because of all the pressure and preconceived notions that accompany it. Now, I'd give anything to hear it.

Scarlet's first ultrasound was May the 8th. That was the first time Dr. McFarlane didn't say "Everything looks perfect." Instead, he told us that measurements of Scarlett's left and right ventricles of her brain didn't match. He assured us that this was not uncommon and that, often, it resolves itself. He scheduled us for a follow up sonogram 3 weeks later. I was a little uneasy leaving the appointment but Micha reassured me. I forced myself not to Google anything for fear I might find something totally horrifying but Micha did and told me he was even less worried than before.

Three weeks passed and Micha and I went back. While we waited for the results, we joked "What if your doctor entered the room like Cramer? Would you go back to him?" We made bets about whether the hair the sonographer spotted on the ultrasound was red. I was so certain that Dr. McFarlane would come in and tell us that everything looked 'perfect'. But he didn't. He told us that we'd be sent to see a specialist and encouraged us to have an amniocenteses, if that was the recommendation. I was so shocked, I couldn't process what he was saying. I couldn't ask any questions. I just sat there nodding and blinking and trying to breath. As Micha drove me home, I silently screamed at God "I hate you for this" like a petulant teenager.

Truth be told, I've been angry with Him for some time now. I've prayed and prayed about Micha's employment situation. The longer he's gone without a job, the more unfair the whole situation seems. We're grateful for our lives, the blessings in them. We didn't take for granted our children, our home or even our jobs. We didn't deserve this. Was it really too much to ask to just enjoy the excitement of our new baby? Our last baby? And now, this? I am supposed to have normal, healthy, perfect, clinically very boring pregnancies. I am one of those women who could just have my baby in the bathtub at home because I am so low risk. So why is this happening? But as the week went by and I spoke with Micha and my Mom, I became more and more confident that everything was going to be fine.

Someone stole my ass

A few weeks ago I was fresh out of the shower and slathering moisturizer on when I caught my reflection in the mirror and discovered; someone has stolen my ass. The ass in the mirror was not one I recognized and therefore could not have been mine. I have no idea when the theft occurred because my maternity pants and unders all still fit and my husband still says it looks great. But I am telling you, that ass is not my ass.

With my first pregnancy I stayed ridiculously small. I was 19 and had the metabolism of a rabbit. I didn't even buy maternity clothes because even at 9 months, I could still see my toes.With my second pregnancy, 14 years later I obviously started out weighing more than I had at 19. I ate well and continued to walk and do yoga nearly every evening, so I stayed in relatively good shape. After I had Charlie though, I really fell off working out. With this pregnancy, I've eaten horribly and I've walked or done yoga maybe twice. Sometimes, I suck at life. Luckily, tomorrow is a new day. 

Mover, Shaker and a Dress Maker??

Lying awake at 4am (because that's what time I have to get up to go pee) on March 28th, I got to feel the first flutters of Baby Bear moving. Now if I pay attention after I eat, I can feel him/her kicking around on a pretty regular basis. About a week later, on April 4th, Micha got to feel the baby kick. Pretty good for something about the size of a turnip.

Also, I have a confession to make. I sent the following text to my bestie:

"I hate bitches that look put together at Target. I look like I just came from the gym except instead of glowing and tone, I'm sweaty and giggly. And this bitch has the nerve to come in looking like she just came from her personal stylists house."

Now do I really hate the woman in Target who looks totally cute in a casual and Pinterest-worthy way? No. My actually reaction to seeing her was try and get as far away from her as humanly possible so as not to look even worse by comparison. And it certainly wasn't her fault that unlike me, she took the time to put some effort into her appearance, while I was busy cleaning and trying to get ready for a house full of Easter Sunday guests. I can't really blame my appearance on Easter Sunday or my usual domestic duties or even pregnancy. If I'm being perfectly honest, I've been in a bit of a slump for awhile now. I don't have to dress nice for work so I don't dress up.. or wear make-up... or brush my hair for that matter. I'd just rather be sleeping. Actually, if I could sleep in and still arrive at my destination looking effortlessly fresh and cute, as if by magic, that would be great. The best of both worlds. Of course, I was painfully aware of my style slump upon sending a text that offended my own sense of feminism (and really rationality). So I decided I needed style rehab.

Now for those of you reading this that are all "I'm a Mom, that's what I care about and I'm fine with looking however I look blah, blah, blah...", congratulations on being more self-evolved than I am. Seriously. I just happen to be at a point in my life where I feel better when I look better. From time-to-time, I find myself feeling blah or frumpy and it typically ends with me cutting all my hair off. Since I'm trying to grow my hair out, I thought I'd start with some cute clothes. Ha haha ha ha! I forgot that all maternity clothes (that aren't ridiculously expensive) are just sacks. Big sacks for shirts and even bigger sacks for dresses. There are two color options; giant floral print or black. If you want something more figure flattering, you can get your sack with a draw-string just under the bust. So Kim Kardashian, if you are out there somewhere reading this, I get why you are hesitant to plunge into maternity wear. It's ugly. It even sounds ugly. I was shopping online and looking at shirts that were being referred to as "Slub Maternity T-Shirt". I'm fairly certain that immediately upon putting on the 'slub' t-shirt, the wearer would have the overwhelming desire to eat a gallon of ice cream directly from the carton while watching a horrible LifeTime movie starring Meredith Baxter-Brooks.Nothing that isn't pajamas should be called 'slub'.

Junk Food Confessions

I really like YouTube Vlogger, Jenna Marbles. I feel like we could hang out. She's educated, I'm educated. She drinks and swears, I drink (well, not right now) and swear. She's kind of a spaz, I'm kind of a spaz. Anyway, when I saw her video Junk Food Confessions, I was inspired to do my own version. Now, ordinarily I try to eat pretty healthy. I like real food made by people not science food made by machines in factories but I have a real weakness for candy and, well, you'll see...

I made my husband go to the store for pickles and Twizzlers at, like, 9 at night. I then ate 3 pickles and a half a bag of Twizzlers. I'm talking the big bag.

For an entire week I stopped at Sonic everyday and ordered a banana shake. Sometimes I ordered tater tots with cheese or onion rings too but I always had a banana shake.

I stopped at McDonald's 3 times in 2 days for a McChicken with cheese and small french fries. At least one of those times, it was before dinner (which my husband cooks) so I pretended I didn't feel good because I was still full.

I Google searched images of disco fries and then stared at a picture of them for about 10 minutes.

One day after work, I ate pickles until my stomach hurt.

I purposely didn't eat before leaving the house, on more than one occasion, just so we'd have to go through the drive through somewhere.

I've eaten at Jimmy John's and Planet Sub despite warnings about deli meats and listeria.

We keep a candy dish in our office. I wiped out half of it in an afternoon.

One day for lunch, I went to Wendy's but I couldn't decide if I wanted a bacon cheese burger, fries, a lemonade and a frosty or chili, fries, a lemonade and a frosty so I just ordered all of them....and I ate them.

I hide candy from my kids all. the. time

I crave champagne. 

Something my husband made for dinner didn't sound that good to me so I had him make me Ramen noodles and a grilled cheese sandwich.

I ate half a jar of peanut butter, one spoonful at a time. 

I wake my husband up on Saturdays and Sundays so he will make me breakfast even though I'm perfectly capable of making it myself.

I spent entire weekends in bed, so if no one was around to help with Charlie, I'd let him eat in bed with me. On more than one occasion, I found candy or chips in the bed....and I ate them.

I feel like this explains why the majority of my pregnancy weight gain so far has been in my ass. In case you were wondering, at the close of my 1st trimester I started feeling much better. I'm now craving fresh veggies....and candy. Also, the swelling in my fingers and feet from all the excess sodium has gone down so I can wear my wedding ring and shoes.

Big Announcement

So here's how we decided to announce our big news.We had a very gracious friend come over and take some photos for us. We had a few 'announcement' shots and she'd taken a few randoms of the kids. We had a few different poses developed and gave grandparents and great-grandparents each a few, as though they were just shots of the kids we wanted to share. As they flipped through the pictures and got to the 'announcement' photos, it was fun to see the wheels start turning and their reactions. Then we posted the shots on Facebook to share our good news with everyone else!

Dream A Little Dream

10 Weeks 

I just want to say for the record, rarely do I question God's judgement. I frequently question man's judgment but rarely God's. Lately though, I've decided that there are a couple of design flaws I feel I need to point out:

1) Putting the uterus directly above the bladder. Really? I feel this is some kind of cosmic prank that God never tires of.

2) Making it impossible to sleep for 9 months so that when the baby who will invariably keep you up all night arrives, sleep deprived becomes an understatement. Rather than being awoken 3 times a night to pee (see flaw #1) or just being unable to get comfortable, shouldn't a pregnant woman be sleeping like rock? And why can't sleep be like fat that we can store up so we have reserves to pull from when the baby actually arrives and decides to cluster feed between the hours of 2am and 6am? And what is with the crazy dreams?

Speaking of which, a few nights ago I was plagued by some of those insane pregnancy induced dreams.

Dream #1

This one requires a little back story. A few months ago we adopted a Boston Terrier who's deaf. His name was Rocky and although he's a terrific dog, he wasn't OUR terrific dog. We found another home for him with people who had experience with a hearing impaired dog and the time and energy he really needed. So in my dream, Rocky suddenly showed back up at our house. He was sick and his leg was hurt and Micha was out of town but had forgotten his phone and because Charlie frequently deletes the message icon on his phone, I couldn't find the woman's number to call her.

Dream #2

A woman I had been friends with in high school gotten eaten by a shark.Ranae if you are reading this, stay out of the ocean.

and worst of all Dream #3

I dreamt there was something wrong with the baby. I dreamt I was bleeding and in the emergency room with Micha and my doctor's nurse was trying to figure out what was wrong. In my dream, I explained to God that I couldn't loose my baby. I just couldn't. I know it happens and women survive it and they go on but I'm not as strong as they are. I explained how I knew my other children would need me and I wouldn't want to let them down but that's what would happen. Couldn't He see? There just couldn't be anything wrong with my baby.

After the last dream, I just gave up on sleeping for the rest of the night and watched infomercials and ate cereal and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (yes, plural sandwiches).