Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Tabby slippers

We made it through Christmas with no hospital visits, no running away, and no physical wounds. I'm calling that a success. I'm so glad it's over, now I just have to get through New Year's. I can't believe it will be 3 years since we said goodbye to Aiden, and I can't believe I'll be so heavily pregnant when we mark the date.

I've been in such denial with this pregnancy I only last week decided that I should tour hospitals and look into hiring a doula. I hope I can find one this late. I took the Bradley classes with Sunshine and found them extremely helpful, but when it came down to labor I didn't use a lot of what I had learned because there wasn't someone calm and detached there to remind me what to do. My husband tends to freak in hospitals no matter what and seeing me in such pain completely panicked him. He was less than helpful for most of what was a long and difficult labor. I'm hoping to avoid that this time around because after 2 episodes of months long back pain following epidurals, I am desperate to avoid meds this time.

Anyway - my title is a project I'm going to be working on shortly. Turning my cute, fluffy, murdering tabby cat into a pair of warm fuzzy slippers.

**warning - if you don't have a strong stomach, don't read this. I'm not kidding.**

I was having trouble falling asleep (hence the blogging at midnight) and tossing in bed when I heard my cat's collar bell ringing constantly, along with ominous choking sounds. I leaped out of bed, thinking he had gotten the collar caught and couldn't get out of it. On the way to the light my heel hit something squishy and warm. I flipped on the light to see massive piles of puke all over my bedroom carpet. I was just in time to save my pajama bottoms. As I went to clean it up I checked the, um, contents. This is the cat that once ate fishing line and had to have surgery that put us back a grand, so I wasn't taking any chances. The first pile was red and bloody with lots of black globs so I was rather alarmed. Until I noticed a tiny rack of ribs still intact. My murdering SOB of a cat had eaten some poor small fuzzy woodland creature and then come inside to deposit all the bits on my carpet. Awesome.

I can't believe I managed to clean that up, let alone examine it, without tossing all my cookies. Sometimes it pays to be a biologist. We tend to have strong constitutions. I am going to attempt to sleep now, but you can be sure I'll be taking a flashlight if I have to get up to pee.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Words are never enough

Everyone I read has said what can be said, but better than I, about the horrible tragedy last week. All I can do is keep those families in my thoughts and hug my little first grader a little tighter. I wish the world was not such an ugly place to send such a fragile and bright light into.

I have just over 5 weeks to my due date. I'm finding it harder and harder to believe I will really take a baby home, alive and breathing. She kicks so hard sometimes I am amazed a body part doesn't just burst through my stomach, but I still can't believe she will come home with me. We haven't picked a name yet. Sunshine had hers by 22 weeks. We waited for the gender to pick a name for Aiden, but by then we already knew he would leave us. We picked his name in a hurry so he wouldn't die without one. This time I swore she would have a name as soon as possible, but I just couldn't seem to do it. It smacks of too much hope, or as if we are daring the universe to take her, as if a name decided makes her more real. But not having a name feels like a rejection. A part of me exists that still can't attach because I don't want to be hurt like that again. But I know it doesn't matter. If the worst should happen I will be just as devastated. The only difference this time is that it won't be such a profound shock. I am no longer naive, and much less optimistic. Watching the news only confirms my belief that nothing is fair or right and you can lose it all anytime. I don't know why we keep trying. All I know is that I will.

Keep kicking, baby girl. There is still some beauty in this world and I want so much to show it to you.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

December sucks in the land of dead babies

Up until last week I was not dwelling on the fears that this pregnancy will end horribly. All the tests we've done have shown a beautiful, healthy baby girl. It has been very reassuring, although uncomfortable, that she is also very, very active. I thought I was over the worst of the fears, and then December hit. I know this month sucks for any mom of a lost little one, just because there is so much focus on family and it's so easy to see what is missing. But when your loss actually occurred in December, well.

On the 18th, 3 years ago (how has it been so long!) we were told there was something very wrong. A short but absolutely agonizing 12 days later we had the test results and a terrible decision to make. I can't go through this month without reliving every awful moment and every conversation I had while sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe. From the asshole doctor who told us to "just wait", to the nurse who said I had a beautiful baby, it is all still so crisp and raw and right. fucking. there.

I find myself imagining all the worst case scenarios I could still have with this pregnancy. I'm listening to my sad music playlist again for the first time in almost a year. I have started avoiding the baby sections again and I'm so glad no has thought of throwing a baby shower yet.

At the same time that I am trying to hold myself together, I find myself in the position of peacemaker in my home, trying desperately to keep everything from imploding until we can get through the damn holidays. I'm trying to insulate Sunshine from the worst of the stress because I don't want her to grow up dreading the holidays like I did. My husband recently commented how sad it was that he'd rather stay at work than come home. I asked him why he bothered coming back and he said he didn't know. I almost told him to just leave. I don't want him to go, but I can't help wondering if it would be easier without him to worry about as well. I keep thinking if we can get through the next three weeks we will be okay. The baby will live, Flower will settle down, Professor will realize what he needs to do to make things better. Please, please universe - just don't let this baby die. I don't think there will be enough pieces of me left to pick up this time, and sadly I seem to be the one in the best shape right now.