Random nothings

While this week seems to be draaaaaging along in stubborn fashion, I'm starting to feel less overwhelmed and anxious.  I'm coming to realize that the peace and panic come in waves, so just ride it out while it's here. 

I finally made it to the pool yesterday and, for once, didn't feel guilty about it.  Michael did fine with Olivia at home and it wasn't all that hard to get in the pool on time and spend a little time.  There was a HUGE masters class while I was there and I was terribly, terribly jealous.  Took me back to when I actually could swim with a little speed and would have so much fun with different sets in each workout.  Perhaps one of the things I'll ask for around the holidays is a swim set book -- one of those waterproof ones with fun workouts you don't have to come up with on your own. 

I also started reading (finally) the book I downloaded on to the Kindle recently to help me calm my nerves and find a little "center" in all of this chaos.  Called A Wise Heart, it's basically a discussion of Buddhist philosophy as it applies to modern psychology.  I read most of it back when we were enduring our first infertility/IVF fight and ate it up like candy.  It's wonderfully written and forces me to slow down and focus on the techniques of the approach, all the while thinking "how can I use this?"  I suspect I'll load my Kindle up with books like this and maybe some fiction fluff for those long hours at the hospital. 

In the mean time, I'm trying pace myself and focus on my work -- there's certainly enough there to keep me busy!  If I find myself zooming again, I'm going to try my best to break the cycle by getting up and out of my desk, walk around, talk to someone, and then try again.  And if I can...get to the pool again tomorrow.  And maybe Saturday, too!

Weaving my own basket

I'm the tiniest bit of a wreck today.  And it's only a Tuesday.

But I'm off.  Terribly off.  It's hard to describe, but the best way to is that I'm anxious and distracted.  I bounce from 'to do' list item to the next, trying to feel like we're ready or prepared for the baby's arrival, the whole time knowing that it's simply not getting any damned closer.

And that's been hard this week. 

It's all little things, which fall from my sieve of a mind.  Cleaning under the bathroom cabinet - cause heavens if my family members see some mess or can't find one of the 50 rolls of toilet paper we have waiting for them.  Buying a lamp for Olivia or ordering the prints for the nursery.  Does the kitchen pantry need to be cleaned?  Yes!  Time to cull the toys in the living room to make room for a swing.  Oh holy hell...I forgot to put checking to see if the swing even works.  Every time I think I get closer to closing down a project/room/space of crazy in my brain...there's one other thing to do.
 
And can we talk about my weight?  Seriously?  I just passed my weight from my last pregnancy, with many more weeks to go.  Heaviest I've ever been in my life.  I literally make people gasp as I pass them by and I just want to scream I KNOW...I GET IT...I AM AS UNCOMFORTABLE AS I LOOK.  The only thing that's worse is the look I get from folks who don't believe how much more time I have to go.  Or the coworker who very pointedly asked if I was sure I'm not having twins.  Or the one that "feels like I've been pregnant forever!"  Seriously?  Eff you all.  You should know better. 

And I'm struggling to put this nervous energy anywhere productive.  I'm getting through projects at work well, but my brain is bouncing off the wall.  When I go home, I get through as much as I can, but am often too tired or completely unmotivated to tackle a big project before bed.  And no matter how many times I look at the calendar, it's still over 8 weeks until he arrives.  Oh good lord it feels like it's been 8 weeks forever.

No doubt my emotions have been double dipped in hormones with a side of sprinkles.  When oh when can I finally get to a point in my life when waiting isn't such a chore?  When I can graciously gaze forward in expectation while enjoying the calm of today.  Cause it's all calm over here.  Not really a lot of doc appointments yet.  Liv is healthy and amazing.  Work is busy in a good way.

SO WHY AM I A FREAKING BASKET CASE???

I need a day off.  I need a day for myself - or even just a half a day.  When there's no work, no kid, no need to put on tents and tight shoes.  I need a vacation, but there's not a single one in the future.  Is it horrible that I almost wish I were sick enough to stay home just so I could rest?  Sigh.  LE SIGH.  Such drama in this prego's brain.

Torn

I remember feeling torn during the end of my last pregnancy.  Wishing one minute that she would hurry up and arrive and the next that she would sit tight until I got that one last project done.  It was never a terribly dramatic roller coaster, just passing whims.  The only exception to this was the last couple weeks, when I just wanted them to TAKE HER ALREADY DAMMIT.  But that was because I was tired and hurting.  Well duh. 

This time is different.  The knowledge that we'll have this experience with Little Man's heart right after he's born is a gift -- a blessing that we can plan for and get the absolute best medical care in the country for him.  But it's also a curse.  The flip is that we spend the last half of this pregnancy worrying. 

The worry comes in many forms for me.  I worry about how to navigate parenting Olivia well when he's critical, when he's more stable, and finally when he's returned home and just plain special.  I worry about his heart.  How will it look when they finally get in there?  Will there be surprises?  I worry about surgery and death.  I worry about "complications" and pain and even death.  I worry about my own physical recovery from surgery and healing properly when all I want to do is stand next to his bedside whispering to him.  I worry about breast feeding and failing at it again, this time with higher stakes.  I worry about money and the total lack of it for bills and Christmas.  I worry about juggling a loving and caring family and their expectations for how to help in this time of crisis.  I worry about bonding with him through all this fear. 

And, even with all of this on my mind every moment of the day, I wish he were here already.  This holding pattern is a challenge.  To emotionally stay in the "what if" zone and only be able to prepare for what you think might happen, all the time knowing that it may completely change, is HARD.  I'm getting fatigued.  We're drawing near to the end of our task lists and starting to feel honestly prepared for his arrival.  But, that leaves us with question: what to do now?

Waiting is so damn hard.

Thankfully, we had a little distraction this weekend with a trip to the beach (the last for the season) to see GrandDad.  Olivia has been Skyping with him, which is nice to see.  I always worry that they don't have enough time to spend together, so this trip is important.  And then...not a whole lot to do except sleep when we can, tie up loose ends, and get those last couple of projects done.  A little more nesting and lot more soaking up Olivia and then...8 weeks from now...our world finally changes again.

FINALLY.

Sleepless Night

Oh good grief, that was a long night.

Generally, Olivia does fabulously in her "new" big girl bed.  She's a champ -- transitioned to it well and has gone to bed for naps and nighttime without much protest ever.  It's a wonderful blessing.  Honestly, one that I am so, so thankful for every day.

But, last night she was stuffy and it blew up in her/our faces.  Poor thing woke around midnight and wouldn't settle again until after 3.  Michael and I tag teamed, just like the days when she was a little tyke, and it helped, but it meant that neither of us has any quality sleep under our belts today.  What we realized early on was: we have no idea how to handle a "bad" night in a big girl bed.

None.

I've not done a lick of reading on the topic, so when she started screaming and crying, I didn't really know what to do.  The only nugget I held onto was "never get in the bed with the child."  So, for the most part, we didn't.  (Poor Michael had not heard this advice, so he thoughtfully tried (in the 2nd hour) to calm her that way and I kind of kicked him out.  Sorry, hun.)

So I spent a good part of last night very pregnant sitting on a super uncomfortable step stool next to her bed reassuring her that it's okay to go back to sleep.

Epic fail.

Finally, we gave up.  There's always that wall that parents hit (or at least, we do) when it comes to middle of the night antics.  Once we hit it, FEEL FREE TO CRY YOUR FACE OFF, KID.  We're listening in the other room, but not going to play along anymore.  Let the neglect begin.

Broke my heart to listen to, but damned if it didn't work.  Took about 15 minutes of theworldiscrumbling sobs and myemotionalpainwillrequireyearsoftherapy screams...and then silence.  Blessed silence.  It only left 2 more hours of sleep for us grownups, but it was an important lesson to learn for the next time.

Cry it out is our friend.

Keeping promises

So, today I got back in the pool. 

I'm letting that sink in a bit, because it feels really monumental to me.  Let me explain.

It's great, of course, to get some exercise in while pregnant and swimming is a lovely low impact way to blahblahblah.  We all know this stuff.  Going for a swim does great things for my el prego self...period.  Duh.

But that's not really why it feels so monumental.  It feels like more because it's a return to something that I loved so much, long before my love for Olivia or Little Man even existed.  Swimming was one of the ways that I proved to myself that I could do things...valuable things with my body.  I spent many years ignoring or purposefully breaking down my body, pretending that I didn't care.  An ignorant, blase approach to my own finite gifts. 

And then I began hurting.  Much of my pain was emotional, but it surfaced physically.  I ached.  I developed skin rashes.  I started weezing and it turned into full blown asthma.  I was allergic to everything.  I avoided stairs and bathing suits and curvy dresses.  Then I started avoiding people and places and, well, life.  It didn't happen over night, but one day I woke up and realized that the most beautiful things about me were in tatters on the floor by my feet, grey and shriveled from misuse.

So, among other things, I started to move.  I bought a pair of running shoes and started running the length of blocks, then 1/4 miles, then a whole mile in a row.  I remember that day.  I remember calling my future husband...whom I literally had just met the week before...and confided in him that I just ran a full mile in a row without stopping and I was so proud.  And he didn't think I was a loser.  I knew he was the one.  I could be broken in front of him and he would be proud of the pieces because he could see the whole. 

And it became a journey.  Running went to swimming went to biking went to triathlons.  Short ones went to medium ones went to long ones.  I found so many of my limits during the process.  Most were imaginary, and I figured out how to get around them.  Others were real, and I learned to swallow my pride, reframe, and refocus.  It stopped being about moving rather early in the process.  It was my conduit, my method of transformation.  The irony?  I'm not terribly good at it.  I'm generally last in everything.  I've ended more races than I can count after the volunteers have broken down the finish line.  I've passed innumerable water stations packed up and done for the day.  But it was important for me and I appreciate it.

And then we tried to get pregnant and it didn't work.  And much of my time became about finding the right doctor, getting on the right protocol, and timing meds and visits to help us be parents.  Infertility turned into IVF turned into a high risk pregnancy.  There was no space for me to keep up with my old lifestyle.  Technically I could have, but it would have broken me.  I have learned how much I have to give and know now to stay inside that boundary.  Not for safety, just because I don't want to live on that ledge anymore.  I don't have to anymore.

Then I happily focused on Olivia.  Perhaps to my own detriment, I turned all eyes on her and her development and happiness.  I managed our household.  I started a new job.  I learned how to become a working mother.  It was decidedly without grace, but I kept it all together and came out the other side as a pretty good mom.

And then we were back.  Back in the stirrups.  Told by the doc not to wait -- IVF immediately.  Do not collect $200 or regain your emotional footing.  Certainly do not get back to running again.  IVF turned into our second miracle baby.  And for about a week we were in heaven...amazed to have this good fortune.  But then it was low betas.  And then an enlarged yolk sac.  Weekly discussions of imminent miscarriage.  Chart notes that read "grave" and "guarded prognosis."

Funny.  At the time, we thought that was the worst it could get.

We made it through all of this -- genetic testing, diagnosis of CHD, preparations for open heart surgery -- because of our marriage.  It's a good one.  Solid to its core and we both work hard at that. 

But...this whole time...I've focused elsewhere.  I've known what's good for me, what nurtures me and makes me feel proud and empowered, but I've ignored it.  Failed to make the time and priority.  Grabbing that "everyone comes before mommy" cliche by the hand and pretending that it looks good on me.

It doesn't.  And I'm starting to learn that I don't have to be the cliche if I don't want to. 

So, getting into the pool this morning was important.  Staring at my alarm at 5 AM and wishing I could just sleep a little more...but not...was about getting back to me.  Getting back to the person who was willing to go out on a limb and make promises to herself and keep them.  I used to do that all the time.  It helped define the edges of my character.  It helped me be me without apology. 

This morning I kept my promise and it felt good. 

Third CHOP visit

Today was our third visit at CHOP and one that I was eagerly anticipating.  Michael didn't join so we could save his vacation days for when we need them more, so I flew solo on this one.

The echo went well -- no change in diagnosis and no surprises.  His truncal valve is developing well, which is a huge relief.  Looks like he is squarely in the type 1 variety with a healthy truncal valve.  Good news.  Dr. Deganhart was pleased and so was I.  I confirmed that we didn't need to quarantine the house after Little Man gets home (i.e., pull Olivia from daycare), which is a huge relief.  She adores daycare and it's the most consistent and sturdy thing for her during these weeks of transition -- the possibility we would need to pull her was not a pretty one.  Another bullet dodged.

Next up was meeting with the psychologist.  It was the first time I met with her and super helpful to talk through how to manage the emotions surrounding all of this and getting questions to the unknown. I came away with some great suggestions for helping to get the support we need from our family and friends, as well as some coping ideas for the weeks to come.  Plus, it's just nice to talk to a mental health professional that actually gets what this all feels like!

Next up with the ultrasound.  It was quick and that felt good.  (It's the longer ones that worry me most!)  Little Man is growing well, measuring in at 55% and 2 pounds 13 ounces.  The placenta (and it's whacky umbilical cord) is very high up in the uterus, blessedly far away from the cervix and all the trouble that could cause.  Another piece of good news!

Right after the ultrasound was done, the OB (Dr. Martinez) and a visiting fellow came in for the consult.  Thanks to an amazing midwife who lives out near us and her input, the team decided that I do not need to move closer to the city after all.  Wahoo!!  Of course, this could always change, but for now I'm safe to stay at home and continue to work all the way up to delivery.  He's going to monitor my sugars, too, and check my insulin doses each week for the duration.

Lastly, the awesome midwife, Karen, and I worked for about an hour to get all my info into the computer and most of the visits planned.  Oh....AND A DELIVERY DATE!!!!  Looks like we do 2 week visits for the next month, then weekly for the last 6 weeks.  It's a lot of time at the hospital, but will be worth it in the end, of course.  Goal now is to get to 11/12/12...our newly scheduled due date!

I'm exhausted.  That's enough update for now.

Some pool time for Little Obi

Perhaps one of my favorite photos of the summer.

For as adventurous as Olivia was in the big pool for the first time, she still held on close to Mommy.

Love her.