Bathing.

It's amazing how huge a milestone can be when your child is in the hospital.

For example, the other day, I got to bathe my baby for the first time. He weighs nearly 5 pounds, which is more than double what he weighed at birth, and he's seven weeks old. How did I go this long and not get to bathe my own son? I just never ended up in the NICU when they bathed him, and I was so dazed by such a tiny baby, that I didn't know to ask. It didn't occur to me.

With much laughter, giggling, and sliding around, I bathed my little boy. He looked...confused, or at least very concerned with the bathing process. He didn't hate it, but he sure looked at me as if to say, "Mom. What the HELL?" He threw his arms up in the air and then just relaxed into it, but still with that confused little face.

How I adore that little face.

Arrival.

This was written a couple of days after the arrival of our baby boy. It's been seven weeks, and no, he's still not home.

On Sunday morning, I had a little cramping below my breasts, but in the area that counts as the top of my belly. It seemed minor, so I ate breakfast, fiddled around, and put away laundry.

The pain wasn't getting better, so I took some Tums, thinking maybe I had actual heartburn (I never did during pregnancy). This did not help, either. I ate a sandwich, and drank some water, and laid down, thinking maybe I was having Braxton Hicks contractions.

After an hour or so, I didn't feel better. I figured I'd better just ask M (TK's Daddy, my husband, a Registered Nurse). I woke M up at 4pm. At this point, I hurt pretty badly, and it was getting hard to breathe. I've felt far far worse pain, but I was nervous. M then told me to call the doc's office, and he'd get in the shower just in case. I called the doc's office, and they said I should go to Labor and Delivery (L&D) at the hospital to get checked out.

While we drove to L&D, M started "timing" my pains at roughly a minute apart, so I was convinced I was having contractions, and they'd stop them and TK might be early or troublesome, but any labor could be stopped.

After two hours or so of monitoring, we were told:
1- TK looked great, his heartbeat was great, he was moving all over, but that
2 - my labs did not come back well. My blood platelets were low, and my blood pressure was pretty high (which was a first - I'd never in my life had high blood pressure).

The nurse said we were probably going to deliver him withint 24-48 hours and they would give me something for pain. My brain must've been off at that point. I cried a little, but I didn't *believe* they were going to deliver the baby yet. At least not for 48 hours! My pregnancy was perfect: surely this would go at least as close to how it should as possible. After all, the doctor had told me only a few weeks before that was "very low risk" based on two extensive and expensive ultrasounds.

Less than eight hours after I arrived at the hospital, they wheeled me into the room to deliver. M was not allowed in, because my blood platelets were so low I couldn't even be conscious myself for the c-section. Actually, when I was in there and conscious, they put some oxygen on me, and reassured me they were going to put me to sleep and I was so SCARED that they were going to cut me while I was awake. I was so scared about that, but now I wish I had been. After, I had had a surgery, they took the baby, but since neither M nor I were "there", it didn't seem real to me at all. I was pregnant one minute, the next I was not.

M got to go see him pretty quickly afterward. He was amazing from the beginning - for the first time, he started trying to breathe on his own when he heard M's voice (he knows his daddy!) and started kicking and moving like he's been doing to me since 20 weeks. It was several hours before I got to see him - apparently my blood work labs accidentally got cancelled, but my nurse really fought for me and got that fixed. I thought I was going to go see him at 10, but I misunderstood - it was "after my 10am labs", which didn't come in until well after 2pm. I was getting mad by then, because they took my baby from me, and I couldn't even go see him!

I did, finally, get to see him. He held my finger. His hair is so dark! He's moving around so much, and making me proud. They keep calling him a "feisty one". The day after he was delivered, he was off the ventilator. A week later, he's still off the vent, and just has a nasal canula. My amazing little boy has some jaundice, but aside from being wee little, he's perfectly healthy.

He will be in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) for some time - most likely at least 8 weeks. In the mean time, we're with him every day in the hospital, as much as possible.

Totally unrelated

For some reason, I can never seem to remember how many ounces are in a cup, cups are in a pint, quart, gallon, and so on. So I'm going to write them down here, secure in the knowledge that I can always search my own damned web site next time I need them.

3 teaspoons is 1 tablespoon
8 ounces is 1 cup
16 ounces is 2 cups which is 1 pint
32 ounces is 4 cups which is 2 pints which is 1 quart
128 ounces is 16 cups which is 8 pints which is 4 quarts which is 1 gallon


**stolen in its entirety from http://jeremy.zawodny.com/blog/archives/006141.html
Even though it's stolen, it's proven true for me, as well.

Polyps!

So, polyp #2 will be removed the day after tomorrow.

What's funny about this month (and I'm going to get specific, so if you can't handle it, RUN) is how odd it has been.

First, I spotted for a solid week. On day seven, I called the doctor and told him. "Oh, hai, I've been spotting for seven days, am I broken?" and the doctor was all, "Hrm. Well, no, but we probably should schedule your surgery STAT."

Then, the next morning (when the nurse called back to schedule the surgery) I was forced to inform her that, in fact, the real bleeding and cramping had started that morning. Yeah. I get to have a period all over again. Yay! She said, "no biggie, you're actually late in your cycle now, so we'll go ahead and do this on Monday".

Monday comes. I call again. "Are you suuuuure? I don't think the doctor wants to be all up in my bleeding hoo-ha, especially since he'll have trouble seeing around in my uterus with all the goo." And the doctor's office agreed. Of course, I have to tell them this while I'm in my office at work, which I share with several other people. There is no place for privacy on a school campus.

I called them again, four days later, when Aunt Flo decided to move on. We rescheduled for this coming week.

Since the last time hurt like...well, like they're sticking big metal spiky things in my vag, I'm not particularly looking forward to this. Except, of course, that once it's out we'll be able to try again (Round 3!!) for a baby. *sparkles and ribbons wands out, people*

Wow, IKEA, you really are nosey as shit.

I was just filling out a form to get a friggin catalog. I love IKEA, so that thought made me a little happy.

Then, I get to the question - Do you have the pitter patter of little feet?

No, no I don't. But I say "yes" because I like kids' stuff, and I have lots of friends with kids. Then, "How many do you have?" I don't have any, unless my dog and cat count, thanks for the reminder.

This question is followed by, "Are you expecting?"

No. No, I'm not. Thanks for asking. For some perverse reason, I marked yes. "When are you due?" TEARS. I'm NOT due, you motherfucker, I just want to look at baby stuff!! ASSHOLE. Leave me alone! *sobs*

They really should know better than to mess with the hormonal. Which, from my experience, is just about everyone.

Wrong

Just a short time ago, I stated my belief that I was not infertile. The world decided to prove me wrong with this second polyp in just three months. Since this was to only be my third IUI round, I'm more than a little upset.

I didn't realize how upset I was until another friend announced that she had a positive pregnancy test. In spite of the fact that she has not had those results a second time, that hit me like a ton of bricks.

This week, I've been, in quick succession: depressed, sobbing, indifferent, highly anxious, crabby and then back again. My nose has that crusty feeling you get when you've had a nasty cold for a week. I didn't know that could happen in less than two days, but it can.

The dishes are piled in the sink, I haven't vacuumed in a week, and I desperately need to change my cat's litter box (I can still do that since I'm still not pregnant). Isn't it fun how everything is a reminder?

Everything is, you know. My friends talk of little else - although I can't blame them. The upstairs bedroom where we've been forced to sleep all week because our downstairs a/c unit is broken - again - is the room where our baby would/will sleep someday. The rocking chair I've already bought and I'm planning to paint is in there, along with the paint chips for "baby" colors.

Surgery to remove polyps isn't really that bad, as surgeries go. It's more the disappointment and frustration of feeling ... like I'm missing out? Like I'll never have children? Like I'm getting older everyday and I'm getting that much closer to missing my chance? Some of all of them, I suppose.

Broken

For the second time in three months, I have a polyp in my uterus. Am I broken? What the hell?

The presence of a polyp doesn't end my chances of having a baby by any means. I will have to wait until my next cycle begins, and then I'll go in, have another hysteroscopy, where water will be put into my uterus to make certain that it is, in fact, a polyp again. After that, the doctor will give me a relaxant and some lortab, and, while awake, will go digging up in my uterus. Apparently, to some, it's not painful. For me, at least the last time, with enough meds in me to normally make me pass out and snore and wheeze like dying cow, it was like being scraped on the insides with a massive knife. Sccraaaaaaaaaaaaaaape! In there! IN THERE! In the place that supposed to feel good! My husband has to go there next! You can't scrape it up!

So, as one might imagine, I'm not looking forward to this again. Not to mention it puts off my hopes of having a child another couple of months. That's not a big deal. Maybe if I weren't a massive drama queen, whose hopes were once again pinned on another insemination tomorrow to finally get pregnant, I wouldn't have sobbed until my entire couch and three boxes of tissues were thoroughly soaked, but no luck. I couldn't quite convince my dear darling husband that the world was ending. I'll make it through yet another set back. On the bright side, I'll have another month to save a few bucks for the next round or two. Right? There's always a bright side. Right?

*kicks rocks*