Anita Blanchard: The Baby

Mon, 24 Apr 2006 00:28:50 GMT

Ummmm, do you think this looks serious?

I noticed the red spot on Friday. I don’t know if it was on Friday morning or Friday afternoon, but I know that some time on Friday, I saw that Conor had a red spot on his upper arm. I figured that some bug had bitten him. It wasn’t swollen like a mosquito bite, but then again, I knew we were in the desert and he was unlikely to have to deal with mosquitoes.

I checked it again on Saturday and it was still there and it was still red. It was about the size of a quarter, but it really didn’t seem to bother him that much. He wasn’t scratching it and except for us looking at it, he didn’t notice it at all.

Then on Sunday morning, I saw that it had blisters, huge big blisters, swollen to the point of looking very scary.

Seeing blisters the size of a quarter on one’s son’s tiny arm is enough to make this mother freak out a little bit. The first thing I thought of was a spider bite. There are so many spiders in California, and in fact, Dave taking charge killed a big furry one walking along the bed in anger after seeing Conor’s arm. (We later decided it was a mistaken spider murder, but we figure we’ll be forgiven)

The only problem was that we couldn’t call our pediatrician’s office to find out what we should do. We are one of the last people in the world without a cell phone. Conor seemed fine enough but there was a ginourmous blister on his arm of suspicious origin. Should we go to Urgent Care (not right around the corner in 29 Palms, I’d like to add!) or could we wait and see the doctor back in Charlotte. For all we knew, it could be poison ivy from our own back yard!

I can lead you through the blow by blow of what we decided, but I think instead I’ll give you the highlights. They involve a pharmacist friend in the wedding party, an RN who works as the hostess in the Inn’s restaurant and Web MD.

It’s unlikely that it was a spider bite (sorry dead furry spider!) because they blister up quickly, they are very painful, and they are more likely to be a hard lumpish sort of think. Conor had no problem with us touching it (thus not painful) and we could tell by touching it wasn’t hard.

It was, however, likely to be plant poison, possibly from one of the cacti around our Inn or even from our quick trip to Joshua Tree. Plant poisons can take days to blister and we heard from the RN that the points of cacti (I really like saying cactuses better) contain poison. They wouldn’t affect us as we are big people, but a little toddler could react to it!

The whole blister thing has taken nearly a week to resolve. Today, he only has a scar in that spot, but it’s a huge, ugly purplish scar which we are now putting kiddie Mederma on. It never did itch and it never did weep, so we’re ruling out poison ivy. I swear I recall that on the first day he walked into a plant, but I could be wrong.

It’s times like those that make me think we should get a cell phone. But then again, it was Web MD that gave us the list of when to go to the doctor because of unknown rashes and blisters.

OK. I’m off to try to still catch up from our trip out west. Vacations in the middle of the semester suck.

Thu, 20 Apr 2006 01:41:28 GMT

Lots of Firsts

We have been in the desert. Wandering around for a few days and now we’re back.

No, I’m not kidding. We went to Joshua Tree and Twentynine Palms, CA for our friend’s wedding. And we took the little guy.

I’ve never been so impressed with our little muffin. He was a trooper on the plane: he only fussed a little and charmed the pants off everyone sitting around us. Of course, it helped having a window seat so he could see the little houses and cars and he loved the dozens of trucks driving around the airport. But honestly he was once again the best baby on the plane.

We also lucked into the best travel time to help him adjust to west coast time: we arrived 12 pm their time (3 pm ours) which was entirely too late for him to be awake without a nap (hence the fussing), but he was able to take a good nap from the Palm Springs Airport to our inn, which included a trip to Taco Bell (real Mexican food now that we were back on the west coast!) en route to the Inn. Food for us, nap for him.

Then we arrived at the Twentynine Palms Inn, a charming group of cabins on an oasis. Yes, a real oasis in a real desert. Besides the fact that it was the best restaurant in the city (they grow their own veggies), it was way cool.

And 30 minutes after we arrived, Conor got his first dip into a real pool.

He is a water baby. Even when his teeth were chattering from the cold of this unheated pool he wouldn’t leave. We took turns floating and twirling him around the water. After more than an hour, when we were all water logged, we took him out and back to our cabin. Can I tell you how adorable and heartbreaking it was to have our little guy sob “Bye-bye pool. Bye-bye pool” hugging our legs, waving and crying to his new favorite activity.

So we dressed him and took a tour of the grounds at which point he saw his first live ducks. (way cool!) We went to the fancy restaurant where he behaved like an angel and afterward sat out at the pool (he told him it had gone night-night) and listened to a classical music trio which enthralled him almost as much as clapping with everyone else between the songs.

Can I tell you how in love I am with my little guy? Two planes, a pool, ducks, a fancy restaurant, new music and a new place to sleep and he completely rolled with it. He was up for and excited about each new thing. What an amazing little man.

All in all, it was fun. There were some “interesting events” but we had a good time.

In the next entry, I’ll talk about our debate about whether to go to Urgent Care or not.

And btw, yes, I’m behind in blogging. Things are going on.

Fri, 31 Mar 2006 15:19:45 GMT

Feeling Our Way Through This

Way back in December, when I had the miscarriage, I remember feeling that I didn’t know what “path” we were on now. That I didn’t know what I supposed to feel or even what I was going to feel as we started the healing process.

I do know that I was surprised by how quickly I bounced back and was able to “get back to normal.” And I’ve been surprised by how I’ve had bad reactions to hearing good news about the pregnancy of others.

And now we’re at a whole completely new stage and I’m surprised at how I’m reacting now. First, we’re in our first cycle in TTC again. And I’m not going to tell you where we are on it just so we can deal with it when it happens by ourselves. But I do have to share with you that I’m not taking my morning temperature regularly.

Yikes! I know!! You’re just as shocked as I am. How can little Miss I-gotta-be-in-control not be taking her temperatures? Well, one reason is that the battery died and I’ve yet to replace it. But I wasn’t taking my temps regularly before then either.

Even more shocking was my reaction to the positive OPK: hmmmmmmm. Yes, my reaction was actually: hmmmmmmm. I even took tests two to make sure it was correct because I didn’t believe the first one This is coming from a woman who fairly whoops when we get a positive OPK, because I had evidence that things were finally “happening.”

I have been searching for how to name this feeling and I come up with ambivalence. (And little love bunny, if I do get pregnant and you’re born and you’re reading this, I was never ambivalent about you; I’m ambivalent about being vulnerable again and open to being hurt again)

It’s completely bizarre for me. I’m not temping, desperately searching for a sign that I’m pregnant. I’m not anxiously analyzing every twitch and tingle despite knowing there is no way possible for me to be sensing being pregnant. I’m not counting the days and hours until I can take my first pregnancy test.

I’m just sort of going with the flow. Which for me is quite unusual.

Tue, 28 Mar 2006 14:43:46 GMT

Twenty Questions with a Toddler: The Twilight Version

Do you want some nummies?

Yeah.

Do you want more?

Yeah.

Other side?

Yeah.

Do you want to go to bed?

No.

Do you want more nummies?

Yeah.

((Loop through above questions several times))

Do you want Daddy?

Yeah.

((Pause and exchange of parents))

Do you want to say Night-Night to everybody?

Yeah.

((Pause while father and son say night-night to all the stuffed and painted animals in the room))

Do you want to go to bed?

Yeah.

Do you want to lie down?

No.

Do you want to lie down?

No.

((pause and small grunt))

Are you going poop?

Yeah.

Are you pooping?

Yeah.

Are you done going poop?

((pause))

Yeah.

Do you want to change your diaper?

No.

Let’s change your diaper.

NO!

We have to change your diaper.

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

((crying as diaper changed and then pause))

Do you want to rock?

Yeah.

Do you want some water?

Yeah.

Do you want to go to bed?

Yeah.

Do you want to lie down?

Yeah.

Nighty-night.

It’s not always this easy or this straightforward, but it’s pretty close. The poop thing was only over the weekend and can I just say how weird it is to ask someone if they are going poop?

It’s only slightly less weird to have them to answer “yeah.”

Sleep talking

In other toddler related sleeping news, Conor is increasing his sleep talking. Two nights ago, we heard over the monitor “Milk!!” (although it sounds more like “MEEE-ilk!”) Dave and I rushed around to find a sippy cup of milk and then went to Conor’s door at which point we realized he was sound asleep. Clearly, he was hungry (or thirsty or in his dreams at daycare fighting for his cup), but he was sound asleep.

Home Depot

That’s what it feels like around here. We’ve pretty much finished the bathroom. I’ll update flickr this afternoon. We also just had a truckload (literally!) of mulch delivered this morning for spreading around the yard. It’s a bargain and a half from the city; just $115. And with my friends arriving tonight for a 6 to 8 week visit, it shouldn’t take us nearly as long to spread it around. (We’re going to put them to work, not the least of which will be babysitting while Dave and I have a date or two!)

Tue, 21 Mar 2006 16:14:49 GMT

Nummies Kind of Go Night-Night

Well, last night’s sleep was muuuuuuuuuuuuuch better. Conor only woke up once at 11:15 which has become his first time to wake up, almost like clockwork. It doesn’t matter what time he goes to bed or what time we go to bed, he wakes up at 11:15 on the dot.

We tried the nummies go night-night explanation which led to hysterical screaming so I relented and soon Conor went back night-night. He then woke up about 30 minutes later and Dave game him a sip of water and he was back down for the rest of the night.

I don’t think he understands the whole “Sun goes down and Conor and nummies go night night” thing yet, so this morning, when he got up we made a big deal about how the Sun Was Up, Too (which it really isn’t because we’re having a freak cold snap including SLEET yesterday so it was really cloudy and not sunny at all). Nonetheless, there was a sort of glow behind the blinds in his bedroom so we’re going to promote that when the Sun Wakes Up, so Conor and nummies can too.

I do feel infinitely better today. And tomorrow I go back to the doctor for my repeat C/T scan to see what progress has been made. I will take your questions along with mine and see what we can see with this whole Chronic Sinus Infection that causes poopedness and potential delay in procreating thing.

In other news, we’ve finished painting the bathroom and bought new accessories (yikes! More expensive than I thought it would be). I’ll post new pictures here later on. It’s odd that now I feel like it’s gotten almost too understated. But I guess that’s what happens when you live in blue, yellow, terra cotta and sage house. Off white with blue accents just seems dull. We’re not finished yet, but we’re well on the way.

Does it ever really end though?

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 16:49:32 GMT

Sleep

Oh, dear, I am so tired. While surfing the net on chronic sinus infections and fatigue, I found that chronic sinus infections are often incorrectly diagnosed as chronic fatigue syndrome and that the most common indicator of a chronic sinus infection is not headache or pressure, but fatigue.

Add to that a toddler who doesn’t want to sleep and idiot parents who can’t figure out why and you’ve got one sleepy working mama.

Last Thursday, we had a horrible night of sleep. And it wasn’t until Dave (who kept waking up thirsty from our dinner) gave Conor a sippy cup of water and the child fell back asleep soundly did we realize that 1) we are truly idiots as parents and 2) water is good for children at night.

Last night, however, we could not figure out what the problem was. He was up nursing 13 (THIRTEEN…1! 3!) times from 11:30 pm until 6 am. He was in bed with us, otherwise, I would have slit my wrists, but we don’t know what happened. He did wake up with a running nose, so maybe there’s a sore throat involved. All I can conclude though at the moment is 1) we are still idiots and 2) I am fucking tired.

Dave agrees with Gabriella, our resident dentist/commenter, that I have a sleep deficit what with both the toddler and nose. I confess that I went to bed at 9:00 on Saturday, slept in until 7 am, and still did not wake up feeling refreshed. I tried to go to bed last night early, too, but even 15 minutes of the Sopranos worked me up so much I had a hard time settling down.

And as for how I’m feeling with the sinus infection, the only thing I can say is “tired.” There is no more snot coming out in any large fashion. I’m still on the antibiotics trying to kill off the film that is keeping those germies alive. But the most I feel is clogged, not congested, sort of like I’ve been swimming and my nose is irritated.

And I’m tired. But how on earth can I say I’m more tired than you are? Raise your hand if you are NOT tired? I’m looking out my window and I do not see a lot of people with their hands raised. So I’m tired. Yes, very tired. But what parent of young children isn’t?

As for the mega-nursing, tonight we are going to start the ol’ nummies go night-night routine. We’ll make sure the little guy has a big dinner and has lots of water before he goes to sleep. But Mom’s All Night Dinner is going to issue a last call for boob-a-hol around 8:30. And as we used to say in the bar where I used to be a cocktail waitress: “Either you work here, you sleep here, or you sleep with someone who works here. But you can’t nurse any more till the morning.” Or something like that.

In any case, boobies need to sleep, too. Or as he calls them “boo boos.” Mommy’s boo boos need to go night-night. They will wake up with the sun comes up and Conor can have more nummies then.

Now it’s time to go make another pot of coffee.

Tue, 14 Mar 2006 20:40:13 GMT

Cleverness in a Hurry

I have 5 minutes before I go pick up Conor from daycare, so I must be brilliantly speedy. Or speedily brilliant. Whatever. It is likely I will fail.

We spent the weekend tearing down trees and painting bathrooms. The bathroom still needs one more coat of paint and I am too damn tired after working all day to finish the job. So, it may have to wait until this weekend or until Friday night. The color is much, much better, and we’ll have the before and after show ready on flickr pronto.

TTC with a head full of snot

In much more exciting news, my wonderful OB has given me the go-ahead to start TTC this month, despite my ENT’s desire for me to wait. I have worked through the ENT’s main concerns by rescheduling my C/T scan before ovulation. And the antibiotics I’m on are just fine for pregnancy, so unless the ENT insists on surgery immediately, we’re a go-ahead for starting again this month.

Ironically, I’m taking some cough syrup, Robitussin G, which will help both with fertility and my sinus infection. Ain’t life grand?

Basa

More adorableness than you can stand: Basa is how Conor says Simba. Simba was the first cat whose name Conor could say and he called her Ba. Now, he’s trying to add the “s” sound but is apparently confused on where it should go. He’s put it at the end. So her name is now Basa (at least to him). At one point, while also trying to work in the “m” sound, he started calling her M’basa, which I thought was some sort of famous politician, but I clearly am not spelling it right.

Late for picking up my son….late for everything.

Thu, 23 Feb 2006 20:17:13 GMT

Forced Rest

Well, I suppose it’s supposed to be forced rest, but it’s turned more into forced stay at home and work here while tending to a sick wee one.

Conor woke up this morning with a 102 degree fever and I lost the parenting competition of who had more going on at work. Isn’t that pathetic? Isn’t it horrible that we have to negotiate who “gets” to go to work and who “has” to stay home and take care of our darling, sweet, but sick child? Doesn’t that make you want to donate a great deal of money to us so that at least one of us could stay home? No???? Well, how about donate a winning lottery ticket to us. We’d gladly take that, too.

He’s doing OK. He’s been very cranky and I’ve gotten him to take two long naps today. There’s something going around daycare (always!) and I thought he’d been able to skip it. Apparently not.

Good thing I brought home that boatload of work I was going to do last night but had finally hit the wall and couldn’t work and then luckily had something I could do while he was taking his 3 hour nap this morning. Of course, I have plenty to do, but this was fine “work” to do considering I’ve been up since about 4 am.

And there are some disgustingly cute things I have to share. First, he was walking around the house between naps looking for Dave. Although, in Conor-talk he was walking around the house chanting “Da-DEE Da-DEE Da-DEE.” There may have been some clapping and marching at the same time. It was pretty dang cute.

And I’ve been crushed because his pronunciation is improving so quickly. I didn’t realize I would only have 2 weeks in his life where he could melt me by saying his friends’ names Ol-ber and Yi-yett. Just yesterday, he was clearly saying Oliver and Wyatt and it just about broke my heart.

He also used his first two word phrase this week: More sausage. Trust me, that’s appropriate.

We are having to figure out how to deal with his first behavioral problem. He’s taken to smacking Patches on the nose when he gets frustrated. This is not acceptable. Patches doesn’t mind, but there’s a no hitting rule in this house. Whereas Conor is very receptive to No! on other occasions, this one is not working. I’m trying to think up some witty next sentence to add here that involves Conor questioning our parenting abilities as evidenced by Patches’ unruliness and throwing in an obscenity or two. But I am too damn tired.

So I’m going to leave now. Do you remember that feeling of being so tired you cannot wait to go to sleep? Well, since being a parent I can no longer count on the fact that if I’m tired I will get to sleep through the night. It’s a bittersweet feeling waiting for the evening to come.

Let’s hope the little guy gets to feeling better soon. If not, I’ll just keep repeating Ol-ber and Yi-yett to myself. That helps make it seem worth it.

Fri, 10 Feb 2006 14:25:24 GMT

In today's Charlotte Observer

"A gun in the home is 43 times more likely to kill someone known to the family than to kill someone in self-defense, according to Safe Kids Charlotte-Mecklenburg."

We've had a spate of children accidentally killing each other in Charlotte over the last two years. This quote comes from a shory in which a boy killed his sister with his father's sawed off shot gun. The father has been arrested for possessing a weapon of mass destruction: the sawed off shot gun.

These stories make me absolutely crazy.

Before I had Conor, stories like this were just sad. Now they make me tense. The muscles in my arms and hands go rigid and I get so angry. I can no longer watch stories on TV in which children are harmed. When I see a truly horrible headline in the paper, I have to skip the article and won't let Dave read it to me.

I hope that neither I nor anyone I know ever has to go through something like that. I can't even let my imagination approach that scenario, much less wrap itself around it.

Fri, 13 Jan 2006 14:17:14 GMT

Truck, Truck, TRUCK!!!

So we are the family that doesn’t watch television. This is true. Except for when it is not.

Like when dinner is late and we need a distraction for a hungry toddler. But being a family who does not know TV, we (or the male members of the household) simply surf the channels until we find something fun and entertaining.

And that is how we stumbled upon the Speed Channel and the Monster Truck Race that was going on at the time. And this would explain how I came to hear a certain toddlers excited chanting of truck, Truck, TRUCK over and over again. And how I came to see said toddler pointing at the TV shouting truck, bouncing on his little toddler legs shouting Truck!, and then in a fit of toddler ecstasy, running in place, stomping his little feet and legs in the toddler version of the Snoopy dance of joy while shouting Truck!! Trucks the size of houses are apparently a hit with toddlers. And despite all the cuteness of his joy of truckness, the part that melted our hearts is when they cut away to interview the truck drivers and Conor stood and faced the TV and signaled More.

My Own Day of Joy

So yesterday’s trip down to Clemson for the NSF conference was fantastic. I’m not a big fan o’ conferences (see yesterday’s post about me as a bad student), but yesterday’s conference was inspiring both about my research and my job.

And even better, on the 2 hour plus ride home, I got to jam by myself with my favorite music in the car. And though I’m not usually self-conscious singing in the car with others, when I’m by myself, I really cut loose.

And listening to the 70’s dance CD I made for my 40-th birthday party with the sunroof open on the car in 70 degree WINTER (!) weather was just about perfect.

My proudest moment came when during It’s Raining Men. My voice was warmed up from all the other songs, I was all alone and singing loudly, and when the high notes came, I hit them and held onto them with crystal clear precision. Well, at least that’s what it sounded like to me. And that’s the whole point of singing to loud music people. If the music is loud enough, you always sound good.

Feeling good about my work and having fun singing. That, my friends, is a selfishly good day.

Sun, 08 Jan 2006 14:07:11 GMT

So Maybe We’re not as Cheap as We Thought

The article is in the NY Times today. Hopefully, we do come across as “cheap enough” but look at all those toys. And the monkey rug! What a great picture of the monkey rug! Yes, the monkey rug was our big splurge setting up his room. The other big items, the crib and rocking chair, were gifts from our parents.

There are two different pictures in the print version of the Times. Conor is on the front page of the business section. And there’s a bigger picture of us in the section itself. Of course, WE ended up being the family who says they don’t buy things but who look like they buy lots. (Also note the quote from my Mom in there!) And despite the fact it looks like we were lying, I’m so psyched the rocking horse is in the picture! It’s so cute!!

The irony, oh, the irony. I guarantee I’m the only Mom in that article who exclusively buys her shoes at Payless and whose favorite boutique is Tar-jay.

OK. We slept in too late to get to church today; we go to the really early service which is so casual it allows folks to bring coffee into the actual service. The good news is that he’s sleeping later in the morning. The bad news is that there’s some wakeage in the middle of the night that’s leading to the later waking time.

I assume it’s all going to work out. He’s not going to be 15 and still nursing and waking in the night, right????

Tue, 03 Jan 2006 17:49:55 GMT

Gifts we Hate

We have heard, and we believe it’s true, that parents sometimes hate the gifts their children receive. For some parents, they hate the noisy gifts. We don’t mind those. In fact, we tell Conor “Go find your popper! We think your popper needs to take a loop around the house!”

No, the noisy ones are fine. For us, it’s the books.

“What?!?!” you say. “What kind of parent hates books??!!”

Well, I’ll tell you. The kind of parent who hates books is the one whose child screams and pitches a hissy when he has to eat instead of read a book. It’s the one whose child pokes his mother on the booty with said book until she stops cooking and sits on the floor and reads. It’s the one where noisy games provide more peace and quiet than the fifty-leventh reading of the truck book which has no plot, but instead is just pictures of different types of trucks, tractors, and trailers. (Jennifer, we really do love that book. It is absolutely his favorite. But it’s sort of too much his favorite, if you know what I mean.)

So we’ve taken to sometimes hiding his favorite books around mealtime. Of course, our wily toddler has learned our favorite hiding places and sometimes requests to be picked up so he can scope out our above toddler head level hiding places. He then points and grunts/moans until we give in and give him the book.

This morning was a bit of a breakthrough. While doing my morning chores, Conor sat at my feet and pulled up the tabs on his favorite pop-up book. I just had to throw out a few “Where’s the frog?” and “Is that a monkey?!” comments and he thought we were reading the book together.

Once again, we see a stellar demonstration for why I am up for Mother Of The Year.

It’s almost as beautiful a scene as the dinner last week where sitting beside each other, Conor began to grab my arm and tried to pull himself out of his booster seat into my lap. It’s annoying to try to eat with a child hanging on your every move. And I completely and utterly reverted to a child myself. “DAAAAAVE! He won’t stay on his side of the table. Why did you put him on my side? I can’t eat with him hanging on my arm. DAAAAAAAVE.” This was in the midst of our recent problem where Conor would only eat 1) in my lap, 2) while he was nursing and 3) while I sneaked food into his mouth between nursing.

We did switch sides for the next meal, by the way. And Conor has eaten nearly everything on his plate and sitting in his own chair. I was right. But my way of expressing it was not so mature.

Back to work. My conference paper awaits me.

Sun, 01 Jan 2006 12:40:17 GMT

Not This Sunday

Well, it appears the story is not in this week's NY Times. I assume it will run next week, or who knows, the week after that? Never?? Too cheap for the Old Gray Lady??? ;-)

In any case, the SLEEPING HAS GOTTEN BETTER!!!! Woohooo!!! Woohooo!!! Oh, joy and happiness!!

Conor is still waking at 3, but coming to bed for a quick, quick snack and sleeping for another few hours, snacking again, and (here is the exciting part), going back to sleep again. For the first time in months and months, Conor is sleeping until 7:30 or 8 instead of 5:30 or 6.

Oh happy, happy, joy, joy.

Life is better on a full night's sleep.

Fri, 30 Dec 2005 14:55:32 GMT

Mixed Boob Blessings

I’ve been wanting to write about how much it has helped me since the miscarriage to still be breastfeeding. Certainly, right after we found out that we lost the baby, I could not have wanted more to have that close physical contact with Conor that breastfeeding gives me. It really helped to hold my warm, living child in my arms while he snuggled against me.

The problem is that I really needed to write that blog entry around the time it was happening. Because now, my head is about to pop off my body with the boobs.

First off, we’re pretty sure Conor picked up that something sad was going on in our lives. He started wanting to nurse more often and really wanted me to hold him a lot. He’s a sensitive little boy, and because we could tell that Patches knew something was up, we attributed Conor’s need to snuggle as his need to comfort us too. (In toddler logic, if it makes me feel better, it surely must make you feel better, too)

Then, I think we hit some sort of developmental milestone. And when babies and toddlers hit milestones, apparently, they regress. We’re voting that it’s his newfound vocabulary that is causing “this”, but it’s got to be something.

And what is “this”? Well, he’s started waking up A LOT in the night and wanting to nurse A LOT. Last night we were up for 2 and a half hours nursing, co-sleeping, getting him back in the crib, coughing and generally NOT SLEEPING. But nonetheless, the boob was the primary focus of this time awake.

Then, we’ve got the “mommy hold me” issue. And oddly, it’s happening DURING MEALS. And not only that, he wants to nurse during meals now. He starts off in his chair and eats a few bites. Then he insists he’s through and gets out of his chair and then demands to get in my lap and nurse. Then after nursing for a few minutes, he wants me to feed him the rest of his meal and give him his sippy cup like a bottle of milk while he lays back in my arms. ((The irony here is that I’ve never given him a bottle of milk in my arms))

The mommy hold me mealtimes started right after the miscarriage, so I do think it’s related to our emotional upset. But then I think everything has sort of started getting all muddled together: his developmental leaps, our continuing emotional healing, his sensitivity to everything.

The good news, and yes, there is some, is that my Attachment Parenting group on CharlotteMommies.Com have reported going through the same thing around the same time with their (still) breastfeeding children. And according to them, it all of a sudden stops one night and their children started sleeping again. Oh, God(dess), please!

I really do think it has got to be something developmental. We are shocked at how many words he is picking up daily. We can just see the wheels turning in his head. Last night I taught him elbow and knee. You could see him process the words and stick them somewhere in his brain.

And although I won’t, I should probably consider not singing my favorite song to him while I change his diaper or give him a bath. Sometimes I just sing it when I’m in the mood for something fun:

I see your booooty

All warm and cuuuuutie

I see your boot, boot, boot, boot

Booty booty booty booty!!!

(The last line is sung in a high voice and involves goosing said warm and cutie booty)

Why should I stop? Because yesterday in the parking lot of the grocery store, he just volunteered Booty as a word to consider.

So, ok, fine. Let’s all consider the word booty. And while we’re at it, let’s all sleep a wee bit more tonight than we did last night. And then again, let’s all snuggle with our smoochies a little bit more tonight too. It’s always mixed together, isn’t it?

Thu, 29 Dec 2005 16:47:35 GMT

Virus Alert

Well, well, well. Wasn’t that a very exciting last 24 hours.

In the process of checking one of the referring web sites to my blog (and just after Dave said Don’t Go To That Site!), I got a big fat virus. It’s apparently a new one that attacks a vulnerability in my version of Windows. And it apparently started on Wednesday, the day I looked at that site.

The thing that scares me is that I didn’t click anything nor did I download anything. Instead, as soon as the web page loaded (which I had been to before), all hell broke loose and my virus detection software began to have a hissy fit.

That scares me. I’m not stupid enough to click on people’s files that I don’t know. But to just go to a web site I’ve been to before and get attacked is scary!!! We’ve run both Microsoft Anti-Spyware as well as Spybot and have found no new infections. But the virus mucked up something and I can only run my computer on safe mode. At least I’ve figured out (in, oh, 23 hours) how to do that.

So there…

Where were we? Oh, yes! The NY Times! A friend of ours has a friend who is a reporter for the Times and was looking for new parents who had been caught up in the buying frenzy of having a child. I emailed my friend’s friend and told her that we didn’t do that: we had used Baby Bargains and still found that they recommended stuff we didn’t need. I think my exact phrase may have been “cheap ass parents” and I may have mentioned making my mom take back the Baby Einstein DVDs that all the other parents had recommended because, as a psychologist, I had misgivings about children watching TV this young. We chatted some more, I mentioned how small our house was and that we were going to double up the kids in a bedroom. And generally, I made us sound like we’re the cheap ass parents that we are. (Yes, I even told the story of making Conor’s first “toys” on notecards!)

She asked if we would mind having our picture in the paper and I said No Problem. Forgetting 1) we could be prominently displayed on the NY Times Sunday Business section as Cheap Ass Parents, 2) I still have my roots showing from Conor’s baptism, but not they are even worse and 3) Conor is the cute one, not us!

So the photographer came by yesterday for our glamour shots. (And I spent Tuesday night dyeing my hair at home with semi-permanent dye thus violating the one cardinal rule of prettying yourself up--DON'T DO ANYTHING NEW before a big event. Whoops. It's way darj abd obviously not my natural color. Oh, well. I really hope they focus on Dave and the Baby) The photographer did not know the story, but the cues she was given were “New parents flush with money and insecurities buy lots of stuff for their kids” and that they wanted a shot of us with Conor playing with his toys “even though we didn’t think he needed so many.” OK, as you know, that only thing I’m flush with is a lot of hair. Money, I’m not. But of course, we’re insecure.

Conor did break out all of his toys although we tried to get some of the smarty pants wooden toys front and center. When I mentioned that it would look like we were lying about not having a lot of toys for Conor, the photographer just said “Oh, no. You all don’t have that much.”

Cheap Ass Parents. Potentially featured front and center on this Sunday’s NY Times Business section. Or not. We think it's supposed to be a Sunday Times story, but we don't know whether it's this week or next, or never!! They may or may not use our pictures. We are not the most photogenic folks, although Conor certainly is. I hope some good ones came out of him. That would really be cool to see of him.

OK. Back to work on my now working computer.

Wed, 28 Dec 2005 15:32:03 GMT

Validation

I just returned from the follow up visit at my OB’s office. I am SO GLAD I switched doctor’s offices and now am seeing Dr. B. He really listens to me and actually respects what I have to say.

I told him about my concerns with the baby being out of the range of normal in the first ultrasound. I wasn’t going to, because I sound insane when I get all worked up about it. But he listened to me, paused and said that he too had seen something that concerned him on that first ultrasound: the heart rate was a little low. He said that he usually doesn’t like to share that with the mothers because it was still in the normal range. But I feel like we both validated each other’s observation that something was amiss from that first ultrasound.

I also feel like he will trust me when I tell him things. We talked about timing the next pregnancy; he said timing doesn’t always work and then I had to explain that basically we’re only starting in March. Whenever we get pregnant is fine. We just need to consider my leave, the summer break and when the semester ends.

Also, he said that he definitely wants me back if we are using the OPK and charting and don’t get pregnant in three months. Do you know what that means to me? My last doctor told me 7 months whether or not I was using an OPK. Dr. B trusts me to know if I’m hitting ovulation or not. He believes I can do my own procreation homework and wants to help us if we have problems as soon as we can.

However, we both agreed that getting pregnant may not be an issue. I think he now truly believes that we had a chemical pregnancy in August. And we both agreed that I’ve been pregnant 3 out of the 5 months Dave and I have been trying to get pregnant. “The plumbing works!” so the doctor says.

And at this point, the chemical pregnancy rate is so high I’m not really concerned about it. This miscarriage is less common, but not unusual. And we do have a healthy baby already. I am probably going to be anxious when I get pregnant again. But I do think it’s good news that I probably should be able to get pregnant again pretty easily. And the chances are still the same that it will stick or not; they are not worse just because I’ve had a miscarriage.

So there. It was a pretty emotional trip to the doctor. But I’ve come back feeling so validated about my beliefs. I even feel approval for not only what we’re doing (charts and OPK) but I feel that the doctor has increased his trust in me. I’m not an idiot!!! It’s always nice when other people think that, at least.

OK, today I had planned on writing about how breastfeeding has really helped during this whole process. But I’ll have to save that until tomorrow.

I need to go take a shower and wash my hair so that we’ll look good for the New York Times photographer this afternoon.

Tue, 27 Dec 2005 17:29:09 GMT

Ninety-Eight Percent

I need to revisit some of my thoughts on the miscarriage before I move on. I notice that when I’m trying to deal with something emotionally, I repeat it over and over and over again in my head until either I tell everyone I know or, honestly, I write it down on the blog. I’ve told almost everyone I know about this, so now it’s time to write it down.

First, I do have more good days than bad days. But I still have bad days. I still miss being pregnant. I was only pregnant for 2 months, but it was long enough to change my self-concept and think about this other being growing inside me. I loved that feeling so much from being pregnant with Conor and I was looking forward to all that was ahead of us with our last baby. I hate to say this, because it sounds so pitiful, but I feel empty again. I really do hope I can have that knowledge of another critter (bun, monkey, bean) growing healthily inside me for nine (or ten!) months.

I’m also working through another more complicated matter about the pregnancy. It has to do with the first ultrasound and how I thought something was wrong then, but I chose not to pursue it. The scoop is this: I KNOW, absolutely KNOW, based on BBT and the OPK that we conceived on October 17 and that the due date (based on every calculator I’ve seen) was July 10. The first ultrasound predicted a due date of July 13. No big whoop. The ultrasound can often predicted a different due date that the “real” one and Conor’s ultrasounds always predicted an earlier due date than we knew it to be.

But hold on just a minute. Let’s think what the ultrasound’s due date really means. I believe that what they were really reporting was the size of a baby conceived X days ago. In fact, on the ultrasound I can see that they were saying that the baby was measuring at 6W1D (6 weeks, 1 days), plus or minus 2 days.

However, I know based on the day of conception that the baby was actually 6W4D. That is, our baby was measuring three days smaller than it should have. Granted, there is a range around this measurement, that’s the plus or minus 2 day thingy. Nonetheless, the closest that range brings us is 6W3D. That is not the same as 6W4D.

And that is bad. You want to fall in the range. The range contains 95% of "normal." Even if you’re at the end of the range, usually it’s ok. But if you’re out of the range, that means you’re “extreme.” And extreme is usually bad. The reason this is bad is the range always accounts for 95% of what is going on. It’s a statistical fact that if they were using a mean and (two) standard deviations to create that range, 95% of the “normal” babies should fall in that range. That is, the “size” they measured and the range around it of 6 weeks, 1 day (plus or minus two) should account for 95% of the size of normal babies conceived 6 weeks and 1 day previously (plus or minus two).

But we fell out of that range. And we fell out on the small side. Really folks, what that data told me then and I chose to ignore it was that our baby was measuring three days smaller than it should have and that it fell outside the normal range. It was smaller than 98% of the other babies conceived on that day. (Of those 5% outside the range, 2.5% are bigger and 2.5% are smaller. We were in the smaller part)

I know this is confusing and I need to draw you a picture for it to really make sense. So I’m going to do what I never do when I’m teaching and say “trust me” on this one. I KNEW it was an issue when we did the ultrasound, but I didn’t push it because 1) I was so happy, 2) they found a heartbeat and 3) what if I was wrong? I still could be wrong, but I had a miscarriage. I currently do not think I was wrong to have been concerned about that.

But as one of my colleagues said when I explained this to her: what good what it have done? Well, I wouldn’t have told anyone I was pregnant, which I’m not sure would have been the best thing considering all the support I have received. But here’s the worse part: if I had pushed this and demanded another ultrasound to make sure the baby was growing as s/he should have, we most likely would have seen that the baby was not developing normally. I would have gotten this really bad news and I would have gotten it sooner than I did with the surprise miscarriage. And then I would have spent the next two weeks watching my baby die. That pretty much sounds like a hellish experience.

So, there. I could still be wrong. Every time I try to explain this to someone, it freaks them out. For me, the real lesson was that I got a ding on my worry radar that something was wrong and I ignored it. Honestly, I get lots of dings on my worry radar that turn out to be false, but this one wasn’t. And this one was based on “objective statistical knowledge” that, I think, showed there was a problem. I don’t know for sure if ultrasounds report the mean and standard deviations of babies based on their size, but it seems like that’s what they do as they are measuring what is in there. Or I could be making this shit up to give myself some out that says “There was a sign!!! There was a sign!!! I should have known! There was a sign!!” I'm grasping for some straw to give me control in an uncontrollable situation.

I don’t know. That’s it. I still believe the first ultrasound showed our baby was smaller than 99% of the other babies conceived on that day. I believe that was a bad sign. I know I said something to the sonographer about it. But we all wanted to think positively.

There. I hope I can let this one go now.

Mon, 26 Dec 2005 14:16:25 GMT

HO HO HO

So of course, how could I not tell you about Conor’s reaction to his new rocking horse? We woke up Christmas morning, much earlier than I wanted to, to be honest. Despite the fact that Conor has no idea about Santa (except that he says Ho Ho Ho), he decided to get up at about 4:30 am anyway. Our response was to bring him to bed and strongly encourage him to nurse for another hour and a half.

Finally at 6, giving in to his excited leaps around the bed chasing kitties, we got up and made some coffee. We woke my parents up, too, so they could see Conor’s reaction.

And…..not so much. Initially. He was looking at the tree, but wasn’t really noticing anything.

Then I asked in that overly excited mother voice that clues a child in that something big is about to happen “Did Santa come last night? Did Santa come?!?!??!?!” (Lots of exclamation points, trust me)

I turned on the light to ready the room. Conor came toddling in behind me and walked right by the horse. “OH MY GOSH! LOOK AT THAT!!!!!” I hyper-mother encouraged.

Conor turned to his right and saw at exactly eye level the head of a horse looking right back at him. Conor turned completely toward the animal and immediately backed up as far as he could until he was full body pressed against the sofa, not once taking his eye off the pony. “Oh, crappity crap,” I thought, “this is going to scare him to death.”

He didn’t look one way or the other to gather how we were reacting to this new animal in the house, which again worried me. Overly happy mother me continued “Oh my gosh!! That’s a rocking horse!!! Oh my gosh, look at that!” He continued looking and then siddled down the sofa closer to me.

Then he spotted the farm we had set out at the other end of the tree. And he ran towards it and began to pick up the little animals. Then he turned and went back to the horse and touched it. A second later, he was back at the farm. Then back to the horse to pet it. My mom squeezed the horse’s ear and it whinnied. Conor grinned and ran back to the farm. Finally, he ran back to the horse, hopped on it and rocked.

The four adults in the room gave a collective sigh of relief that the horse was not in danger of becoming the most frightening gift in the world. In fact, it along with the farm and a popcorn popper push toy from my parents are by far the most popular toys in the house now. (And yes, we’ve already started a rotation with a couple of older toys going into the cabinet for a “rest”)

I have to say that Conor caught on to the whole gift thing pretty quickly. He understood that everyone (including the dog) had gifts that were “theirs” and not his. He loved the wrapping paper, but also knew that what was contained under the paper was very exciting, too. And finally, as he stood in the midst of his gifts turned around and signed “More” we knew that he really thought this whole gift giving thing didn’t suck at all.

Wed, 21 Dec 2005 14:41:14 GMT

Hey!

Conor’s vocabulary is increasing exponentially. One of my favorite new words is “Hey!” and the occasional “Hi.” If you don’t live in the south, then let me explain that down here “Hey!” is our way of casually greeting each other. Whereas I have heard that in other places, “Hey!” is somewhat aggressive, here it’s quite friendly. And when your seventeen month old smoochie pooh stop nursing before bed, gives you a mile wide grin, and flirtily coos “Hey!” how can you help but respond with a face full of kisses?

I nearly died of love on Monday at the grocery store when I was trying to pick out some pork chops and Conor was watching all the people walking by and stopped a man dead in his tracks with a loud, friendly “HEY!” The man paused, looked at me, looked at Conor, grinned and said to my adorable son “Hey!” Conor was pretty dang proud of himself with his ability to woo pure strangers with his cuteness.

So that’s been his adorable side lately. His less than adorable side has involved wrestling while he nurses. I am constantly fishing his free hand out of my bra while he’s getting nummies. I am getting very tired of being felt up by my son. It’s just too much and it bugs me.

And if the child isn’t fishing in my bra, he’s caressing my arm, my back, my chest, or grabbing my lips. It may sound cute, but the 15^th time in 5 minutes gets pretty old. And I’ve recently come to the realization that this is one story that I will never be able to tell Conor about when he’s older. Yes, we can talk about sleeping through the night (or not) or the mere fact that he nursed until he was X years old. But never can I say that I could NOT keep his hands off my boobs while he nursed. One can imagine some serious time on a therapist’s couch over even one casual remark of that nature.

So the upshot of this is “Hey!” is cute; grubby little paws in my bra are not.

Sprained a Vein

My arm still hurts from where I got an IV last Monday. It’s been 10 days and it still hurts. Dave thinks my tendon may have been irritated. I irrationally think it’s the vein. It had a spasm when they were giving me the antibiotic (which hurt like a mofo). Apparently, it was too cold and my vein freaked out. (The rest of me was freaking out, too)

The thing is, I can feel that vein. I can feel it and move it around and it’s still sore. It even feels bigger in the spot where the IV was than in the rest of the vein. I just don’t think it’s a tendon.

Any of you with vein-y knowledge, feel free to share your thoughts.

Tue, 20 Dec 2005 14:47:13 GMT

Moving Forward, Moving into Debt

We’re moving forward from the miscarriage. We’ve already come up with Plan B as well as Plan C and perhaps D. Plan B is that we’ll start trying again in a few months. I say few months because if we started trying again as soon as we could, it’s possible I’d have the baby in October and instead of having a full semester off (and a summer), I’d have 6 to 8 weeks. I’d rather wait and time our baby to arrive between the fall and spring semester which would provide us with about 6 months maternity leave compared to 6 weeks. So, yes, I’m bummed about missing the super fertility time of the first cycle after a miscarriage, but it’s worth it to us to wait.

Plan C is that we’ll try again even if we have another miscarriage. But we’d probably start moving down the road to adoption at the same time. Plan D is adoption and pregnancy around the same time…but let’s not freak ourselves out before we have to.

I’ve also been falling back into my unhealthy coping skills: wine every night with dinner, eating massive amounts of food, and retail therapy. Oh, yes. Nothing like going shopping to buy gifts for people when you’re trying to fill an empty space in your heart. I’m justifying my expenditures as 1) we can delay paying for two daycares for at least another 6 months. It’s like finding $4000 in our bank account, except it isn’t. And 2) we’re not going to remodel the house for even longer; now there’s an additional $50K play money floating around in my head! And 3) $100 an hour for therapy, or a new rocking horse for my son?! The rocking horse is cheaper and is going to look so cute under the tree on Christmas morning. (Feel free to click on our ads any time you feel like it. Those $.25 add up!)

And I’m even doing what I said I wouldn’t do about Christmas and Conor. We’ve taught Conor that Santa goes Ho Ho Ho (which comes out ha ha from Conor). We have a few Santas around the house now (all new!) as well as more candles (new!), decorations (new!) and a boatload of bows (cheap and New! from Target). This morning I sang a few songs about Santa in which Conor tried to sing along and has become even more curious about this “Santa” who has become very important lately. I even took him to the tree and told him that Santa was going to give him something in 4 days.

The child doesn’t even know what a present is! I am indoctrinating my son into materialism!!! I really don’t want to do that, but I would like for him to be surprised when he sees a rocking horse under the tree where there was none before.

Bad mommy. I don’t like this materialism at Christmas and I haven’t been this buy happy in a long time (but that involved the break-up with a gay fiancée and me losing so much weight that I was actually skinny by LA standards and had to buy new clothes.) Even worse, we made a bargain this year among family members not to spend much money on each other. Like an amount so low that just a few clicks on those ads should have paid off my entire Christmas debt. Dave and I have even opted not to give each other gifts and instead buy a coffee table for our living room, which we did and we love!

So my materialistic binge is even worse in the face of the decisions we had already made about our budget this Christmas. Guilty as charged.

But I am looking forward to seeing what Conor thinks about Christmas morning and that rocking horse! And do I feel better? Well, yes and no. I’m still getting used to being empty again. The dreams are just starting about the miscarriage and not having a baby. But we’ve got a plan. And we’re on a path. And there’s a rocking horse in a special someone’s future and I’m very, very excited about that.

Fri, 16 Dec 2005 12:41:44 GMT

We’re OK

It truly has turned into a day by day recovery. Tuesday, I actually felt fine. In fact, I felt so fine, I felt guilty. How can I be “fine” when I have just lost my baby? But I was fine on Tuesday. Well, I was fine Tuesday morning. By the time I picked up Conor from daycare and Dave came home, I was not doing so fine.

Wednesday sucked. The whole day pretty much sucked. Yesterday was somewhere in the middle. Today, I feel anxious again with a pit in my stomach. Then again, I’m going back to work this morning for a few hours. I’ve been working all week (except Monday) at home. But today, I will see people and I think that is sort of freaking me out.

There are a couple of weird things I’m dealing with in this whole process. First, there is the guilt for feeling fine. Usually, when I feel fine, I consider that to be a good thing. Now when I feel fine, I feel like somehow I am not a good mother. That’s weird.

Second, and I can only speak for myself here and to further qualify this is probably not how other women feel, but second, this miscarriage is very, very sad. But it’s not devastating. I did not lose Dave or Conor. I did not lose my baby two days before it was due, like my neighbor. This is not my first pregnancy and I’m not additionally racked with worry that I will never be able to get pregnant.

I feel incredibly guilty for each one of those sentences I just wrote. I feel like I’m supposed to be devastated and rolling around on the floor wailing in grief. But I’m not.

I’m sad; I’m really sad. (And I still cry just reading those sentences) But we are going to be OK and we’re going to try again, and I have hope that we’re going to have a successful pregnancy again and have a happy, healthy child again. And in reality, we may not. But at this point, I have no real knowledge about whether we will or we won’t, but I’m going to be positive about it now.

And poor Dave. He’s worried about me and wants to be so supportive and he has been. And when I make statements like “Look how flat my belly is now” and he goes “That’s GREAT!” which is, of course, what he knows used to be the correct answer, he doesn’t understand why he gets the angry-wife-you-said-the-wrong-thing glare.

Yes, my belly is flat(ish) again, and that makes me sad. Yes, we can go to the SHRM conference in June now because I won’t be giving birth the next week. Yes, I have to buy some winter clothes because the maternity clothes I just got out aren’t necessary any more, and that makes me sad. Now I need to get a couple of conference proposals ready in the next month because in August, when the conference occurs, I won’t have a one month old.

That continues to be the weird part. All those plans that changed or were adapted because we thought we’d be dealing with a pregnancy and a newborn. That still shocks me and makes me sad.

But we’re OK. We’re really honestly and truly OK. I don’t know about how other women in my shoes are doing. But we’re going to be OK. We’re still very sad, but it’s all going to be OK.

I hope out there in blogland, you don’t judge me for being OK. But if there is a mother out there who stumbles upon this site when she’s trying to deal with her miscarriage, I hope it helps her to know, You’ll be OK. It hurts. But you will be OK.

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 15:53:07 GMT

By The Numbers

I find comfort in numbers. My first strategy at coping with this miscarriage has been to figure out just how “common” miscarriages are. One of my pregnancy books which I now affectionately call “What to Freak Out About When You’re Expecting” says that midwives and OBs may be brusque and matter of fact when they deal with couples experiencing a miscarriage because these health care professionals have to have these conversations “a lot.”

But what does common mean?

The miscarriage rate our doctors are quoting is 30%. The number is higher, they say, if you include chemical pregnancies or those miscarriages that occur even before a woman misses her period. But for clinical verified pregnancies, the miscarriage rate is supposed to be close to 30%.

That doesn’t seem common or “likely” to me. If you told me there was a 30% chance of rain, I wouldn’t carry my umbrella to work. If you told me there was a 70% chance of rain, I’d be foolish not to go out with an umbrella. But a 30% chance of rain means to me that it’s probably not going to rain.

Want a good example of irony? And a real example of irony, not one as sung about by Alanis Morrisette. Here you go: Monday afternoon after our surgery, there was a 30% chance of rain expected in Charlotte. After Dave returned from picking up Conor from daycare, he remembered he left something in the car. He was going to get it when he stopped short and stared out the window. It wasn’t just raining, it was pouring. We had about a 5 minute passing shower, which didn’t hit most of Charlotte, but did catch us. I half expected to see flashing neon signs over our house saying “THESE PEOPLE ARE UNLUCKY.”

So apart from passing and/or scattered showers, which is what I take a 30% chance of rain to mean: you are not going to get wet on a day that calls for 30% chance of rain. It’s not common.

However, let me share with you my second way of thinking about this number. Out of 100 women, 30 have miscarriages. That number, put that way, sounds a boatload higher. And what about this number which I came up with nursing Conor Saturday night: of those remaining pregnant 70 women, 20% of those or 14 will have C-sections when they deliver their babies.

That is, out of 100 pregnant women, 30 have miscarriages and 14 have C-sections. HOLY MAJOOLY! C-sections seem so common, but in actuality miscarriages are much, much more common than c-sections. Even if you use a 20% miscarriage rate (the lowest I’ve seen) and a 20% c-section rate, you have 20 out of 100 women having a miscarriage and 16 of the remaining 80 women having a C-section.

That’s a lot!!!! Doesn’t that seem like a lot to you?

I feel like during this whole process, I’ve joined a sorority in which I and all the other women in it don’t want to be members. Nonetheless, there are a lot of us in here. So in that way, it does seem like miscarriages are much more “common” than I understood.

That said, I’ve had to work my way back up to some way of providing hope for Dave and me and providing comfort for any expectant moms reading this. Again, it’s only a 30% chance of rain. There’s a 70% chance of sunshine. And that’s what you (and I) have to hold on to. It’s more likely that the day is going to be warm and sunny (in my analogy) than it is going to be cold and rainy.

We’re going to try again, and I really hope that the next time the odds are in our favor. It does help that we have the physical presence of Conor to hold on to for validation that the sun shines on us, too. And yes, with our age, the chance of sunshine may be a little lower than it is for others. But we’re not going to give up yet. I still think the odds are in our favor that the next time we try, it will be a sunny day. And that passing shower will just pass us on by.

That’s all we have now. Hope for a sunny day in the future. But that’s all we ever really had anyway.

Mon, 12 Dec 2005 20:17:26 GMT

Thank you so much for all your comments and emails of support. It has really helped Dave and me a lot. It actually has helped more than I ever imagined.

We're doing ok. The surgery is over and we're now officially in physical and emotional recovery. We have good moments and bad moments. The weirdest part of this is that we have no idea what the path we're on is going to be like for the next few months. Have we hit the worst part, or is that still before us? Planner that I am, I am surprised that not only do I not know what's before us, I'm ok with that, and know we'll just get through this one step at a time, one day at a time.

Thank you so much again.

Fri, 09 Dec 2005 12:41:31 GMT

The News, It Is Not Good

It is not good at all.

Wednesday afternoon I had some mild cramps, but they caught my attention well enough that I IM’d Dave that I was having them. I assured him though that as long as there wasn’t spotting, we’d be ok.

Wednesday night as I was preparing for bed, I saw spotting. Faint spotting. Faint, faint spotting. So faint that I could have been imagining it. But I knew I wasn’t. But nothing more.

Thursday morning, we decided to call the doctor because all the advice we saw said to call the doctor. I told the triage nurse that I was sure that nothing was wrong. Mild cramps, very faint spotting. Not a biggie, but they said call the doctor.

She said that it probably not a problem what with the other ultrasound they had done and seen a heartbeat. But she said, for peace of mind, she said, come on in and have another one.

OK! I thought. Another chance to get a picture of our baby!!!

Dave left work early so he could meet me for my 4:00 appointment. I told the sonographer “mild cramps, faint bleeding, check it out.” We joked about who knows what.

Then the exam started. She got serious. Her brow was furrowed. She was concentrating.

“All we need is a heartbeat,” I said. “Do you see a heartbeat?”

She paused and slowly said, “I can’t find a heartbeat.” She took more pictures. I stared at the ceiling. She stood up and put her hand on my knee.

“I know,” I told her. “I understand.”

Our little bean stopped sprouting probably less than a week ago. I go in Monday for the surgery (so the plan is now. We haven’t finalized the details). I’m sad. But I’m not as sad as I’m going to be after Monday. Do you know why? Because I get to keep my baby for 3 more days. I get to still be pregnant for 3 more days. I know my little baby is already gone. But he or she is still inside me for 3 more days. And I get to say goodbye to my little bean for the next three days.

It’s “magical thinking”, I know. But as long as my bean is still inside me, I get to hold on to hope and love for just a little while longer.

We were so positive after the first ultrasound. We’ve heard that after they see a heartbeat, the miscarriage rate goes down to 5%. But that’s no guarantee. It was sadly no guarantee for us.

Thu, 08 Dec 2005 14:06:59 GMT

Cuteness in a Picture

Third time's the charm. this is from IRFAN and I hope it's less grainy. This is my little man in a pumpkin patch.

And in other incredibly cute news, check out Conor's video page for some of our new favorite videos of him. (If you check out the vids, let us know what you think!)

BTW, we took this picture back in November after the Marine Corps Marathon, when we had a free saturday. It was the pumpkin patch at the local Sheep Dog trials, which in and of itself was pretty fun.

OK. I'm behind at work, and playing on the computer. Shame upon me.