The Final Countdown

Last night I commented to Dave about how crazy the past few weeks have been.  The bus drama at school, some sick family members, and the impending birth of the baby have all come together to create a bit of chaos over here.  Dave said "The past few weeks were crazy?  What about the summer?" I thought back to the genetics results, the app lawsuit and removal from iTunes, the hospital trip for my breathing issues right before I flew out for the ISAAC conference . . . the list continues on.  It's been a busy season, for sure.

 

In the past 24 hours (literally) things have started to come together a little bit.  The bus situation is resolved, finally.  Maya rode the bus both ways today, with the same pick-up and drop-off times as last year. She was a bit wiped out, but happy. 

 

And really, the resolution has arrived just in time . . . because her brother is going to arrive on Friday.

 

!!!

 

This next two paragraphs includes the words "placenta" and "dilation."  If these are too detailed for you, skip ahead.

 

When I was pregnant with Maya, I never went into labor.  They suspected that she might be small (she turned out to be totally average) and so I was having weekly ultrasounds from 36 weeks on.  They decided that I could go 1 week overdue if I wanted to (which I did) and then they would have to induce (which they did).  When Maya was born, we could see that the placenta (while still being functional) was showing aging along one side, and we were glad that we induced when we did instead of waiting longer.

 

Because of the aging placenta thing (and the fact that I'm not having those weekly scans this time to assess the function of the placenta), and the fact that this baby seems to be trending on the larger side, my doctor decided that I shouldn't go past my due date.  He offered me two possible induction dates if I didn't go into labor spontaneously, and we decided on this Friday.  I'm hoping that this induction will be a bit faster, since my body seems to be inching it's way naturally a bit (some contractions, some dilation--- neither of which happened with Maya until I was a few hours into the induction).

 

So, here's to Friday :)

 

And now, belly progress pictures.  I took a bunch of belly pictures but never really got around to posting them.  It's funny, I remember thinking so early on that I looked really pregnant right away.  Now I look back at the 11 week picture and think about how I can't wait to shrink back down to only looking 1 trimester pregnant.  So, from the start to the end(ish):

 

January 23, 2012

 

 

11 weeks, 4 days

13 weeks, 4 days

16 weeks

18 weeks, 4 days

 

21 weeks, 5 days

26 weeks

 

 31 weeks

 

34 weeks

36 weeks

38 weeks (one week ago)

 

 

The Post-Traumatic Stress of Pregnancy After Special Needs

I haven’t written much about this pregnancy, because it’s been challenging to sort out my conflicting subconscious thoughts into something that would make sense—something that wouldn’t seem too dark (because we are elated to be having another baby) but would also honor the fact that pregnancy is much trickier, psychologically, after having a child with special needs. As I look around my apartment at the newly re-assembled crib, and piles of baby stuff emerging from storage, I think that the time to talk about it has probably come.

Exactly seven months ago I found out that I was pregnant.  I watched the second line appear on the test with a mixture of excitement, anxiety and disbelief  . . . feelings typical of any woman who’s just peed on a stick and is staring at that second blank spot, mentally willing a line to appear and then somehow still shocked when it does.

But there was another feeling too, floating towards the top of my consciousness, forcing itself to the surface to pop my jittery, excited bubble of glee . . . it whispered “you know better. Be careful. Don’t get too happy, don’t forget what can happen.” 

I pushed it down.  

It said “Don’t set yourself up to be blindsided again.”  I tried to ignore it. It said “Don’t expect everything to go well, and it won’t hurt as much when it doesn’t.”  I tried to shrug it off.  It said “You know better.  Don’t forget that you know better.” 

It was right.

I do know better.  And not in any sort of wise-beyond-my-years way (well, maybe sometimes, a little) but more in a PTSD way . . . like a driver after a car accident who will never be quite as at ease behind the wheel.  I’ve intermittently struggled throughout this pregnancy to find an outlook that made sense and would stick.  There were clear, oh so clear, differences between my mentality this time around versus my first “uneventful” pregnancy.

In the waiting room of my obstetrician’s office, I looked at the visibly pregnant women and thought things like “Oh, I hope that this all goes well for you” instead of “Oh, good for her! Another pregnant lady!”

Going in for ultrasounds, I walked past the other rooms in use and wondered if someone might be getting life-altering bad news, instead of wondering if someone might be hearing their baby’s heartbeat for the first time.

When my screening test results came in (we had all of the run-of-the-mill screening tests, the same as we did with Maya, nothing more and nothing less) as normal (as they did with Maya) I was happy, of course, but reservedly happy, because I now know of several hundred disorders that would never make themselves known in something as simple and silly as prenatal screenings.  The first time around I thought that “typical” results were a big, fat “Your baby is perfectly healthy!” stamp on the medical record . . . but over the past few years we’ve seen a truckload of “typical” results, despite knowing that things here are not typical.  So I smiled and thanked the doctor and left feeling somewhat relieved for “typical” but when my inner voice said “Don’t let your guard down . . . you know better” I replied  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

When I see other pregnant women shopping at Babies ‘R Us, or talking to their friends, or in line at Starbucks, I see them through a bifocal lens of congratulations and trepidation.  I smile at them in accordance with the sisterhood-of-pregnant-women unspoken rules, but my inner voice wants to whisper to them, too, to say “Are you expecting everything to be ok? Because it might not be . . . and it will hurt less if you know that might happen.  And things will be ok, either way, they really will . . .” but I know that I can’t let that happen.  And I wouldn’t have wanted to hear it during my first pregnancy, either.  I'm fairly sure that I deliberately didn’t read anything about birth defects or terrible delivery stories or things-that-could-go-wrong . . . because why should I?  Why not have a happy 10 months of assuming the best and waiting excitedly?  What good would preemptively worrying do me?  I wanted to maintain my ignorance, thank you very much.

But after having a child with special needs, you can’t un-know.

And so, this pregnancy has been different.

Oh, it’s been happy, for sure.  I’ve watched my body shift and expand, and felt the hiccups and kicks and stretches (which are kind of painful) of this little guy with delight.  This will likely be our last baby, and I’m trying to look past the end-of-pregnancy discomfort and savor the alien magic of watching my belly wobble and shift as the baby does his nightly calisthenics.  We've picked a name (probably) and have talked excitedly with Maya about her brother.  His room has been painted, and over the past two weeks we’ve assembled some furniture and made lists of things-to-buy and things-to-get-out-of-storage.  With 6 weeks left until my due date, things are slowly starting to come together, and I’m enjoying the nesting phase and embracing the urge to get my household in order before things get shaken up with the new arrival.

I am happy, and I can’t wait to meet this new baby.  And I seriously can’t wait to introduce him to Maya.  (Also, I can’t wait until I can gracefully get out of a chair again, but that’s a different story.)

But beneath this happy anticipation is also some sort of quiet warning . . . like a low cello note hidden in the background of a composition beneath some joyful, vibrant violin music.  It’s just a hum, a quiet “don’t forget”, a reminder to not float away in the bubbly good times because there can always be something.  It’s not something that I actively worry about, it’s not something that I even pay much (if any) conscious attention to . . . it’s just a hum, a quiet, constant hum.

I imagine that by the time I check into the hospital and settle in my labor & delivery room that hum will be loud, my nerves on edge, split with both happy anticipation and “what if, what if, don’t forget, don’t let your guard down.”  Both sides of the music loud, loud, waiting to see which will drop off in the next few hours, or next few days.   

When I settled into my hospital bed to deliver Maya, there was no low warning hum.   It was nice to be young and hopeful, putting any nervousness to rest with the mantra “millions of perfectly healthy babies are born every day.”  I’m sure that I’ll think the same thing this time, but the reassurance that it brings will not be complete. And then the inner voice will start again, with a different message, since the time for warnings will have passed, “It’s time to let go now, to let your guard down.  There’s no warning to hold on to now, it’s time to let go and see what the next chapter will bring.”  And I imagine that I will listen and surrender, putting the time for wondering aside and embracing our new beginning as a family of four.

34 weeks

 

Stop telling me that "things are going to be so hard"

I am pregnant with my second baby, due in October.  Here are some things that I know about having a second baby, not from experience, but because I am a logical, semi-intelligent person:  It will be tiring, because new babies are tiring and having an older child who runs on a schedule will make sleeping while the baby sleeps less of a realistic possbility.  It will be demanding, because both children will need attention and I will be newly learning how to juggle their needs.  It will be sometimes overwhelming, in the way that any major life change is.  You know what else I know about having a second baby?  It’s not rocket science.  And we will handle the transition just fine.

Why am I stating these fairly obvious truths?  Because I have started to encounter an odd group of people who seem intent on trying to bring me down.   The conversations generally go like this: they offer their congratulations on the pregnancy, I thank them, and then they start catastrophizing what it’s like to bring home a second baby*.  Then I smile and brush it off, instead of saying all of the things that I’d really like to say.  So now I’ll say them here.  Below, some of the gems that I’ve heard, and my inner responses.  Stay tuned for the big bitter finale.

*Important note: I’m not talking about friends/family who will crack a joke about the chaos of more than one kid, or who will shout over their wrestling children, “I hope you’re ready for this!” with a wry smile.  That’s funny and sarcastic and tongue in cheek and harmless.  I’m talking about the seriously negative, not-at-all-joking, joy-sucking people who deliver the gems below straight faced and in a grave voice.

1. You think one kid was hard---you have no idea.  Just wait until you have two. Of course two kids are more challenging that one kid, that’s why we waited this long to have another.  Does anyone really think that adding a new baby to the family would somehow be less work than just having one?

2. I hope you have earplugs, because they will fight constantly.  Of course kids fight. I have a sister of my own, and nieces and nephews, and ears, and common sense.  Will they fight constantly?  Maybe, maybe not.  Who cares?

3. The beginning is impossible—the baby cries, the older one wants attention---it was the worst time of my life.  I’m sooooooo glad to be done with that.  Uh  . . . congratulations?  I’m not sure how anyone could even respond to this.  What I’d like to say is “if having a second baby and an older kid was the ‘worst time in your life’ then aren’t you lucky” . . .but I feel like that would be poorly received.


And you know what I’d really like to say? 


I’d like to widen my eyes, and look over at Maya, and say to them “Did you really just imply that I have it easy with my ‘only one’ kid?  That my mothering experience has been simple compared to yours, because you have two (perfectly healthy) kids and I have ‘only one’?  Are you that unaware?”

And I could keep going . . . here are a few factoids that illustrate how much easier things are for me, since I have “only one.”

-We have seen more specialists that I can keep track of, literally.  When I get doctors’ bills I squint at the practitioner’s name and think “Hmm, which one are you?”  We switched pediatricians this week (insurance related) and I couldn’t send Maya’s medical file to the new office (as one is supposed to do, per their policy, before scheduling an appointment) because it’s not a file, it’s a full binder, way too large to be faxable. 

-We have had (and continue to have) hours and hours and hours of therapy.  During the first year that I left my job to stay home with Maya we had 3-4 appointments per day.  Most days we barely had time to leave the apartment, because we were in therapy, or she was napping, or I was trying to feed her.

-We had years of feeding therapy and practice (practice meant that every snack and meal was work and exercise) before she was able to move to solid food, and she still can’t completely feed herself.  So we still feed her to some degree at every meal.

-We’re still changing diapers.

-Maya has been playing with her princess dolls all week.  Since I’d like to talk to her about them, I spent half an hour making buttons for her talker so that she would be able to say Belle, Tiana, etc.  I have to make buttonson an iPad, then teach her where to find them, then practice using the new buttons with her, in order to talk to my kid.

-She didn’t walk until she was nearly three, and even now walks very unsteadily.  She tires easily.  She can’t walk up and down stairs (a few stairs at the playground, yes, a flight of stairs, not without a lot of help).  She goes completely limp when overwhelmed.  All of this means that being Maya’s parent is a very physically demanding job.


I don’t need to keep going, right?  That’s enough to get the idea.

So when someone tries to rain on my parade by telling me how inconceivably hard life will be when I add a second, it’s hard not to laugh at them.  The truth, as I see it, is that these parade-raining types, the ones who see so much of life’s negative side and love to point it out to a captive audience, they would find a day living my current life to be “inconceivably hard”. 

And you know what?  It’s not at all.  It’s just life.  It has its challenges and it has its joys---just like every person's life has challenges and joys.  I would never try to tell someone that my life is harder than theirs is . . . because, well, first, that’s the weirdest competition ever . . . and second, I’m smart enough to know that no one can ever really understand someone else’s baggage without trying to shoulder it themselves.  Who am I to claim that mine is heavier than yours?

At the same time, if your kids are able to climb out of their own beds this morning, get dressed, eat breakfast independently, walk and run and wrestle, speak intelligibly to you, yell at each other, climb in the kitchen to get a forbidden snack, throw things, play video games, get into trouble, use the bathroom, whine at you, whatever . . .  well, to me that sounds like a damn good day.

So I’ll concede that two kids will be more complicated than one, if you would kindly stop telling me how easy I’ve got it now, having “only one.”  Because, really, you have no idea.

It's a . . . .

This past Monday was one of the best days that I've had in . . . well, in a long time.  Dave and I headed off to the doctors' offices for a big morning of appointments: our anatomy scan (the big ultrasound), a perinatologist appointment, and an obstetrician appointment.  My excitement over seeing the baby was tempered by my anxiety that this is the time when they check every little part of the baby and make sure things look a-ok.  And everything looked perfect :)  Then came the bonus: we got to find out the sex of the baby!

With Maya we had decided not to find out, we totally wanted to be surprised.  You know what I've learned, though?  Birth can be surprising for a ton reasons.  Maya was taken away for some suctioning right after birth, and I worried whether she was ok.  I worried about my own body and was busy talking with the medical people about how I was doing.  I wondered about her size and what she looked like and when to call our parents.  There was so much going on that the whole "it's a girl" moment was really nice, but just one of the many celebrations that day.  So this time I wanted to really celebrate the "it's a ________" moment separately (and thankfully Dave was on board).

And then I decided (with the creative input of a few friends) to make these fun cupcakes to spring the news on our family:

Pink cream inside means girl, blue cream inside means boy

And now that the cupcakes have been eaten (well, mostly eaten, I'm having another one in a few minutes) it's time for the blog announcement . . .

It's A  . . .

well, here, I'll let Maya tell you first.

That's right . . . it's a BOY!

We're super excited :)

 

A sale!

I don't usually blog about sales, but this is a big one.  Speak for Yourself, the communication app for the iPad that I'm constantly talking about, is having a huge sale today.  In honor of World Autism Awareness Day, Speak for Yourself is only $99, instead of the normal price of $299.

If you'd like more information about the app, check out their website, or click here for a list of the posts that I've written about SfY (there are videos and pictures mixed in with those posts). You can buy the app here. Again, I do not work for Speak for Yourself.  I just love the app, and feel like there's nothing else like it on the market.

Here's a new picture of Maya using SfY, rocking the one-flower-girl-glove-with-a-cut-out-fingertip look:

She was telling us about which animals she could see on the jungle bib in front of her (we don't typically do bibs, but they are temporarily reappearing because she wants to hold her own cup while she drinks, which is awesome.  And messy.)

Here's another picture from yesterday, of my expanding self.  (Holy cow, the belly certainly appears much faster with the second.) 

Half the fun of gaining a bunch of weight is sharing the pictures so that other people can delight in the fact that they are not gaining a bunch of weight.  So, you're welcome.