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Still here, still pregnant

We’ve hit the 28 week marker. Time has moved so slowly I thought that I’d never get here. And now it’s third trimester time. Did I hit the uncomfortable stage of things this soon last time? I don’t remember. I’m already having trouble breathing and eating – where’d all the space go? At my last appointment, I was measuring a week ahead already. That prompted my doctor to go ahead and schedule a c-section.

Unfortunately, Thanksgiving gets in the way. And that means dates are limited, especially since I don’t want to go in on my other son’s birthday. I refuse to have two birthdays on the same day if I can avoid it.

So the doctor scheduled it the day after. Sigh. I don’t care about being in the hospital on Thanksgiving. I really don’t. But I am frustrated that I’m limited to two days just before then AND the doc chooses the 23rd. Why couldn’t he schedule it on the 24th and at least give us a day in between?

And don’t get me started on feeling like my choices have been taken away. My original due date was 11/29. But based on conception date, I know that’s early by at least 3 days. I didn’t get a chance to give him those details (and would he listen anyway?). Because of my gestational diabetes, he doesn’t want me to go to my due date. In fact, he apparently doesn’t want me to get too close to that since it’s possible my son will be big.

Let’s face it. i have a big family. I don’t think it has a lot to do with diabetes. We’re just big people. My other son was 9 lbs. 10 oz. My uncle was either 10 or 11 lbs. when he was born. Another uncle, other side of the family, was somewhere in the 6′ 6″ range as an adult. My hubby is 6′ 2″ See? Big people.

If I’m “lucky” I’ll go into labor on my own. But since the c-section is a week early and my last son was late, that’s not looking likely.

I was really angry and upset when I first got the news. Now I just feel resigned to it. The ultimate goal is a healthy baby and mommy, no matter how we get there. I just really hate feeling that my choices are limited. I was really hoping this pregnancy would be different. Instead we’re hearing the same tune just three years later.

And that’s part of why I’ve been avoiding much personal blogging. It all turns into angry rants or whining. And who really cares? It could be much worse. At least I’m not in the hospital on bed rest, unable to work or take care of my son.

One thing I’m dreading is caring for my older son while trying to recover from a c-section. Did I mention that he weighs 44 lbs.? Yeah, there will be no lifting him out of the crib in the mornings. Which is one reason why my husband is pushing to get him a toddler bed – one that he can crawl in & out of. (That still won’t help with diaper changes, though, which we do on our waist-high bed.)

I’m a mess. Have been the entire pregnancy. Worried about money. About how I’ll care for two kids at home by myself. How my older son will react to mommy’s attention going to the wee babe. How I’ll miss this wonderful time with my older son. We are such good buddies. Man, I love that little guy. But I don’t want to write a bunch of anxiety down, lest my younger son someday think he wasn’t wanted. He really is. So much so. But I haven’t done anything to prepare for his arrival — which is now ELEVEN weeks away thanks to the surgery — nor have I taken more than 2 weekly belly pics. Last time? Took a ton. This time? Not many. I wonder how I’ll give both of them adequate attention when I don’t even feel like I give ONE child enough attention (thanks to having to work so many dang hours – another story in itself).

See? Even I don’t want to listen to me anymore. Hence posts about anything or everything except my pregnancy. Or nothing at all.

I suppose I could write about how much I loathe both of my downstairs neighbors right now, BOTH of whom are doing remodeling. I hate it with a burning passion of a thousand fiery suns. Wouldn’t you think it would be, I don’t know, courteous to let your neighbors know that you’ll be starting some noisy remodeling? Especially those that you KNOW have small children? Yeah, none of that. I hate this place. Hence my looking for a 2 BR closer to hubby’s work. But those are way out of our price range. Actually, EVERYTHING is out of our price range. And I feel trapped. Another source of anxiety.

I really hope all of my stress doesn’t affect the wee babe, too much. But it probably has considering that it affects my eating and blood sugar numbers. See? Mommy fail AGAIN. I just want this to be over with so we can go visit my family and decompress for a month or so. Really hoping that helps. I need a break. I need to stop worrying about money, living quarters, my car that’s going to need a lot of work soon, working too hard for too little… I need something. I just wish I knew what it was.

Oh, how sadly mistaken I was

At 36, I’m of “advanced maternal age.” That places me in a high-risk category in and of itself. Oh, and last time I had diabetes and preeclampsia. More high-risk factors. I’ve had a really hard time coming to terms with the fact that I just can’t control what my body does at this point. What I wouldn’t give for a normal, uneventful pregnancy.

This time around, my body is even more insulin-resistant than it was previously. Diet? Exercise? Not enough. I feel frustrated. What I’m doing should work, right? It’s not.

I have weekly appointments with a dietician to check my food, my blood sugar numbers, and just to make sure everything’s going the way it should. Today was my first appointment. Since it’s mid-morning, I have to take my son with me. I thought that wouldn’t be a big deal. He’d play with his cars while I talk to the dietician. WRONG. Oh, how sadly mistaken I was.

When I got to the office, I was so happy to see 20 minute parking available. Hey, things are going my way. Woohoo! I thought. We went upstairs and checked in. My son was fascinated by the fishbowl at the check-in desk. It was still early enough that I thought we’d be fine. It’s a good two hours or more until naptime!

As soon as they called me back, all hell broke loose. My son fuh-reaked out. He didn’t want to go into the tiny office they had for consultations. Literally would not go through the door. He started crying. I tried to give him some of his cars, which always worked before. His milk. My phone. He wanted NONE OF IT. But I had to do this appointment. So I’m kneeling in the doorway, trying to calm him down while talking to the dietician about my food diary.

We basically had to talk over him. Oh, did I mention that this is back in the offices, where other people are trying to work? Here’s my screaming child, throwing a tantrum in the hallway and there’s nothing I can do about it. I tried everything to calm him down, but he only worked himself up even more.

Between that and having to increase my meds AGAIN, I felt like such a failure. As we left, he was still crying and throwing a fit. So much so that I had to THROW HIM OVER MY SHOULDER to get him in the elevator (he doesn’t much like elevators on a good day). I have never been so mortified in my life.

I managed to make it to the car before I broke down. Sobbing, I called my husband to let him know what had happened. I don’t know how we’ll manage more of these appointments. Whether it means trying to find an alternate time or just taking him all the way to daddy at work for a half hour while I do my appointment. (Which adds a lot more time, mileage, and gas to the equation.)

I don’t know whether he’s finally hitting the terrible twos, or just getting a start on three. But man, if he’d started this crap any sooner I’m pretty certain he would NOT have a sibling on the way anytime soon. Or maybe ever.

(Let me note how much I love my son. I adore him. He is the sweetest, most loving kid. Really. He has never acted this way when I’ve had to take him somewhere. Ever. So I was totally unprepared. And I’m still not sure what we’ll do in the future to stop this behavior. I just felt like the most incompetent mother in the world today. I’m sure there will be more rounds of it in the future, especially when there are two to deal with.)

Oops, I did it again.

I’ve had several people ask me if I’m okay after that last post. I am, really. I was just having a super-craptastic day and needed to write something. Maudlin, much?

Of course, there could be a tiny reason why I’m a bit easily pushed down into the depths, thinking the world just might end.

And it may have just a wee, teeny bit to do with hormones.

Lots

and

lots

of

hormones.

Oops, we did it again.

It has been really tough not talking about this. I have been so very sick, averse to a lot of foods and just plain miserable. And happy. But oh how I wanted to share my woes over feeling so sick that I have been taking a nap almost every day at the same time as my son.

Or how utterly exhausted I have been. All. The. Time.

Or how my husband is thinking about banning me from drinking merlot ever again. (But that’s a different story.)

Last week, about Thursday or Friday my belly POPPED. It’s a little hard to hide the news now. And Friday night, I went to Mamafest here in San Diego and ran into a bunch of ladies I knew. During the course of conversations, the news slipped. Oops.

That’s really okay, though. I’d already had my first appointment, seen that tiny little being, and heard a heartbeat. It’s real.

Oh boy. I’m going to be a mom to two littles, exactly 3 years apart. And I do mean exactly as this wee one is due a week after his/her brother’s birthday.

We’re calling this baby 3.0, because the boy was jokingly referred to as 2.0 on our shower cake last time AND this kid will be the third. So there you go.

The holidays are going to be busy this year, y’all. I can’t wait.

The façade

The façade collapsed
as the carefully constructed walls crumbled.
The foundation buckled
as the supports evaporated.

Alone.
Unsure.
Nowhere to go.
Broken.
So very alone.

My reality

Recently, it feels like I am such a failure at everything. And when you feel that way, it is so hard to write about it. Since that’s all I’ve been talking about lately anyway, it gets pretty old. And if it’s bugging me, it certainly must not be fun for you to read about.

And yet… it is my reality. All I see are the things I haven’t done. Projects I haven’t finished, things I have failed my son and husband in, my messy house, a stack of books I haven’t read, filing and laundry and dishes to be done…

I used to be (and feel) so organized. I was on top of everything most of the time. And now, if it weren’t for automatic billpay, we’d probably be without living quarters or utilities. I just can’t seem to get it together.

It’s hard to admit. Hence, the ongoing silence. What do I say without sounding like I’m just whining? AGAIN? It’s still my reality right now. All I see right now as I look around is everything I haven’t done yet. Every misstep. Every failure.

Lost

Lost:

One sense of self-deprecating humor.

Lost:

The motivation to write anything entertaining.

Lost:

The will to continue writing.

Lost:

Any belief that what I’m doing is in the least bit interesting to pretty much anyone except my husband and parents. And I’m not even sure my husband reads anymore.

Lost:

The ability to care. I’m so tired of questioning myself about my site. Why can’t I connect with people via my blog? What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I be funny, or touching, or profound? Or… something.

I’m tired of questioning whether I’m any sort of writer (outside of business-y stuff) at all. I thought I was. Maybe I’m not. Maybe I never was.

Time Passes

clock faceLast Tuesday, I said goodbye to 35 and hello to 36. I’m not sure how I feel about inching closer to 40. In my 30s I have really felt like I’ve come into my own. Getting more respect professionally. Feeling more settled in myself, who I am, what I like and don’t like.

And then I became a mom smack-dab in the middle of my 30s. And things changed. My world has spun around a bit. I quit working outside of the home and suddenly I’m not sure where my identity lies anymore. It’s not that I identified so heavily with my career, although the ability to bring in a hefty (to me) paycheck was a BIG DEAL to me.

Now I work from home and earn less than half of what I used to. And we’re on a budget. And I’m struggling to manage my time and get everything – or even part of everything – done.

Strangely, I’m less sure of myself at 36 than I was at 34. I’ve had a lot of ups and downs this past year and I can’t say that I’m sad to see 35 go. Where will 36 take me? I’m not sure.

But I certainly hope it includes some more freelance clients and a better paycheck. For my sanity’s sake. Yeah, that’s it. My sanity.

image credit: morgueFile

I might be getting too old for this

Last night hubby and I did something we haven’t done in quite a while. We went out without the Boobah. My gracious and wonderful sister-in-law came over while we snuck off.

Okay, not really. But kindof. We quietly left, as the kiddo was already in bed. He never even knew we were gone. Yet I did. My heart did.

Let me back up. I have been looking forward to this outing for several days, ever since SIL said she’d come over. It was exciting. A date! Music! Libations! Motorcycle ride! The weather has been increasingly nicer. So much so that J has been riding the motorcycle to work. We used to go on rides all the time. I miss that. A lot.

I never realized how much I missed that time until we had a chance to go out. I don’t have a lot of people around who can babysit. I haven’t been building that network of people. I didn’t want to impose on the SIL, my best friend has been out of town for months and the daughter is just too busy. So we take turns going out to do things. Watch the daughter’s band. Meet up with friends. Or we just do things that can include the Boobah. It’s not that huge of a deal most of the time.

Until the daughter has a gig late at night. I have a hard time going out by myself that late at night. Meeting friends? Fine. Going solo? Different story, for me anyway. So we made plans to go together (and I worked up the courage to ask SIL to babysit).

And then, the night before, I started thinking. A little too much. I do that a lot. I tell myself I’m trying to cover all the bases, make sure I’m prepared. But the truth is, I worry. A lot. If I’m not careful, it can turn into a panic attack. So I start worrying about what would happen if, well, something… happened. J is an excellent careful driver. I trust him implicitly. But other drivers aren’t so careful about motorcycles. You hear about it all the time.

My worries can keep me from doing things, from enjoying things. From reaching out to meet new people, make new friends, find new business. From living.

So I sat on the back of that motorcycle last night, trying to quiet my fears. To just enjoy our time together. It eventually worked, but we were most of the way there before I could relax.

But we had a great time. Daughter’s band did a great job. We got to see her for a few minutes afterwards. It really was a nice respite, something we’ll have to indulge in more often.

As for hopping on the motorcycle without a care? Those days are over. It doesn’t mean I won’t get on the bike ever again. I love going up to Julian, out to the Hideout, and other places on the bike. It’s a lot of fun. But I have to think more carefully about it. And no matter how distasteful it is, we need to plan for the worst scenario. So I can worry a little less. And enjoy life a little more.

There comes a point in time

There comes a point where the words just won’t come. You don’t set out to leave a heavy post, or just leave people hanging. A few days go by, you convince yourself that you’ll be back. But the longer you’re gone, the harder it is to find the right words. A subject, any subject. I don’t subscribe to writer’s block. Yet, there is something on the periphery of my vision, something that distracts me and pulls me away. Or maybe it’s that inner voice that tells me I’m not good enough, interesting enough, or even remotely funny enough.

And maybe I listen just a tiny bit too much. Or not enough. Or… see how it goes? It’s a constant rabbit hole – changing direction, telling me I’ll be out soon. But I never quite find my way out, instead burrowing deeper into that hole. Burying my head? I don’t know.

I suppose we all go through times where we doubt ourselves, especially the constant navel-gazing that occurs in the blog world. I want to reach out, to connect. And I forget how. I compare myself to others, wondering how they manage to connect to the thoughts of so many people, while I connect to so few.

I wonder if I should just go back to pen and paper? And yet, I love writing so much and I’ve been doing it for so long that I just can’t fathom quitting. And here we are. Brick wall, meet impasse.

I thought at 35 I’d know a little more of what I want, who I am, where I want to be. I do, but I don’t. Today, this week, this month? I’m in the ‘I don’t’ phase.

Can you feel stuck and yet grateful for your freedom at the same time? I love what I do, love the people I work with. I have the best office mate one could want, even if he does tend to stand by my chair and yell. But it’s never enough money and some of the goals we have will, frankly, require a lot more than what we have right now.

Therein lies the (one of many) rub. More money, limited time. How does one do it without chasing too many projects? We can only cut our budget so far.

So many thoughts, and it’s so hard to organize them coherently. Please tell me I’m not the only one. Tell me you go through this sometimes, too. I think I need to hear it right now.

I don’t think my family is complete

J and I have had many discussions recently about our family. I want another baby. He’s on the fence about it. That decision was almost made for us recently, as I’m pretty sure I was briefly pregnant. Just long enough to start feeling it, knowing something’s different. Just enough to adjust mentally to the possibility, and start getting used to it. Just long enough to start thinking about how our lives could change, and what we’d need to do.

And then? Nothing. A very late, odd period. Not the usual (I will spare you the details of how it wasn’t the same). So while it’s not 100% certain, and there’s no way now to really confirm it, my body was telling me something.

And I believed it. And I wanted it so badly. I did. Still do. I was left with the feeling that our family is not yet complete. We still have someone else to meet.

But nothing’s ever simple. I had a lot of problems last time. It was not easy. Not for me, and not for J. He had to worry about losing me. I don’t really think that was an issue, but that does not mean that fear was not real. And if I get pregnant again, that fear comes back.

I had excellent care. My doctors were fabulous, keeping good tabs on both me and the baby. When my blood pressure went up just a little bit, they made me go in for monitoring. When the baby was stuck in the birth canal and not making any progress, they went in to get him before he or I went into distress. The surgery was a little rough, but I was fine. Tired, but fine.

Every pregnancy is different. There are no guarantees. The next one could be easier. Textbook, even. My chances of diabetes again, though, are pretty good. So we don’t know. No one ever does, do they?

The question is – are we willing to take that risk?