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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.

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.

A little scared

A few days ago we were going about our business, all of us sprawled across our bed, enjoying some family time. We’ve recently started giving the boy a bit of apple juice in his bottle, to help with his, um, bodily functions. Transitioning to solid food can stop a kid up somewhat.

He was lying in between us, holding his own bottle. That’s a trick he’s been enjoying for a while now, although he’s been doing it more frequently in the last couple of weeks.

Something changed, something was different and it caught my attention. He made a strange noise. I looked up and he started flailing his arms, his face turning red. I grabbed him and sat him up and started pounding his back. He spit up some drool and juice.

And then he started breathing again. A little bit after that, so did I.

As I had reached for him, John noticed something off as well, telling me to sit him up right now. We both caught it at the same instant, this feeling that it – that something – wasn’t right. It was only a second or two, but that motion of grabbing him up and smacking him on the back is ingrained in my brain.

I didn’t panic. I didn’t freak out. I just did what I needed to do. It was later, as I thought about it, that I realized the gravity of what had happened, what could have happened. It reminds me that we need to be present and conscious when we’re with our children, and just be in tune with them.

Now that it’s all over, though, I’m glad he’s okay and that it was nothing major. Still, watching your little guy’s eyes go wide in panic when he can’t breathe? Not good times. Having him laugh and smile just moments later like nothing happened? A lot better.

Whatever you do – don’t panic. Too late!

As the finality of my decisions sink in, I start to feel a tight knot form in my stomach. I’ve never gone without a safety net, without the comfort of a regular job and a steady income. As I look at our budget, and think about insurance for our little one, the panic starts to set in.

And then I can’t sleep at night and want to sleep all day. I don’t want to work (at the day job) because I feel paralyzed. Yet not working kindof defeats things, doesn’t it?

Right now, I don’t have enough work to cover us. Right now, I don’t know where our insurance is going to come from. Right now, I am trying to avoid a full-blown panic attack.

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