It won't stop

This has been a strange pregnancy. Very different from my girls. From how sick I've been, to the difference in my body. I've only gained 7 pounds, when with the girls I gained around 35. I feel great most of the time, but when I feel bad, I feel awful. I think I'm in more pain, but I think its mostly due to my age and the fact that I'm working part time. And this kid is A Mover. He moves so much, and he has gotten so strong, that it's painful at times. I don't know if he moves more, or if it's just because the placenta is in the back so I'm feeling more than I did when the placentas were in the front with the girls.

I had my last ultrasound yesterday. The baby's kidney issue has not gotten any worse! It's still there, but it's not looking as scary. Also, baby is growing. And growing. He is measuring a week and a half ahead! The weight guess was 5 lbs. 7oz. I know that's usually wrong, but woah.

I still have at least one moment of panic every day. It won't stop. Ever. Is he moving? When did I feel him move last? These last 2 weeks will be hard. I know that, and I know that we will get through them.

Sometimes

Some days, all I want to do is sleep. Today was most definitely one of those days. But instead, I went to work at 6am. After work, my friends and family threw us a baby shower. I have to confess that I was not feeling well. Two 6ams in a row and what I think is the remnants of food poisoning, I just didn't feel well at all. But we have these amazing friends. These amazing families. They came together today to help us celebrate the upcoming arrival of our baby boy. I am humbled to be part of such an amazing group of people. In fact, one of the friends throwing the shower is being induced with her first baby tomorrow. But here she was, throwing us a party. Another friend, the host, just moved into her house two weeks ago. It takes amazing people to do such things, and we know the best.

In spite of my almost overwhelming exhaustion today (hello crying fits over stupid crap) it is 11:30 pm and I am still awake. I've been awake for 19 hours. All I want to do is sleep but my head won't stop spinning. There are so many things going on in our life right now that I am dizzy. Good things, terrible things. The best things, the absolute worst things. Some nights I lie in bed and wonder how I made it through the day without exploding. Crying. Dissolving. I know how blessed we are. I know how much we have. I am grateful for so much. But I am also very angry right now. It doesn't do me any good. It doesn't change what is happening around us. I can put on my brave face all I want, joke about being ready to have this baby in 19 days. I can smile and laugh and joke about hormones. But underneath this, I am a mess. I am dissolving. I am flying apart in different directions and I don't know how much longer I will be able to hold it in. So I will blame hormones. I will joke about insomnia. I will cry for 10 second bursts and change the subject. I will be vague about the disasters that are changing our lives forever (to protect people's privacy). I will pack hospitals bags and wash baby clothes and pretend that this is the life we thought we would have. But underneath that, I know the truth, and even if I could sleep all day, the disasters will be there when I wake up. Luckily, so will the blessings.

We got some good news today. The baby is growing like crazy. He has more than caught up to his original EDD. The cord position doesn't seem to be affecting him at all. He moves more often now, but is still sneaky some days. The ultrasound showed him with his head under my right ribs, and his feet in his face. I know his feet will be slamming down on my bladder for the rest of the day, because that's my boy.

We also got some not amazing news. 4 weeks ago we were told that his right kidney was "slightly dilated." This is fairly common (1 in 100), especially in boys, from what I learned on Google. We were waiting to find out today if the dilation had gone away. It has not. It has actually increased. From what I gather, between talking to the u/s tech and my OB, we probably wont do anything about it until he is born. then he will need an u/s to find out if there is a blockage. He will then probably need surgery to fix it. As scary as this sounds, we are not overly concerned. We can't do anything about it right now. We can wait and we can see what happens. We can pray and we can prepare for his arrival. That's all. I feel like his kidney issues will be fine. Either they will resolve themselves, or our boy will need surgery upon arrival. Either way, we will get through this. My OB said she will be calling a high-risk OB for advice. Until then, we wait. We're also waiting for my glucose scores. Maybe this weekend we will buy the gray paint for the nursery. I have less than 10 weeks to go. 3 weeks from now, we will schedule my c-section, and we will have a countdown date.

I was going to post a couple of weeks ago about how quickly the fear fades. I've been feeling like everything is fine, this is the way pregnancy is supposed to go. I never had that with Sophia. But here I am, 19 weeks and 5 days pregnant, and it's back. I wake up at 2 am and think, "is he moving? why isn't he moving?" Nevermind the fact that I can barely even feel him most days. I know he will get stronger, and it will be easier to feel him, but I know that the 2 a.m.s wont go away. They're here forever. I feel like I will never sleep again.
Let's add to that. At our 19 week appointment, when we found out that we're having our first son, we also got some not-so-great news. He has a peripheral cord insertion, so we have to keep an extra eye on his growth. This means that the cord is attached to the placenta on the very edge, and at any time, he could stop receiving nutrients, and stop growing. The doctor reassured us, "Usually it's fine. If babies like this need to be taken early, it's not usually until around 37 weeks." Usually. I hate that word. So now I'm freaked out that I'm not getting enough nutrients in the first place, let alone to pass to him through my wonky umbilical cord. I would like to say that his growth now is perfect, he is measuring exactly, to the day, how he was from the first ultrasound at 7 weeks. But at 2 am, even that is not reassuring. At 2 am, all I can think is, "is it December yet? My body isn't a safe place for babies."

Six

My dear. Sweet baby girl.
   How can it have been six years? Six years since I held your little body in my arms. Six years since we bought a tiny white casket. Six years since I listened so hard for anything, the smallest movement, a breath, a cry. Six years since I held onto hope long after you were cold. How can it have been six years when I can still remember exactly how it felt when you would dance in my tummy. How can it have only been six years since all of the lights in the world went out?

I wish I could find more words right now to tell you much I miss you. I can only hope you hear me when I read your books to your sister. When I whisper your name in my prayers. When Sophia tells the world, "did you know I have a sister?" I can hope, I have that when it feels like I have nothing else. When I know I could live forever if I just had the sound of your voice, if I could put my hands on your cheeks and smell your hair. If I could tell you one more time what a huge piece of me you are. If. If I knew where you are. If.

I love you, my first and always princess. I love you. I need to keep saying that so I can imagine you hearing it. I love you. I can pretend the wind carries it to where you are. I love you. I can close my eyes and believe you are standing in front of me. That you understand. I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

"I'm Sorry"

Six years ago today, Mike and I were driving to the hospital. Something was wrong. We didn't know what. We'd had an easy pregnancy. We'd gotten pregnant on our first "try". It's like, we thought about having a baby, and we were going to have a baby. That easy. We were like a golden family. Lucky. Easy. Simple. But that day, she wasn't kicking like she always did. She was a gymnast, but that day, our daughter was so quiet.

There is this one stretch of road on the way to the hospital. Only a few feet, but every time I'm there, I'm there six years ago. That is the few feet of road where I knew something was wrong. Mike reached over and held my hand, and we drove the rest of the way to the hospital knowing.

How many nurses said, "I'm sorry" that day? How many times have we heard it since?  What else is there to say? I almost feel like I need to apologize to people when I tell them. Because they don't know what to say, they feel trapped. But we're trapped too. I've thought over the past few weeks, that it's been six years. I should be better at this. I shouldn't be on the floor, curled in a ball, falling, falling.. After six years, shouldn't I be able to stand up? How do you do this? When does it become just another day? When will I not have to take time off of work, because this is the day my daughter died. Try writing that on a time off request form. I do, every year.

Sophia and I were out today, and I ended up on that road. I don't know how or why. Suddenly, I was on that highway, heading nowhere I wanted to be. It's almost as though I was forced to drive those few feet again. After I shook it off, we turned around and drove home. We were going to go to the cemetery, because the snowstorm tonight will prevent us from going tomorrow. But we're at home instead. I can't drive to Bountiful, drive up those winding, steep hills, and stand in front of that headstone today. I feel unprepared and selfish. I'm exhausted from the short conversation I had with Sophia about going.

"We're going to the cemetery today because it's going to snow tomorrow." "What's a cemetery?" "It's where she's buried, baby." "Oh! I know! That's how she died. Someone buried her." "No, baby. No."
She wants to know why her sister died, and we will never be able to tell her. So she comes up with her own ideas, and they hurt. They hurt. And now I can't face the thought of going up there. Not now. Later. I'll go later, and trudge through the snow, and place some trinkets on her grave, and stand there feeling useless, like i do every time.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

It's been 7 years since I've watched the Oscars. 6 years ago when the Oscars were on, I was lying in a hospital bed dying. My daughter was dead. My heart was broken. I could not move. I could barely speak. Our baby was gone, and so was I. We were trying to prepare ourselves for what was going to happen next. Our family was there. I was being poked and prodded and hooked up to machines that would get my body ready to deliver my baby. My dead child. The little girl I had thought we would watch growing up. The little girl we would watch as she learned to walk, talk, laugh, cry. She was dead. Her whole life was gone. Not just the 9 months I had carried her, but her entire life. Gone.
So tonight is Oscar night again. The tv is on and I cannot watch. All I can think about is that Sunday night 6 years ago. I don't care who wins. I don't think I will ever care again.