Posts Tagged ‘relief’


Thank you

September 10, 2010

Thanks to all of you who remembered Teddy with me during the week of his birth.  It helps (and sometimes it’s the only thing that does) to know that my little guy is remembered, and I am so grateful to all of you for that.

I’m sitting here in an office that looks like a disaster site, wondering if the Very Important Papers I need are at the bottom of a pile on the floor, or at the bottom of one of the piles on my desk.  I am wearing no makeup and have circles under my eyes that would make me look haunted and interesting if I weren’t, well, let’s face it, too puffy and round a person to pull off haunted and interesting.  I am recovering from a cold so my trash can is overflowing with tissues and none of the cough drops I’ve tried so far seem to be working.  I have spilled coffee and breastmilk (I may, someday, miss pumping milk, but I doubt it – there’s an entire post in this somewhere as I know it’s something I should appreciate more) on my keyboard.

Today I was paid, and roughly 80% of my paycheck went to the people who take care of Dot while I work, so I’ll be making lots of recipes with tuna and beans this week, and we may have to forgo some organic produce.  I’m still wearing maternity pants because my belly sometimes craves the comfort of elastic and I’m too vain to buy non-maternity clothes with elastic waists.  I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over a month, and I haven’t had a great night’s sleep since November 2009.

From outward appearances, I’m a mess, and so is my life.

But I feel like I may have weathered the storm that, this year, was August.  I poke my head outside my cave and look at the sky, searching for storm clouds, and find only a few that are vaguely threatening.  The air smells like rain instead of like heartache.

I look at a photograph of Teddy’s sweet, stubborn little face and think about how I miss him and about how he was so beautiful – it’s not just my imagination; he really was. It still aches, but instead of the crazy and unpredictable pain that throbbed and stabbed its way through August, this is the old pain again, my familiar, mostly-bearable pain.  I welcome it back, carry it with me through the day.  I stretch my arms out and smile at September.

I love you, Baby.

I think he knows.


Heartbreak averted

August 13, 2009

This baby I’m carrying doesn’t like being tracked by doppler.

After spending half an hour in the waiting room before my appointment (extra fun when you can feel anxiety building with every passing minute), I sat through the routine questions and chart updates.  Then my doctor pulled out the gel (N and I keep joking that we should have purchased stock in gel.  It seems like I’ve been through enough of it in the past two years to single-handedly support the industry that makes it) and started hunting for baby’s heartbeat with the doppler.  My heartbeat was very loud, but baby’s couldn’t be found.

And after several minutes, still couldn’t be found.  Again.  And while the doctor was reassuring and seemed to think that everything would be fine, it felt like she wasn’t quite so reassuring as she’d been when this happened at our last prenatal appointment.  She stepped out to warm up the ultrasound machine, while N and I stewed and sweated in the exam room.

It felt like hours before we were able to move down to the ultrasound room, though it was probably only minutes.  Then, after what felt like a another small eternity, the inside of my uterus showed up on the screen with a still, tiny figure floating in the middle of it.  I couldn’t see the heartbeat or any movement; I was certain we were doomed.  And, just then, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, kick! We watched him/her wiggle enthusiastically for several minutes, obviously and emphatically alive.  My doctor speculated that this child of mine may have been moving around too much for the doppler to pick up the heartbeat. I’m so relieved I can barely function.

As we walked into the parking lot I looked down at my belly and said, “Kid,” in the sternest tone I could muster, and N put his hand on my belly and said (to my belly), “We’re so glad you’re okay.”  Then, to me: “No scolding the baby just yet.”

He’s right, of course, but even if things go really, really well, I think I’ll have a head full of white hair before this child even hits the teenage years.

I should be so lucky.