It's true. I am pregnant. Finally. But, like all of my other pregnancies, this one couldn't just be easy.
I found out I was pregnant on Mother's Day. What a fabulous gift! This pregnancy would be it! This one would be normal!
Nope.
At my 6 week ultrasound, the tech saw the sack which measured correctly. However, she did not see the baby developing like it should have. It was nothing more than a "yolk" (her words) without a heartbeat. At 6 weeks, there should have been a heartbeat.
The doctor said with a look of sadness on his face that "it was still early" and that "we should wait to see at another scan in a week or so". I knew what that meant. I've already lost 4 other babies. He was just giving me a week or so of hope before my baby would be gone from me forever.
I went home in tears. My next U/S would be at 8 weeks since I was about to leave town for my niece's graduation in Florida. I quickly contacted some of the most reliable, most trusted people in my life who promptly started praying for me and for my baby.
I prepared my mind for the (assumed) fact that I was about to have another miscarriage. I cried. Oh, how I cried. I yelled at God. I even had several moments where my faith wavered. How could God be doing this to us again? I pleaded with God. I remember, the night before the ultrasound,
absolutely poring my heart and soul out to God, begging him "Please!
Please! Please don't let me lose another!" Verbally yelling this to Him. Then I just decided to give it all to Him. I kind of just gave up that night and said that this baby was His to do with what He wanted, no matter how much I wanted it here. I handed all of my fears and worries over.
I went in to the ultrasound room expecting to hear that the baby was officially gone. I had even made peace with that. But I was in for a shock.
As I stared at the ceiling waiting for the ultrasound to be over, I hear the tech say with shock in her voice "Everything looks great!" Wait... What? "Look. The baby is measuring right on track. There is it's little heart pumping away."
MY BABY WAS ALIVE.
Not only was the baby alive, but it's growth had caught up 100% and it has a strong heartbeat. They seemed as shocked as I was. As I am.
But you know what? I shouldn't be. God works MIRACLES. He works them all the time and I am proof. My baby is proof!
So yeah. I am currently almost 10 weeks pregnant, due New Years. I am announcing this early and I am one to know for a fact that things can change, but I want everybody to know about the miracle that God has done for us.
I found this article online and I found it hit pretty close to home.
"Losing the Baby: My week of gestational limbo. By Sarah Shemkus
"Last month, I decorated a Christmas
tree, baked holiday cookies, and wrapped dozens of presents. All the
while, I was having a miscarriage.
On TV and in the movies, a miscarriage involves an unsuspecting
mother-to-be suddenly clutching her gut, discovering some worrisome
blood, and rushing to the hospital. A few hours later she lies wanly in
bed while her loved ones whisper that she has “lost the baby.” Parenting
websites explain the causes of miscarriage and encourage you to be
optimistic about your future chances of conception. They tell you it’s
OK to grieve. But like the TV shows that cut quickly from the sudden
cramping to the sad, hushed aftermath, they don't tell you anything
about what a miscarriage is actually like.
Let me tell you about my miscarriage.
When my pregnancy should have been about nine weeks along, my husband
and I headed into the doctor's office for my first ultrasound. It was a
Tuesday, Christmas Eve. We were looking forward to seeing an amorphous
gray blob on the screen and trying earnestly to see in it our future
baby boy or girl; we were eager to hear a heartbeat. But the image that
popped up on the monitor was far less encouraging: a dense black patch
containing no tiny pulsating heart, no cryptic but exhilarating gray
squiggles.
Here’s the primary thing they never tell you about miscarriage: When
used by medical professionals, the word refers to the entirety of a
nonviable early pregnancy, a period that can span weeks. It starts when
cell division in the embryo grinds quietly to a halt; the blood and the
passing of tissue that we think of as “a miscarriage” are but the final
phase. It is a lingering process. For a full week I was in a sort of
gestational limbo, feeling neither pregnant nor truly unpregnant.
This ambiguity left me painfully confused about the most mundane of
situations. Hours after the ultrasound disappointment, my sister was
ordering sushi for our family and I nearly cried when she asked what I
wanted. There was no longer any real need to restrict myself to cucumber
rolls and spider maki, but a spicy tuna roll—raw and potentially
mercury-laced—just felt inappropriate, callous. Before Christmas dinner
the next night I actually did shed tears trying to decide whether a
glass of sauvignon blanc would help me relax or, after more than a month
of temperance, simply throw my situation into painful relief.
Confusion was just one emotion. There has been the sadness, of
course, like a mineshaft boring down behind my ribcage. There have been
understandable, if unfounded, pinpricks of guilt as I wonder whether I
could have done something differently to stop this from happening. These
feelings are well covered by the baby blogs.
There have also, however, been unexpected and pervasive feeling of
foolishness, the sense that I was being stupidly naive whenever I
daydreamed about my future child. It is almost embarrassing to remember
the light-hearted conversations about baby names, the nursery decoration
ideas I saved on a secret Pinterest board called “Baby Rooms.” It seems
that when I told my best friend, “I’m pregnant!” I already wasn't, not
really, and I feel ridiculous and slightly ashamed whenever I think of
that cheerful declaration.
At the same time, however, I can't help but wonder if I have grieved
enough. On pregnancy websites and discussion boards, I read stories of
women who cried for days and mourned for months after their
miscarriages. That has not been me. I have cried and might again (a rack
of onesies in Target the other day pushed some emotional buttons), but I
confess it didn't take me long to begin healing. It took less than a
week to start re-adjusting my expectations for the coming months so that
they no longer included watching my belly slowly swell and feeling the
kick of new life. Today, my lost pregnancy is a bittersweet
might-have-been, not a gaping hole.
Occasionally, I even feel a bit relieved, though I know I’m not
supposed to admit such a thing. My husband and I dearly wanted this
almost-child, but we also worried whether we were ready, financially and
emotionally, to expand our family. So, threaded through the heavy
curtain of our mourning are a few silver threads of comfort. At least we
no longer have to plan an expensive move. At least we’ll have less debt
by the next pregnancy.
Among this whole assortment of emotions, however, the most burning
feeling was anticipation. I found myself eagerly awaiting the one thing
most pregnant women fear: the pain and the blood. I did not get the
quick cut to post-miscarriage grieving. I started bleeding ever so
slightly on a Thursday, two days after we received the crushing news.
From that point on, I made every trip to the bathroom with a vigilant
eye, assessing whether there was more blood this time than the last
time. Every appointment I put in my calendar for the following week had a
mental asterisk next to it: *as long as I am not curled up in bed,
wracked with cramps.
Still, I wanted the worst to come. I wanted out of the confounding
state of neither-nor, out of knowing the end was inevitable but still
carrying within me some genetic fragment of my previous dreams. I wanted
something physical and visible to give shape to the formless fog of
unhappiness around me, something I could point to and say, “That. That
is why, sometimes, out of the blue my hand starts shaking a little and
why the tears pop up at the strangest of times.”
On Sunday, the slow trickle of blood escalated into the painful
cramping and heavy bleeding that finally ushered the nonviable tissue
from my body. I laid on the couch and watched football and crime dramas
while my husband fetched pizza and made me hot chocolate. I was quiet
and somber, but I did not cry. Over the following days, the bleeding
ebbed, though it did not disappear completely for nearly a week. My body
was still wrapping things up, putting the final touches on my brief
brush with pregnancy.
Exactly one week after that first, sad ultrasound, I called the
doctor's office to update her, as instructed, on the progress of my
miscarriage. When my doctor was unavailable, the receptionist tried to
determine where to route my call.
“Are you pregnant?” she asked.
“No,” I answered. “I am not.”"
While I didn't write the words above, like I said, they were so eerily close to what I have experienced it. Sarah's words were so perfect I wanted to share them with you.
I did it. I let my thoughts go there. I assumed the worst because, hey, what reason do I have not to let my thoughts go in that direction?
I tested my (almost) 2 year old daughter's blood sugar, due to a quickly filled diaper.
Being diabetic has ruined my thoughts. Where most parents would say, "Hey. She has had a lot to drink today because of dehydrating meds and stubbornness of eating the solid foods placed in front of her, leading to a quicker emptying bladder.", I think "Omg. Omg. She's chugging liquid. A sign she has diabetes too! Her diaper has filled too too quickly. Frequent urination? Another sign! Omg. My baby has diabetes." Why must stupid diabetes force my mind into immediate assumptions?
So I did all I know to do (other than worry). I got out my blood sugar tester and pricked her tiny, unblemished fingertip. I squeezed out a drop of blood and put it on the strip, as she said "Ouch, mommy! Sugar, mommy? Ouch!" I waited that long agonizing 5 seconds for a result to pop up on the screen.
And I prayed.
I prayed that she wouldn't have diabetes this young. I prayed that she wouldn't ever have to understand first hand what I have to understand... to live. I prayed that the number that popped up on that screen would at least be between 90-120. I prayed. Oh, God. I prayed.
97. Her blood sugar (an after dinner one, at that) was only 97. Perfect. Not the extreme, telling high number I was fearing. Her drinking? Just because she was thirsty. Huh. Imagine that. Drinking to quench a normal thirst only and not to quench a high blood sugar induced thirst (yes. They are different.). And a wet diaper because she just had a lot to drink because of that previously mentioned normal thirst.
Not diabetes. Not my baby. Not this time.
Though this was the first time I've felt the need to act on these thoughts, I'm sure it won't be the last.
Today is one of my many baby loss anniversaries. Though I did go on to become a mother thanks to Selah, memories of this day will always be with me. It doesn't help that history keeps repeating itself.
I found the following on Mamamia I think this is so sad. Girls as young as seven thinking they need to be on a diet. Sure, they should be eating healthy (as should we all), but they shouldn't feel the need to document it all. Eating disorder in the making, anyone?
The article:
Help: My daughter is seven. And I found this in her room.
By AMY CHENEY
I found this today in my daughter’s room. My daughter is seven. It
was innocently sitting on the floor amongst the Polly Pockets,
friendship bracelets and a variety of other crap seven-year-olds love to
hoard.
Diyet. Jesus.
Where did she learn the word diet? How does she even know what a freaking diet is?
Whose fault is this? Is it mine because I let her play with Barbies?
Because sometimes she’s allowed to watch Total Drama Action? Is it
because when I draw with her I can only draw stick figures? Seventeen Poosh-ups two times a day.
I felt sick. Physically ill. Like someone had knocked the air from my chest.
I could feel myself getting increasingly anxious the more words I was able to interpret from her seven-year-old spelling. Three Appals, One Per, Two Keewee Froots.
How did this happen?
I am smart about this stuff. I have a degree in early childhood studies. Our family focuses on and promotes healthy eating and healthy bodies. Our attitudes are reasonable and balanced. Weight has never been an issue in our home – it is, for the most part, irrelevant.
I have never stood before my husband and queried ‘does my arse look big in this’. Ever. Is media to blame for this?Rid my bike three time a day.
And then I got angry. Really, really angry.
F*ck you society. F*ck you and your and stupid obsession with women and the way they look.
How dare you sneak into my home with your ridiculous standards and
embed them in my little girls head, polluting her innocence with your
pathetic ideals. Jog/run up and down the driv way three times.
Your unrealistic expectations will not win in my house.
I am tired of the beauty and body obsessed arena we live in. I am
tired of women being portrayed as objects to be saluted and admired or
shunned and shamed depending on whether they measure up to societies
idealistic standards. I am tired of the conformist attitudes. And then,
because I was so tired (and sad, so sad) that I cried.
When Miss Seven arrived home from school I talked to her about her diet note.
Turns out she learned about diets from one of her seven-year-old friends who was on one.
So together we chatted about diets and beautiful healthy bodies and the gift that they are.
I am not naive. I know this will not be the last time I talk about
food and weight and bodies with my daughter. I am just ultra pissed that
it had to start when she was seven.
My twitter and blog friend Andrea from From Playgrounds to Politics posted a blog post the other day that rang pretty true. A lot of parents bury their heads in the technology in the name of "creating memories". That's not how you create memories.
Nope, I’m not going to post pictures of the entire afternoon, because I didn’t even bring my camera.
Nope, I didn’t post a Facebook Status and live-tweet the whole time
about what a great time we had, because I didn’t even bring my cellphone
or iPad.
Nope, I’m not blogging about what we did all day, because I enjoyed
the day with the kids without thinking about how I was going to make
this fit into a blog post.
Nope, I’m not going to post super-funny quotes and anecdotes about
what my kids said and did all day; not because there wasn’t a bunch, but
I’m going to savor those just for myself.
As I frolicked through the museum with my kids and let them lead the
way, I played with them, I engaged them, I watched them from the
sidelines. I enjoyed the moment without watching them obstructed from
behind a camera lens; so afraid of missing the moment that I forgot to
actually enjoy the moment happening. I didn’t sit there off in the
corner like countless parents that I did see say, “yuh-huh, okay” to
their excited kids as they could barely look up from what was ever so
captivating on the glow of their phone screen. I mean, I’m sure their
emails and their Facebook’s and all the live-tweeting about how great a
time they were having “playing” with their kids was so important, but
today I wasn’t going to parent from behind a screen, and I had a blast.
So did my kids.
We learn about humanity and can predict behaviors from history and
from statistics and from experience. But we don’t have statistics about
what our kids will grow up like with a generation of parents who can
barely look at them because their cellphones are much more important
than they are. We can’t tell from history what a society of kids will
become when raised by masses of parents that can’t seem to put their
cameras down to watch their kids explore a museum or play soccer without
videotaping it or check texts before they check their diapers. It’s
not like our parents didn’t take pictures of us and talk on the phones,
but with the ease of the mobile devices and smart-phones, it seems like
it is multiplied by a thousand. I go to my kid’s school concert and
it’s like the paparazzi in the aisles don’t want to miss a move their
subjects make. Are they even listening to their kids sing? You go to
the museum and it’s not just the pictures: it’s the pictures, then it’s
the reposing because that one didn’t come out great, and we have a
digital camera that you can check the image, so let’s take a million,
and hold on just a sec- instagram is slow.. and on and on.
This is not fun for your kids, I promise.
Sometimes it’s nice just to not bring the technology along and feel
the freedom of not being interrupted by cellphone calls and posing for
the perfect picture and making sure my followers know what and where we
are doing and pausing to get that Foursquare check-in logged before we
head over to the carousel.
I promise you, when you go to the lobby, they will have a working
phone available for you in case of an emergency. I promise you, our
parent’s had things on their mind all the time, but they didn’t have to
text everyone they knew about it immediately, and somehow they seemed to
manage okay. I promise you, you will remember playing with your kids
even if you don’t have a flip-book full of digital pictures of your
kid’s every move that you probably won’t even print out anyway. I
promise you, your kids will enjoy it when they tell you something cool
and you actually respond with sincere joy and interest.
I really like the John Lennon Quote,”Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.”
Well, it’s true. You know what else rings, true:
“Life is what happens when you’re stuck behind your smart phone.” - Me.
In honor of that, I am posting a list of things I want to teach my daughter that I found on the internet (here).
1. Music is universal. 2. You can make the world a better place by being a better person. 3. Kindness can never be overdone. 4. Never chase a man. 5. Be the brains, and the beauty will follow. 6. Respect your body. 7. Respect yourself. 8. Never trust a man who is unkind to his mother. 9. Never depend on a man (or anyone else) to give you what you want. Get it yourself. 10. "There is no one alive who is Youer than You." 11. Dance like nobody's watching. 12. Love with passion. 13. Bad hair days happen- wear a headband. 14. Listen to lyrics- they heal broken hearts. 15. Use writing to vent frustration, rather than speaking mean words. 16. A good book can change your perception. 17. "You is kind. 18. You is smart. 19. You is important." 20. Good girls are good, not boring. 21. Make mistakes. 22. Learn from your mistakes. 23. Travel. 24. "It isn't what we say or think that defines us, but what we do." 25. Play fair, fight fair. 26. Wine should be sipped, not chugged. 27. Tea and poetry are better than coffee and talk shows. 28. You can always borrow my clothes, if I can borrow yours. 29. Find your own voice- write it, speak it, be it. 30. Stand up for what you believe is right. 31. Don't gossip, unless you want to be gossiped about. 32. Your daddy will love you more than any man you ever meet. 33. Decide who you want to be and be confident in your decision. 34. Define yourself by your own attributes, not by what other's expect from you. 35. Pick flowers and put them in your hair. 36. Be the kind of friend you want to have. 36. Dare to be different. 37. Life is fast, live slow. 38. Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty. 39. Bad haircuts will grow out. 40. Days without laughter are wasted. 41. Shel Silverstein's books are not just for children. 42. Read everything by Nicholas Sparks. 43. "I'll back you up." 44. Go barefoot. 45. Always share secrets with your mother. 46. Do unto others as you'd have done to you. 47. It hurts to be beautiful. (my mother use to say this when brushing my hair...it's not metaphorical) 48. You are not entitled to anything, it has to be earned. 49. Promises are always worth keeping. 50. Secrets should only be shared with your mother. 51. Happiness is a choice. 52. Fairytales are real if you believe in them. 53. You make your own fate. 54. Dream big or don't bother. 55. Big rewards are made from big risks. 56. "Anything can happen child, anything can be." 57. Someone else is happy with less than what you have. 58. Girlfriends- the real kind- are better than therapy. 59. Find a way to create art, it can save your soul. 60. Take pictures & cherish every. single. memory. 61. Apologizing takes strength. Be strong. 62. Forgive, but don't forget. 63. Sometimes you have to fake it. 64. You will always remember your first kiss- make it worth the memory. 65. Sometimes I will choose to be your mother, not your friend. 66. All you have is your word- make it stronger than oak. 67. Find friends who become family. 68. If it looks too good to be true, then it probably is. 69. Never wear clothing to attract boys, it will attract the wrong kind. 70. "A room without books is like a body without a soul." 71. Be a lion, not a lamb. 72. Imperfections make you perfectly you. 72. Water-proof mascara is necessary when watching Steel Magnolia. 73. Choose what you eat to be healthy not skinny. 74. Choose the path less traveled, I hear it makes all the difference. 75. You don't need long hair to be feminine. 76. Your brother's will scare off any boy who does not treat you with respect. 77. I will love whoever you choose to love. 78. You will always be my girl. 79. The key to looking "naturally" beautiful is great mascara and a little blush. 80. A pint of icecream and a chick flick will make it better. 81. Daddy will probably never say no to you, so get his credit card and let's go shopping. 82. Daddy will help you with Math homework. 83. I'll read you novels. 84. Let the sun shine on your face. 85. Life can change in an instant, hold on like hell to what you have. 86. If you're trying to convince yourself you're right, then you're probably wrong. 87. "Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously." 89. The secrets of life can be found in the novels of Jane Austen. 90. When you say, "no," mean it. 91. Ponytails are just easier. 92. "For every minute you are angry, you lose 60 seconds of happiness." 93. Money does not buy happiness, but it sure is nice. 94. Mommy and Daddy will love you regardless. 95. Guardian angels are real. 96. Sunshine on your shoulders will always get you high. 97. "Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall- all you have to do is call." 98. Daddy will always be home. 99. I will always be home. 100. "Home is where the heart is."
Today, I decided to try giving Selah little pieces of cooked frozen waffle (Gluten-free, of course) and she loved it.
Then she reached for the piece in my hand, grabbed it with her thumb and pointer finger, and then put it in her mouth. All by herself with no prompting from mama. Ever.
She's so proud of herself!
My little girl is growing up way, way too fast. The fever has definitely returned (as if we all didn't already know that). :)
I will continue to remember that little one and the milestones that should be when I see Selah hit hers.
I will realize (in an odd way) that there would be no Selah if it weren't for that loss. Oh, how I wish I could have both of my babies.
I will keep hugging Selah a little tighter, kissing her a little more often, smelling her sweet baby smell a little longer, more than most parents.
I won't forget the lost and I will keep appreciating the one I have in my arms.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Diabetes didn't keep me from being a mother, but it's keeping me from being the mother I want to be. I know I'm not alone, but I still feel so isolated with it.
