checking in

I just got online for the first time in over seven months. Wow. The world keeps turning and sometimes good things happen to good people. Monica, I can't believe that I completely missed your pregnancy. Not that I could have "been there" with you. I can barely be here for myself!

I'm not complaining. Not a bit. I just accept the reality that, for me, being a mom (at least at this stage of motherhood, we'll see what the future holds) means that pretty much everything else falls away.

Before I write anything more I have to say:


*Our baby girl Sophia was born on March 7th, just two days shy of being "full term" (36 weeks 5 days) at 6 lbs and 2 oz and 20 inches long!
*She came home with us the very next day (a "take home baby," yay!).
*Vincent, not quite two yet, came into the hospital room to meet her and said "Baby Sister, you get off my momma!"
*She was born with a lot of dark hair that stood straight up like a faux-hawk, so cute. My MIL kept trying to smooth it down, not listening to me when I explained to her that this is what her hair just does; the result would be baby girl looking like she had been through a wind tunnel--hair all at an angle (still cute).
*As one of our residents is known to say "she looks like a living doll." She is, too. So sweet I call her sugar.
*She started sleeping through the night before 3 months. Really. I'd put her down at 9 pm and she'd sleep until 6,7, sometimes 8 the next morning. Since I went to sleep then, too, that meant that I was getting my sleep, too. Holy cow--having been on the other side of that I feel like I've hit the jackpot.
*She was "colicky" though--after a couple weeks and until almost three months, she would scream from about 7 pm until 9 (if we were lucky) but usually closer to midnight. Nothing "worked," I'm convinced that it's neurological and some babies just have to go through it. We just loved her, held her--did the 5 S thing--and eventually she would fall asleep. Fortunately Mr. C would take her if it went passed 10 or so, then bring her back to me after an hour or two. It's funny how you almost forget this once it's over (Vincent would cry night and day, though, I don't know that I'll ever forget that! Mr. C, on the other hand, actually said to me at some point "We didn't really go through this with Vincent, did we?" I guess the important word there is "we" since he was so intimidated by Vincent that he hardly took him until he was much older.)
*She's almost 7 months old now and is sleeping in her own room in the crib. If she wakes up and cries I wait and she stops within 2 minutes or so. It was so hard at first to let her cry, but I learned the hard way, so I got through it. I'd watch the clock and, sure enough, within just a few minutes she would fall back to sleep. Since she was right next to me in the bassinet I knew that she was OK.
*And now, after almost 2 1/2 years, Vincent is finally going to sleep on his own, in his own room, even in a big-boy bed! He sleeps through the night (minus a couple of tumbles out of bed when he was getting used to the new bed) and even goes down for his nap without too much complaining.
*That is why I am able to be here--I've taken back the night! All I knew of helping babies sleep was Sears vs. Ferber, I really thought that you either fell on one side of the spectrum or the other. I wanted to hold and cuddle my boy as much as humanly possible. Fortunately I know more about sleep needs, etc. now and things are going amazingly better (and no one is doing much--if any--crying, either, so wah-hoo!)

thirty-four weeks

It's been a bumpy road getting this far, but today we made it to thirty-four weeks. Mr. C has been very nervous that I'll go into labor any minute. I'm feeling a little more at ease. A week from today the cerclage comes out and, assuming that we make it that far (and I am feeling pretty confident that we will), each day after that will be uncharted territory.

The GD hasn't been bad at all. If anything, it has ensured that I eat regularly--since I have to test my blood sugar four times a day. My numbers have been fine, though.

I'm feeling a pretty even split as to whether or not I am ready for this little lady to be here on the outside yet. I want her to continue cooking, of course.

William 2/1/2006

William,

I thought about you all day today. I had to count on my fingers to make sure that it was true, that five years have gone by since you were here with us. Five years. The other day I was skimming through Facebook and saw the silly face of the little girl who's birthday was just a few days after you were due. Her mommy and I were so excited to be pregnant at the same time, were planning to go to childbirth classes together. Now when I see pictures of her I always see a shadow of you near by. Five. I remember being five, such a happy age.

You know how much I miss you. Daddy does, too. Each year when this day comes along I wish that there was something that I could do. I know other moms and dads take time apart in remembrance, make cakes or go to the cemetery. For me each year has been different. I wanted to go to get a new box to keep all of your things in, but my big event for the day was going to the doctor to check on your baby sister.

February is here. Decorated with hearts and sentiments of love. It used to hurt to see these things. It doesn't anymore. I remember where I sat, for weeks it seems, after you were born. This same little laptop kept me from completely falling into the abyss. As Valentine's Day was approaching I looked for a love poem to share with your Daddy. ee cummings has always been my favorite poet, and when I came across this poem I was dumbfounded. I thought I had read all of his poems, how had I never seen this before? It was like it had been written just for us.

i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it
(anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

GTT take two

I failed the one hour Glucose Tolerance Test (again, this happened last pregnancy, too). So yesterday I spent almost 4 hours at the lab. After fighting nausea for the first hour it went ok. The lab has a private waiting room with a little love seat where I could wait in relative comfort.

I got a voicemail from the nurse today saying she needs to talk to me about the results, so that doesn't bode well. I've called back but am now waiting for her to return my call. If it isn't one thing it's another. (I passed the three hour test last time.)

And I should have a more positive attitude today, since I had an ultrasound this morning that showed my cervix measuring 3.5 cm But, instead, I am in a total funk.

This is stressful. On all of us. I just keep telling myself that it's only a few more weeks until I can resume somewhat normal activity again.

This, too, shall pass.

bed rest

When I was pregnant with Vincent I think some of the people in my life started to doubt that the pregnancy was really high risk. My cervix kept measuring almost 4 cm and other than being "worried" I seemed just fine. Never mind that once I got home from work every day I spent most of my time on the couch.

Anyway, when my water broke at 35 weeks we had our confirmation. There was never any doubt, in anyone's mind, that we would have another cerclage this time and follow the protocol for an IC/high risk pregnancy.

Things were going great until a few weeks ago. I ended up spending a few hours in triage at my hospitals L&D hooked up to the monitors while they watched me have lots of little contractions. The longer I laid there, the more spaced apart they became until they finally stopped. Those lovely contractions were accompanied by a lot of pressure "down there" and lower back pain, so it was nothing to ignore. The OB who was on call did an FfN (they take a swab & it gives a pretty accurate measure of whether or not you will go into labor within the next two weeks or so) and it came back negative so we went home feeling somewhat reassured. We scaled back my activity level for a few days (Mr. C and his folks both helped out a lot more with Vincent) and I stopped going to work. I settled in to a new routine, with Vincent and I at home every day.

Then, last Wednesday, we went for an ultrasound and found out that my cervix is measuring 3.1 cm. Some women would cheer at that measurement, but my cervix only got down to 3.5 at 31 weeks with Vincent and that was the last time they measured. So it scared us all. Now we have a lovely woman here during the days to help with Vincent and she takes care of the housework, too. And I am trying to stay positive.

I saw my Dr yesterday and he reinforced what we had decided on our own--modified bed rest. Which, according to him, means that I am to do as little as possible. Really, the only way that I could do total bed rest (I don't mean the hospital kind, which I've done, where you can't even get up to pee and they put those inflating boots on you to prevent blood clots) would be if I had someone watching Vincent all day. My lovely helper is here from 9 until 3:30 and that leaves a lot of hours in the day. He is content to crawl up on the couch with me for a short amount of time and then it's back to "show me," as he grabs my hand to take me to show me his toys or take me to another room.

Yesterday was the 28 week milestone, or the bronze medal, as my Dr calls it. He says 31 weeks is silver and 34 weeks is gold. I am filled with so many conflicting emotions and just feel so tired. It's odd, being on bed rest I would think I'd be, well, rested. But instead I feel worn out and have insomnia. Vincent woke up three times last night then ended up in bed with us until he woke up for good a full four hours earlier than I am used to. I've tried to sleep today but to no avail.

I know I need to look on the bright side. And I do. 28 weeks is fantastic and she is healthy and strong, I can tell. Girls do much better than boys when they are premature, so there's that, too. And Vincent is happy and we have someone so amazing here helping us. And even though we really don't need one more expense (still paying off bills from the last pregnancy!) we'd rather pay to have someone here than to have a long NICU stay. I could go on...

I could also vent about all of the not so bright thoughts I've been having, but I'll continue to keep them to myself. At least for now. Last time we had one goal: Live Baby. This pregnancy after a loss thing is not any easier the second time around. It's hard in different ways, but, like grief, it can't be measured quantitatively. It is hard. And I really think this is the last time we'll do it. That realization was painful at first, but it is becoming more and more sure to me (us). It makes me sad, though. I saw us as a bigger family.

OK, now that I got myself crying I suppose I should stop writing.

The little guy

These pictures are in no particular order and don't really represent any kind of chronology. I think the most recent picture was taken when he was 14 months old...? I need to dump the photos from my camera and my iphone onto my computer. At any rate, I realized that I haven't posted any pictures of the little guy since he was only a few months old.

inching along

Two days from now it will be the exact (gestational) day that William was born and died. I have an appointment with the high risk specialist tomorrow. While I have no reason to expect anything but good news from the ultrasound I am still a bundle of nerves. Less so than I would be if I didn't have the appointment scheduled. When I was pregnant with Vincent I made the mistake of not scheduling one for the loss week. I was a mess.

We had the "big" ultrasound three weeks ago. They are so thorough, looking at everything...and that darn doctor is so doom and gloom. The baby is fine. But before I got to feel ok about everything he did his best to scare me to death. There is (was?) a cyst on the brain. The u/s tech told me it means nothing and that it will go away. He eventually told me pretty much the same, but not until after he went over all of the chromosomal risk factors and how the cysts sometimes go along with Trisomy 18 (I think this is the one) but that this baby shows none of the other signs. So why not say that to begin with? He also had me worried about the baby's size, telling me that he was concerned that at 10 oz the measurements were a week behind where I should be. I didn't think that sounded small for 19 weeks 5 days, but he just kept bringing it up--saying it might not be significant, but it certainly wasn't insignificant and we would need to keep an eye on things. I got home and checked all of the pregnancy apps on my iphone and then googled it, too, and it is right in the normal range. I talked to my OB about him and without even having to go into all of the details he had the same take on this doctor as I do. But he's the only peri in town. Oh, and I found out that I have (had?) marginal placenta previa. We'll see how that is going tomorrow. I am not worried about it.

And we found out that this is, indeed, a baby girl. I honestly would have been equally happy to find out that it was another boy. It is starting to sink in that we're having a girl, though. So now we are dealing with the whole name thing. We pretty much have decided on what we'll name her and I think I made a mistake by telling people. We kept it a secret with Vincent once we decided (which was pretty late in the pregnancy anyway) and that way no one could give us their opinion since it wasn't up for debate.

Vincent is 19 months old and is talking like crazy now, so many words and phrases. Today I said the name to him and asked him if he could say it. He mouthed it to me a couple of times and then a moment later said it really loud.

___________
update:
*The cyst is gone.
*The placenta is moving up, as expected.
*Baby girl is growing great! 1 lb 4 oz
*We left without setting another appointment. I will talk to my OB, but I think we can monitor my cervix here at the hospital, rather than at the specialist's office.
*Mr. C said a name today that I am now seriously considering. We'll see.

another tiny bean

I've wanted to post for weeks. But it's the same old thing--hard to find the time to write and then there's the old paranoia. It gets better, but it's still there.

Every milestone, every check point, every little victory...followed by the old familiar fear and the sensation that there's another shoe and it's gonnna drop.

But here we are again.

I had cerclage surgery last Tuesday, just as I started week 16. Everything went well, very well. And now I am recovering and will figure out, each day, how to "take it easy" while being a mom to a very active 18 month old.

We had a hard time getting pregnant with Vincent and expected it to take a while again. Five weeks later, when I finally admitted to myself that my period was a week late, a test from the dollar store confirmed it. It's been a combination of joy, fear, denial, and hope ever since.

Mothership gave me my first P17 shot this morning. One down, twenty more to go. If we make it that far then it will be a week farther than I made it with Vincent. Into the pregnancy, that is, as he was born at week 35. I stopped the P17 shots at 28 weeks with him. Why did I do that? My doctors exhibited very little faith in the shots, so maybe I was influenced by that. I don't know. At any rate, I stopped and a few weeks later my water broke. Interestingly, this time my doctor brought them up on his own. He seems to have had a change of heart about them.

Other than the familiarities of a pregnancy after a loss and all of the high-risk blah, blah, blah--this pregnancy is completely different than my first and second. It's hard not to buy in to all of the old wive's tales and imagine that this time it's a little girl. Time will tell. Of course that is of no real concern to me. Alive, that is all I care about.

Loose ends

Why do people take down their blogs or erase all or most of their posts when they feel like they are "done"?

I just don't get it.

I realize that I haven't posted in so long that this blog is pretty much done. But I think that it will just sit here, even then. Probably a Good-Bye post, if I really do feel like it is over, but still it will exist.

The reason why is that it is a record of where I have been. I no longer reference it, but others may. Over the years I have received many e-mails in addition to the comments that let me know that it has offered something to people out there. So maybe it still will. I know that when I really needed it I found some blogs that helped me keep my head above water. Most of those blogs no longer exist. A couple of them still do.

I understand not blogging anymore. My days are full from beginning to end. It's just the deleting that I don't understand. Maybe someone can help me see why it's done.

------------------

That being said, the reason I got online this morning is because it's been bugging me that in my last post I mentioned something that happened and didn't elaborate. I said I'd explain and didn't.

In case anyone out there cares, but mostly just to make myself feel better, I will attempt to explain it now.

I didn't write about it then because it just seemed like something that other people wouldn't understand or would think was strange or maybe even silly. But hey, if that is the case then what can I do about it?

Here is what happened:
Mr. C went to a therapist because he was feeling an intense amount of anxiety. When he was telling her what was going on with him he told her that it might sound crazy, but he had had the distinct feeling like he was under attack. He told her that the feeling had been so strong that he had actually pulled his truck over that day before and just said out loud to leave him alone. She said it didn't sound crazy to her at all. She took out a pendulum and they spent the next hour or so calling any entities that were surrounding him to leave, to go into the light. When they finished with the ones that were surrounding him they asked if there were any surrounding me. I was at home, unaware of what was going on. There were a few, but then there was one that didn't respond as the others had. With more questioning it became clear that this spirit was different. With even more questioning it occurred to them that it was William. He was hanging close to me, to us, to watch over us. They told him that he could go into the light. He did.

This was not a New Age therapist. Not that that matters. I guess you either believe that there is more to us than this physical existence, or you don't. The therapist went on to more conventional practices and has ever since. Mr. C's anxiety improved dramatically within just a few weeks of treatment and he has been doing great since then.

--------------

We are well. Busy, but just all the normal-life stuff. I wish I could find time to write and to read blogs, but it just doesn't seem to happen. I miss it and I miss those of you that I feel connected to from this world. I still peek in on you every now and then.

William: 2/1/2006

I just put Vincent down for a nap and am fighting the urge to do chores, etc., as I usually do.

It is hard to believe that four years have gone by. Four years. I have to count them on my fingers to check...yep, it's true.

My days are busy from start to end and "spare" moments are few. Someone said something to me the other day about cherishing the rare moment of silence that comes along and I couldn't help but think that I have been all too familiar with silence...with spare time. I didn't think this in a negative or judgmental way, like I am so enlightened and anyone who doesn't see it the way that I do just doesn't appreciate what they have. No, it was just a matter of fact. My days, hours, minutes are full. I am thankful for what I have.

Vincent is growing and developing like he is in full-speed-ahead mode. It's been like this from the start for him, but since he reached 9 months he seemed to take a quantum leap forward from being a baby to being an almost-toddler. Maybe they all do this and I just don't know because all of the baby stuff is new for me. He is a joy. He is such a lover and so darn happy all of the time. He has a great sense of humor and loves to laugh. That goofy laugh I developed when I was pregnant with him hasn't gone away and he has it, too. I guess I got it from him.

I won't go into all of the details, but something profound happened on Saturday. I don't know if anyone still reads this very inactive blog (nothing to read in almost 5 months!) but if you are interested in the details I will share them through e-mail. At any rate it came to our attention that William had been hanging around to watch over us. He was gently told that we are OK and that he can move on. It hadn't occurred to me that letting go could go both ways. It sounds odd to write it out and in such a brief way, but that is what I am comfortable with right now. I will say that although it happened two days before the date of his birth/death, it wasn't something we went out looking for (not a visit to a psychic or anything).

The pull to do disheslaundryetc. is winning out.

back at work

Today we went to the yearly picnic for senior citizens and a photographer from our local newspaper took this photo. The little guy is teething and he fell asleep with my thumb in his mouth.

happy birthday to me

It was a beautiful day. The little guy slept for (oh my gosh) ten hours, so I woke up very well rested. We went over to the folks' house for a bbq and I realized once I got there that they had organized a birthday party for me. My SIL decided that I was a pretty-pretty-princess and she got me a pink feather boa and a tiara to wear. Vincent was the star of the party, of course.

our tough little guy

I'm glad that I haven't had a chance to post until now. If I had written on Friday night then anyone reading would have been scared right along with me. Instead I'm writing four days later--two CT scans and a very positive follow-up with our pediatrician later...

Friday after dinner I thought it would be nice to take Vincent over to his grandparent's house for a visit. Vincent fell asleep on the way over so I left him in his car seat in the kitchen while I picked raspberries in the backyard. After a few minutes he woke up crying so I went inside to get him. Mothership came inside as I did, she had set a table on the patio for us to enjoy some watermelon and she was excited to take Vincent outside to listen to the birds. I took him out of the car seat and she asked if she could carry him. The next bit happened really fast but felt like it was in slow motion. We stepped out of the house onto the patio, Mr. C and Pops were playing catch in the yard. Mr. C told his mom he thought we should stay inside--he was worried about having the baby outside while they were throwing the baseball. She kept walking, she had her mind set and he wasn't going to get her to change it. The dogs (our Gracie and her two pugs) ran in front of her and she tripped over Gracie's leash that we all had neglected to unlatch from her collar. She fell forward, clutching Vincent in her arms and managed to hold onto him until her elbow hit the cement--then the back of Vincent's head hit the cement as well. I scooped him up immediately and felt a giant goose egg on the back of his head. He was crying like I had never heard him cry before.

The drive to the hospital felt like it took forever. Waiting for the clueless woman in triage was infuriating. But once a nurse showed up things moved much faster. The next thing I knew we were getting a CT scan. The doctor finally came back with the results and I thought I was going to pass out when he said that there was a skull fracture and two small bleeds in the frontal lobes of the brain. He explained to us that Vincent would need to go to Spokane or to Seattle, since none of the hospitals in our area have a pediatric neurosurgeon on staff. He said that he didn't think that Vincent would need surgery, but that because he had both a fracture and bleeding that he needed a higher level of care than the local hospitals could provide.

I flew with him to Harborview Hospital (the region's trauma center) in Seattle. Mr. C, my mom, Mothership and Pops drove, so it was a few hours until they joined us there. By the time they arrived we were finally getting Vincent settled in a room--the time until then was spent primarily in the ER but also getting another CT scan and several x-rays. It took a few more hours before a doctor came by to tell us the findings from the scan and x-rays--that the bleeds had not gotten any worse and that there were no injuries to his neck or spine. He said that we needed to stay for at least 24 hours of observation but that we would most likely go home on Sunday. After getting this wonderful news the nurse was able to take Vincent out of the hard papoose carrier and I was able to give him a bottle. Words cannot express how it felt to hold him in my arms again.

Vincent charmed all of the nurses. The sweet little guy really was amazing through everything--he hardly cried or fussed at all. Poor Mothership landed on her face after she dropped him, her nose is in pretty bad shape. She was an emotional mess for quite a while, too. But she went with us to see the pediatrician yesterday and I'm glad she did, because he really helped us all to feel better. He had talked with the doctor from Harborview and based on the information he was given and his examination of Vincent he assured us that he is doing very well.

back on the happy pills

It has become more and more apparent with each passing day--first to my family and now to me--that I am in need of something more than a helping hand and a good night's sleep.

This really sucks. I hate feeling like I am weak and can't pull through on my own. But it is back to an antidepressant. It's been a year and a half since I went off of the cymbalta and I've done really well. I feel like my anxiety level during the pregnancy was pretty reasonable, especially considering it being a subsequent pregnancy after a loss and a high-risk one at that. The way I've been feeling lately, though, is not reasonable.

I have no appetite and have a hard time choking down food when I do eat. I have insomnia and my mind just won't quiet. Usually I am one of the most patient and low-key people you'll ever know, lately I am irritated and pissed off by the littlest annoyance. And I am weepy and crying a lot. My thoughts go rapidly into a catastrophic range. I often have this overwhelming feeling like I want to run away--yet I love my life, my family, Mr. C and little Vincent, my home, etc.--so I wish that I could split myself into two people, which makes no sense. Fleeting feelings and thoughts of this nature could be explained by sleep deprivation, but this is something more.

So it's back to the little green pills. I may have mentioned before that there are a couple of people in my family (not to mention close friends) who rely on medications to live a happy life. Somehow, though, while I see the benefit of medications for others and hold absolutely no negative judgement, when it comes to me using them I feel like a failure. Maybe it's because I got through my last episode of anxiety and depression through not only the use of antidepressants (6 months) but also through meditation, energy work, healthy eating/exercise/sleep, and a spiritual path. Through these methods I have felt good for well over a year--so why don't I feel good now? I think I also feel like a failure because so many (most) women have babies and don't fall apart like this. I did take to heart the kind words in the comments a couple of posts ago, and I get it, I really do. I also get that while all of the "complementary" methods I use to manage my tendency toward anxiety and depression are effective, that the way I am feeling now (as Mr. C has pointed out to me) is neurological and biochemical. He says that all of the talk therapy, meditation, fish oil, etc. in the world won't do the trick when your brain and body chemistry are out of balance. Maybe in a couple of weeks (when the drugs have kicked in) I'll feel better about things. But right now I am sad and angry that I am back here again, I really hoped that I never would be.

Vincent is doing well. Thank you Hennifer, the prune juice works like a charm. We are still experimenting with just how much is neither too much nor too little, but all in all he is much more regular and happy for it. I made a chart to keep track of his natural rhythms (sleeping and eating) so I can see if there are any patterns and also so I can make adaptations to my expectations and whatnot. He was 10 weeks old last Saturday but from everything I read he is more in line with a six week old, which pretty much holds with his adjusted age. Until he is at least three months adjusted, or he shows me otherwise that he is ready, I will continue to follow his lead when it comes to sleeping and eating and not push too hard to impose a schedule. That being said, I am doing what I can to reinforce what I feel works best (for both of us). He is no longer constantly fussing and needing to be held or walked around. Now when he fusses or cries I can figure out what he needs without too much confusion and he is back to being a happy baby again before too long. He is smiling, cooing and sometimes attaching vowels and consonants. My mom got him an activity gym and he kicks and hits it and gets really excited. He also loves to lay in his changing pad and have me kiss his face and tummy. We go for walks almost every day in the sling with his head out so he can see everything that is going on. He prefers this to the stroller because he loves to watch the world around him and listen to all of the sounds.

And here is the part of the post where I am tempted to try and wrap this all up with a neat little bow somehow. A look on the bright side, a silver lining, something positive among all of the muck. I don't have it in me. I'm pissed off that I have all of the things in life that I ever prayed for, yet I am miserable.

I heart my mom

I just put the boy in his crib and I'll go to bed soon, too.

It has been wonderful having my mom here. Mr. C keeps teasing her that we aren't going to let her go home. She is in heaven, though, and is in no hurry to leave.

Thanks so much to those of you who have commented. Your support means so much to me and it really helps to read about what others have been through, your ideas and advice, and just to know that you care.

I'm tired, so I won't write more right now. But here are some pictures...

what a difference a day makes

It occurred to me yesterday that sometimes my blog (and, I suspect I am not alone in this) resembles those beautifully crafted scrapbooks that some women are so passionate about. I heard a piece on NPR a long time ago that very cleverly and a bit cynically described one mom's foray into scrapbooking. She essentially said that the history she'd recorded was the glossed over version of the truth--that sometimes the story told on the pages could better be described as fiction.

Mostly I've held back this time because it has been pretty much impossible to write. But it is also hard to share my difficulties because I don't want to be insensitive. Who am I to share my woes when just a few short months ago I wondered if I'd ever parent a living child? And I also have to admit that I am embarrassed that it is this hard for me. That is not to say that I thought it would be easy, but I am just feeling so inadequate.

I am once again typing with one hand because he won't let me put him down. Things were good for a couple of days. But on Thursday we visited the doctor and the little guy had to have shots. He ended up with a fever and was fussy for the next two days. The doctor also recommended changing formula again (Vincent was getting a bit constipated on the formula that has rice starch in it). At first I thought he wasn't eating because he wasn't feeling well due to the shots. Mr C sent me over to Mothership's house to sleep in peace Saturday and by Sunday (after a good night's sleep for me) I thought things were really looking up. I thought my baby was no longer fussy, and was sleeping again, and not only was I going to get some sleep as well but my house was going to be clean once more, too. Then Sunday night I slept a mere 4 hours total. Yesterday he was crying and fussy and spitting up/throwing up and I could no longer blame the shots for his not feeling well. He still was only eating an ounce or two at a time, and fussing through feedings. So I went out and got the rice starch formula that had been working (despite the constipation) and I also picked up a can of the formula that is supposed to be gentle on the tummy, in case that was the problem. I tried the gentle formula first and he hated it. He devoured the rice starch formula--ate more than 6 ounces, and once I was able to get him to go to sleep he slept for 5 1/2 hours (which is a long time for him).

So last night I slept for only 4 hours (all in one stretch, which I guess was an improvement over the night before). Sleep deprivation has a way of casting a dark shadow over everything. Life looks bleak, and the anxiety is creeping in. To add insult to injury, this morning I could have pieced together a few more hours of sleep if it weren't for my racing mind and tense body (insomnia, I guess). He has been kind of fussy today, but it feels 10 times worse than it probably is.

Mr C is stressed out--Mothership is away and he is running the business alone and (among other things) the state licensor showed up last week for an inspection that wasn't due for another year. So he isn't as supportive, emotionally or otherwise, as I would hope. In the state I'm in right now this all just feels overwhelming to me and I find myself worrying about him intensely.

My mom is on her way over to stay a few days so I can get some sleep. I wish my dad could come, too, but he can't get away right now. I'm hoping Vincent will start doing better and that some good sleep will help me to get into the swing of this mommy thing. If not, then it may be that I might be experiencing some PPD. I really don't want to go down the medication road if I can help it.

Ugh. I really needed to get that all out. Thank goodness Vincent finally let me put him in the pocket sling. I discovered that he apparently will go in it if I keep his head and outside shoulder out. This means that only one hand is free, since I still have to support his head, but he has slept most of the time while I've typed this.

edited to add:
Damn it! It took me an hour and a half to type this--I could have been sleeping!

some random thoughts...

It is amazing how slowly eight weeks can pass when you are pregnant and how quickly it can pass when you are not.
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Before I drifted off to sleep last night it occurred to me that June 7th was William's due date.
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While driving in the car the other day my sister accidentally called Vincent William. She asked me if I had done the same. I haven't. She said when they visited last that Mr. C did once or twice, but she didn't call attention to it.
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Many other DeadBaby Mommas have said that their subsequent child(ren) look "just like" the one they lost (a couple have even used the term "carbon copy"). Vincent doesn't look at all like William. It wasn't until after he was born that I realized that I had expected him to. One of the first questions I asked (after it was clear that he was healthy and well) while they cleaned him up and took measurements and whatnot was if he had a dimple in his chin. I have a dimple in my chin and so does my father. William had a dimple in his chin. Vincent does not. He has a beautiful, tiny chin that is entirely his own.
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On Thursday Vincent was two months old and my sister and her husband and I took him to see his doctor. Mr. C wasn't able to make it because work was too busy. The doctor couldn't get over how big he is getting (10 1/2 pounds and 23 inches!) and how much he looks like Mr. C. He said that all Vincent needs is a little beard and he would look exactly like his daddy. So now Mr. C wants to find a little fake beard for the next doctor appointment.
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Putting away clothes that he has grown out of makes me sad somehow.
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He prefers to be cradled in my arms, rather than held up with his head on my shoulder. He is getting so big, though, that he is starting to spill out of my arms. I'm not sure how long we can keep it up.
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I tasted formula and it is terrible. How can it taste so bad? I tasted my breast milk and it was sweet. Just one more reason to be sad that breast feeding didn't work out.
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Does anyone know an effective way to get rid of ear worms? I keep getting annoying songs--or, rather, parts of songs--stuck in my head. I think it is due to the sleep deprivation. I should start keeping track of what gets lodged there because I'm sure some day I will find it to be funny.
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Speaking of funny, today Mr. C and I watched "Tropic Thunder." Robert Downey Jr. is fantastic.

all is well

After so long without posting I feel like that title is a must.

I've tried to write, and even now it is one-handed, but have been glued to this boy.

So many things might have been written/shared/saved for posterity. But, alas, all thoughts, feelings, etc. over the last few weeks are now lost or a blur.

For the first 4 weeks or so this was due to the round-the-clock feedings every two hours.

Then, he stopped sleeping during most of the day. He went from hardly crying at all, to needing to be held and rocked while awake. He started spitting up and throwing up a lot. After a visit to his doctor to make sure it wasn't something serious I started adding rice cereal to his bottles*. Since this requires a faster flow nipple he started taking in too much air, which lead to a lot of gas. And the rice cereal also caused constipation. Heck, I would be fussy, too. So I decided that the doctor wasn't right. I switched him to a different formula. Now, a week or so later, it seems like he is deciding to sleep more during the day and fuss less. At least that is what he has done for the last two days, which is why I am able to write. I am praying that we have turned a corner.

Since I have never taken care of an infant this is all new to me and I've had no idea what to expect or what is "normal." I realize that there is a wide range of behaviors that are still considered normal, but really I have no clue. He is putting on the weight, though, so I know I am doing something right. He was 5 lbs at one week old and now, at eight weeks he is over ten pounds! And then there is the whole preemie thing. Even though he wasn't super early, a month still throws off all of the developmental expectations. The doctor told me that we do need to adjust for the time until he is two years old. At some point it won't be significant, but at 8 weeks that is half of his age.

Ugh. This is all sounding pretty negative. He is beautiful and I am still in awe of him. I am just very sleep deprived. I've called in reinforcements, though. My sister and her husband will come and stay for a few days so I can get some sleep. Next week my parents are planning to come. After that Mothership will be back from France. And maybe, just maybe, over the course of the next few weeks he may start sleeping for longer stretches at night and be a little less needy during the day time.

*I didn't give up on breast feeding easily. I kept at it for a long time and even saw the lactation consultant again after my six week check up. And while I was able to get my supply going OK and he was able to get over his difficulties pretty much, too--it just wasn't enough. He was needing more than my body could give him. I kept pumping, though. until just a couple of days ago. This was a very difficult process for me emotionally. I had a vision of what it would be like with him, and breast feeding was very much a part of that vision. I shed a lot of tears about it. But I have to keep things in perspective.

not really able to write, but...

here are some more pictures.