A new woman

Two months.

Six hours.

A promise.

Two months.

Six glorious, splendiforous hours.

A promise kept.

Adam is two months old.

Last night he slept six hours straight. Merciful God. Six glorious, life affirming, eye bag reducing hours.

In exchange for those hours, I promised I would never again stuff him into a too small polo onesie, flip the collar and prop him up for a photo session.

He agreed.

I am a happy woman. Praise be.

Time Does Fly.

7 weeks tomorrow. I've started several posts...one about the birth, one about the first few weeks, one as recently as yesterday and, while time has flown, my words have fallen flat. I lack the talent to articulate how my smiling boy has changed my life. How his little self has sent my spirits and my heart soaring and at the same time brought me to my knees. Rejoice at the milestones, the first smile, the first coo (oh yes, "ma ma" will be the first word even if it isn't); frustration at his cries (all your needs are met little boy, what could possibly cause your tears?); worry for his well being which will surely plague me the rest of my days; and acute vulnerability...how is possible to feel so much so deeply? It's true, nothing could have prepared me for this. All of this. The love, yes, absolutely. Joy, wonder, awe. And at times the frustration, the dizzying inability to figure out his cries on top of crushing fatigue. (Trust me, you can have an army of help and you will still be tired.) But always, always, the pinch-me-it-can't-be-true, this child is mine.

It was all worth it. Every. Single. Step.

In the Beginning...Adam

August 18, 2009. 6 lbs, 12 ounces. 21 inches. Our Adam.

Sweet Time

I saw the ob on Monday. I get the distinct impression he's tired of pregnant women because he never wants to talk about, well, pregnancy. My pregnancy. He measures, he waves the doppler, he checks my cervix, all while talking about the state of health care in America today and his last 18 holes. Golf, people, golf. Then I interrupt and ask the pertinent questions, like my glucose levels, strep test, and, of particular concern to me, what's happening down there??!! Strangely, I really like the guy, he's funny as hell, he's purportedly the best perinatologist in the city, but, he's amazingly nonchalant. He fails to understand that Adam is not the result of a wild drunken romp, but the result of life altering good luck, plenty of science and the financial equivalent of a Porsche Cayenne.

All that to say, Adam's taking his sweet time. I'm not dilated, but my cervix has thinned since last week. I knew this anyway because my little Alien is playing hammer time with my bladder. My hands and feet are swollen and strangely, the bottoms of my feet hurt. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the four, 5 lb bags of potatoes I've added to my frame. My largeness is becoming painful, particularly as it affects my fashion sense. Tentwear is so passe. So, I feel relatively sure that I won't be giving birth anytime soon.

That's all I know for now. Other than it's 1000 degrees outside and if my feet don't go back down to a 7 1/2 after giving birth, I will be cutting off toes and expensing the Jimmy Choos I have yet to wear from Adam's college fund. I'm not kidding.

The Final Lap

I never believed I would be in this place. 37 weeks and 2 days pregnant. So very, very close to meeting my Adam. Like most people in a transition stage, I'm heart stoppingly excited to close this out and wrap this up, but also so very mindful of where I've come from, where I've been. The struggle, the heartbreak to get to this point has made me so very, very thankful for each day.

Many of the people I started out with got pregnant long before I did. Others lost babies. And others are still in the fight. There is no equitable treatment here it seems. Many times I have started to post and stopped because my joy must come across like sandpaper for many. I remember so clearly how difficult it was to celebrate and feel joy for others who succeeded while I stayed where I was, sometimes treading water, sometimes sinking under, but never making it to shore.

Who knows why or how this worked. For all the science, this is still mystery. We've learned a lot, but only a speck when you consider what we don't know. My greatest hope is that five, ten year from now, infertile couples will have more chances, more hope, and greater access. We were very fortunate to be in a place to afford the many treatments. Many can't, I know.

So I will say it. I have loved every minute of this pregnancy. Feeling him move, watching my belly undulate brought me tears and laughter and wonder and a secret kinship with my little Alien. I have been blown away by the wonder of all this and sucker punched with love, truly overwhelming love, toward a little human I haven't ever seen except in grainy ultrasound pictures. Could he really be mine? It has changed...everything. I am just awed. Awed.

I'm so very close. According to the doc, nothing's happening yet, which is good. I have an amazing amount to get done in a short period of time.

Almost there.

Failure and Redemption

About two weeks ago, I didn't just "not pass" my glucose screen, I failed it. FAILED IT. No equivocation, no borderline result, no "let's just prick your finger again, sweetie." My screen was a 183. Cut off is 135. Three hour test is Monday. Three hours. I was advised to eat less fruits, sweets, starches, carbs; in other words, enjoy to your heart's content everything you have grown to hate. Asparagus or dirt encrusted vegetable dipped in mud? Have at it! Carrots marinated in vinaigrette of cow pasture? Enjoy! I could weep. Oh, and the piece de resistance? You really should exercise more. Does walking to my car count?

The three hour test was fine until the third hour. I was lightheaded, nauseous, irritated, uncomfortable and borderline mean. I spent the last hour waiting for my blood draw in my car with the seat reclined and window cracked to get some air because the waiting room was atrocious. Small, uncomfortable and occupied by another 3 hour test dummy who went out for smokes after each blood draw. I. kid. you. not. A pregnant woman who went outside to smoke. Cigarettes. There's so much to say about that one that I'll pass. What I will say is that the after smell of the cigarettes tipped me over the edge. No exaggeration, the worst I have felt my entire pregnancy was during and after that third after.

The good news is that my results came back borderline. Of the four numbers, only one was too high. The last number was precipitously low, leading the nurse practitioner to comment "you must not have been feeling too well." On the nose, honey. So, I was instructed to cut out sweets (NOOOO), reduce fruits (NOOO), milk and yogurt, and eat only complex carbs. I asked if a time consuming recipe for pasta with cream sauce counted as a complex carb. Um, no. Oh and exercise. I get tired walking to my car.


Strangely, I continue to feel really well. Adam's room is done and I love it. Light blue, chocolate brown and cream. And the overstuffed rocker and ottoman -- chocolate brown with light blue polka dots--cute beyond cuteness.


Not long now. Not long at all.

Orthodontia

Meet my son. The son who removed his thumb from his mouth for exactly 20 seconds, which resulted in the above picture. The hand didn't move far from his face. I will be saving for his future orthodontial needs. My 30 minutes with him started with thumb firmly in mouth. His, not mine. Then fingers in mouth. Next, removal of hand and licking of arm. Then he spied his foot. I believe he thought for a few seconds about the possibility of foot in mouth, something of which his mother knows well. Finally, he smiled in the general direction of the ultrasound wand and his mother, father and grandmother melted. Thumb went back into mouth.

I now know why women are blind and dumb when it comes to their children. I think he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And the smartest. And funniest....