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Christmas 2007 was filled with such excitement and joy. I announced our pregnancy to Hubby with a pair of baby booties as an early Christmas gift (only one pair, I didn’t know they were twins until about a month later). We were outted to our family by the inability to get Lasik…we stayed home to enjoy our last Christmas, “just the two of us…”
Christmas 2008 was filled with sadness and anger and depression.
Christmas 2009 was filled with sadness and hope.
Christmas 2010 was filled with trepidation, anticipation and anxiety. In just 3 days I would hopefully have my healthy little girl safe and sound. We were on the lookout for any bleeding that could signal an emergency trip to the hospital. My name was on a helicopter transport list – Dr. Hot Rockstar would deliver my little girl if he had to snow ski through Chapel Hill to do it.
Christmas 2011 is filled with joy and gratefulness and still a little sadness. I have my little girl. She’s perfect and I love her so much. I miss my boys. I’m lucky and grateful but I’m still a lost baby mama. This year we can’t afford to make our usual donations honoring the boys so I organized a quick toy drive at work for Toys for Tots. I’ve gotten a ton of donations and that makes it a little easier. I reminded Hubby last night that eventhough we can’t buy each other gifts, there isn’t anything else I need…I have him, Zoey and the dogs (well, honestly, I could use a new nursing bra – this one is poking me like crazy!!).
I’m lucky, I know it.
Whoa, what a ride it’s been friends and neighbors. I’m back to the bloggy world from the land of Mommy. Oh how I love the land of Mommy. Zoey is great. She’s growing like a weed, eating some solids (pears are her favorite), trying like hell to crawl, annoyed that Mommy and Daddy have a competition to see whose name she says first and in general, is the best baby in the world.
So let me update you on the past 7 months.
Two days after Christmas I went to the doctor for my check up. Hot Rockstar Doctor had been concerned about my placenta previa. He did an ultrasound and decided on an amnio. If the results showed her lungs to be mature, he wanted to do a C-Section…the next day. Holy not-really-ready-for-baby-a-month-early Batman! Well, her lungs were indeed mature so she was coming. I went to work, got my files in order, did a quick memo on who was where and what the status of the case was and left. I came home, called my mom to jump in the car and head to my house, packed my bag, went out and bought some newborn onesies and nighties and settle in for the arrival of my little bundle of cuteness.
The day of, as I prepared for Z’s arrival, I realized that I had never really contemplated a C-Section. It’s a weird thing being numb from your armpits down. Hot Rockstar Doctor cut me open, pulled Z baby out and she had a TON of hair! A TON!!! It was light brown with blonde highlights on the tips. No lie. So awesome. She was beautiful. My Uncle Carl – a NICU God – was there, he looked her over, pronounced her fine and they handed her to Hubby. That’s when I tried to barf on her. She’d get me back ten-fold later. This whole time, Hubby has no idea that my blood pressure has dropped dangerously low because they couldn’t control some bleeding around where my placenta was attached. The anesthesiologist whispered in my ear that it was a good thing they waited for extra blood as they were going to need it and if I got a sudden headache to tell her immediately. Bleeding controlled, belly sewn up and Mommy and Z baby wheeled to recovery.
And then the nurse – oh that nurse – she comes in, takes one look at the my grunting little baby and says, “She’s in respiratory arrest!!” She snatches her up and takes her out of the room. Hubby and I had a plan for this. Z baby was never to be alone. I knew people who’s babies had left the delivery/recovery room and their parents never saw them alive again. No way, Jose, wasn’t happening to us. He looked at me and I said, “GO!!!” I wouldn’t see her again for 11 hours. Uncle Carl came in and explained that she was fine, she had a little trouble clearing her throat and turned blue. A “spell” he called it in his Southern gentleman way. She spent the night in the NICU as a precaution and I was labelled “hardcore” by the nurses, doctors and Uncle Carl because 5 hours after my C-Section and several units of blood to stabilize my blood pressure, I demanded a wheelchair and a trip to the NICU. I was breastfeeding my little girl, I didn’t care how much pain I was in…they didn’t seem to understand that the pain of a C-Section is nothing compared to what I’ve been through losing the boys. My girl needed me and I was going if I had to crawl to get there. Did I mention she’s so gorgeous? Well, she is.
6 weeks later, Mommy and Z baby are home, enjoying getting to know each other when, out of nowhere comes a letter from my firm. “We are sorry but you are fired,” it reads. There are more details that I can’t share because well, I’m not sure that I’m not visiting my local EEOC office. Yup. After 3 years, I’m fired.
The good news is that I got to spend nearly 7 months with my little girl. More good news is that I have a new job with the State and it’s more money and very interesting. The bad news is that in the 4 months it took to find a new job, despite having unemployment, we drained our savings…we are broke.
Happy but broke and I’m totally okay with that.
You know, like from “A Christmas Story”? I don’t think I’ll be receiving any “fra-gee-lay” lamps but to tell you I’m more than thrilled would be an understatement. Thank you to Parenthood for Me for picking my essay, “The Room,” as this year’s winner for their essay contest.
http://parenthoodforme.blogspot.com/2010/05/essay-contest-winner-finally.html
I’m MK from www.Survivingbaby.wordpress.com.
I closed that blog in November and thought I could exist not writing down my thoughts but I can’t. All posts here will be password protected. Email me if want the password.
My story is long and drawn out and exhausting to tell. I would refer you to my old blog for the details. And, no, I still won’t tell you their names.
A Watched Belly Never Grows 