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So I went to the new Guy-nee…unbeknownst to me, she recently left UNC Hospitals to move to this practice closer to her home.  She asked about which practice I was with there.  When I told her Maternal Fetal Medicine, she seemed shocked that I would need the high risk group.  Then the nurse did a history.  Of course she asked all of the questions that I dreaded and of course, I didn’t fit into any of the usual boxes.  I tried to keep it light.  Finally, she said, “I don’t know how to put that information into the computer so I will ask the doctor and come back.”

Yeah, well, I’m still trying to figure out how to put that information in my head so when you figure it out…let me know.  Words like “stillbirth,” “miscarriage,” “I’m sorry, I’m not finding a heartbeat…” they don’t compute easily, even after nearly 4 years.

Other than that, it went fine.  The doctor asked if I was on birth control…I laughed for a good minute or so and said, “no…”  She said, “oh, you figure if it happens, it happens?” 

Ah, no.  I figure if it happens AND sticks it will be a Christmas/Hannukah/New Years/Valentine’s Day/etc. miracle (seeing as how we finally have a living child, we only seem to “do it” on holidays….)

I think my 3 children are enough….



This is the year of taking care of myself and I’m focusing on my health.  Along with $800 worth of dental work, I am long overdue for a trip to the Guy-nee…I was proudly telling a co-worker that I was going to a new doctor on Wednesday. 

Me: “I used to go to UNC because that’s where I went with the boys and then Zoey and they just knew me and my story and I didn’t have to tell them anything…oh crap….”

I stopped and looked at her and said quietly, “they are going to ask me about the boys…”  She put her hand on my back and said, “yes but you’ve told their story before, this is just one more time…”

How could I have forgotten?  Tomorrow I will have to navigate the waters of “How many times have you been pregnant?”  (Lots)  and “How many children do you have?” (Three – 1 living and 2 dead) with a complete and total stranger. 

And Oh. My. Dog.  Please don’t let there be the form with the teeny-tiny blanks and boxes that ask you all kinds of questions that people like me can’t answer without writing a dissertation or the answers make absolutely no sense…I once had a new nurse at UNC make me fill out a form (she didn’t know me from previous visits – she may have been a temp actually because I never saw her again).  Where it asked, “how many times have you been pregnant?”  I answered 6-7 times.  Where it asked, “how many children do you have?”  I answered zero.  She looked at me and said, “so what you are saying is that you’ve had several abortions?”  Sigh….

Can’t I just show my lostbabymama membership card and be done with it?  But no, I can’t.  Because even as I typed that, I remind myself I was lucky to be the boys Mommy.  I am lucky to have experienced all I experienced with them, even the bad.  I wouldn’t trade that time in my life – despite it being the worst thing to ever happen to me and Hubby – for anything.  I wish it had been different.  I wish that I had 2 little boys AND a little girl.  I wish my 3 year old sons were down the hall from their 10 month old sister but they aren’t.

But I don’t wish it didn’t happen and that’s the reason I can walk into the doctor’s office tomorrow and tell their story.

I was totally and completely unprepared for Aunt Flo to come screaming into town yesterday.  Luckily it was at the end of the day so I only had to trust the small little mini-pad I found crammed in the bottom of my purse for about an hour.  I did not have a single provision for Aunt Flo returning.  And what the hell happened to a certain brand of pads?  The are made from some weird plastic-y looking material…yikes.  Anywho, I felt a little betrayed.  I thought she’d stay away for at least another couple of months but apparently the timing is right.  I’m guessing this is how people end up with kids 18 months apart…

On that note…Hubby was getting his hair cut yesterday and he took Zoey with him.  The hair dresser apparently commented on what a good baby she is, so quiet and sweet and that the next one would probably be a holy terror.  He said that he laughed and said probably but when he got in the car he said he thought, “next one?  We are lucky to have her.”  He said that’s all he could think about was that we were lucky we got her, he couldn’t think about a “next one.”

I totally understand where he’s coming from.  I can’t imagine another child.  I feel like we worked so hard for her, I feel like I fought to fiercely to make her happen – that I can’t imagine another one.  I made the comment the other day that if we have another, it will likely be the product of egg donation.  Honestly, I don’t think that’s the case.  I just don’t think I will seek out a fourth child.  If it happens, great but if not, I think I could be done.  I’m not taking birth control pills because, well, that’s just pee away money so it could happen.  I’m just not going to try and MAKE it happen like we did with Z baby.

I might just be a mother of three.

I dropped my basket yesterday.  That’s a polite Southern term for, “I went bat-shit crazy for no apparent nor discernible reason and/or demonic possession.”  Not because of anything particular – not grief, not worry, not sadness for Babies A and B, not concern for Baby Girl – I just lost it.

Yup, I was possessed by pregnancy hormones.

It hadn’t happened to me yet in this pregnancy were I act like a total irrational bitch and burst into terms for no apparent reason.  Well, lemme tell you, last night was the night.  I went out in a blaze of glory.  I often wondered how people could claim they killed someone and had no memory of it.  Now I know.  It was a daze of feet stomping, huffing and puffing, and I can’t even tell you why it started but it ended in me sobbing on the couch, screaming at Hubby, “you don’t care that my feet are swollen!  They look like Frodo feet!  I have Frodo feet!”  My face was bright red, hair was sticking to my wet and snotty face and I used the Puppy as a tissue (he had climbed on the couch out of concern and ended up leaping off like a bolt of lightening when I wiped my snotty nose on his ear – poor Puppy).  Seriously, it was like a scene from “The Exorcist.”

As you should do with all living beings having a tantrum/demonic possession, Hubby walked away.  He went into the office and left me alone.  When I stopped sniveling and sobbing and crying, he came back out and said, “you need to get in bed.”  At which point I actually said, “I don’t wanna!”  It was so awful and embarrassing, I can’t even tell you.  But I got up, crawled in bed, Hubby put a pillow under my legs to elevate the Frodo feet, massage them for about 10 minutes, handed me some hot cocoa and my Kindle and said, “Relax.”

When he came to bed about 30 minutes later, I was quiet, relaxed and calm.  I apologized to Hubby and said, “I can’t even tell you what happened….”  He said, “it’s okay, I think you just got tired, your feet hurt and your back hurts and you lost it.”

I love Hubby.  I’m totally going to have sex with him again…… 3 months or so.

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