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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.

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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.

a lot.  If she goes more than a couple of minutes without kicking, I massage my belly and she kicks in response.  I need her to kick.  I’m panicked if she doesn’t.  That’s how I knew Baby B was gone.  He stopped kicking. 

That’s right.  I’m pregnant again.  I’m nearly 27 weeks.  I’ve held out talking about this on my blog for two reasons.  First, I know it’s painful for a lot of you to hear about someone being pregnant.  Second, I didn’t want to jinx it.  I know many of you understand that fear. 

I don’t know her BT status.  We tried to do an amnio and the sac wasn’t totally fused so it didn’t work.  We went back for an 18 week scan and the doctor said this was clearly not a Trisomy 13 baby so we elected not to do it.  What difference would it have made at that point?  I was already in love with her just like I was with the boys.

She’s been alive longer than either of the Baby Boys.  I still panic despite the meds that I’ve been prescribed – Zoloft and Clonopin.  I was resistant to the meds but had a full blown freak out meltdown at 12 weeks – seriously, it was bad.  Think Sally Field in “Steel Magnolias” – you know the scene after the funeral.  Screaming, crying, hair pulling.  All because of a small smear of blood.  A kind and caring doctor and nurse came in and said, “we need to get you calmed down.  You need something.”  At that point, I thought, “hell, admit me to the psych ward for the next 6 months and keep me doped up.  Just let this baby live to see the light of day.”   They didn’t admit me.  They referred me to an ante-natal loss counselor – a nurse practitioner who can prescribe meds and counseling.  She’ s been wonderful.  I’d have loved to have her around 2 years ago….

But she kicks.  A lot.  I’ve seen the third trimester – somewhere I didn’t get to go before.  According to Dr. H, my high-risk Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor, I’m his least high risk patient.  I’m easy, they just didn’t know where to put me so they stuck me with him.  I’m happy about that…he seems like nothing much phases him but I guess when your other job is an Army Trauma Surgeon with 2 tours in Iraq, you are pretty unflappable.

The nursery is in shambles because we can’t bring ourselves to do a ton with it yet.  We are using my mother in law’s visit in November as an excuse.  I will be almost 30 weeks then.  But I’ve also forced myself to enjoy her.  I’ve bought her clothes – my favorite are little pink high top sneakers that hang with the doggy slippers I bought Hubby when I told him I was pregnant with the boys.  Three pairs of shoes.  I’m a mother of 3.  That’s a weird feeling.

But she kicks a lot and that’s good.

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