Anxious.

At my appointment next week, the doctor is going to start doing cervical measurements. He also said something about looking into stitching my cervix.

I'm happy they are taking things more seriously this time and that they are taking better precautions. But I'm beyond nervous about all this. The last time I had stitches, I had my face sewn back together after a bad head injury in high school. I know these stitches are different, but that's what I keep picturing when I think of all this stuff.

The anxiety has brought on a lot of really bad nightmares. Most of them completely unrelated to the pregnancy, but really bad, nonetheless. And the tension in my back and shoulders is causing me a lot of pain lately. I really didn't think this would be that big of a deal for me.

Have any of yall had to have these stitches?


On another note, a friend of a friend lost his wife this weekend during childbirth. Their son wasn't due until April 20, so they didn't have much for him yet, other than some clothes. Regardless of what they had for him, unexpectedly becoming a single father of a preemie is a heart breaking nightmare. Please keep the family in your prayers.

Decisions.

Major decisions to be made over here soon.

Do I stay or do I go? (The Navy, that is.)


This one should be an easy one, especially with a baby on the way. But it's not. And I'm starting to stress myself out over it.


Before the Navy, I talked my worries and frustrations out with my great friend Andy.

Now, I turn him up on my ipod for a while and get lost in deep conversations with him even though he's not actually around to hear or answer me. Truth be told, he "talked me through" the roughest parts of losing my babies.

Tonight was one of those nights. Except this time, I have these awesome little things called bellybuds.

They're made for pregnant bellies and preset at safe levels for the baby. (You can't hear it, only the baby can. You use a splitter so you can use your headphones for you.)

The little one and I have been listening to Uncle Andy for most of the evening. And enjoying the cookies Bryan left for us when he went to class. It makes my heart happy.

Baby Steps.

When Bryan and I first met, he always wore running shoes with hot pink laces. The students he worked with thought it was hilarious, and a lot of people actually came to know him just by those laces.

We were at the mall one night, and he saw a pair of pink Chuck Taylors. He laughed and said he should get some since everyone loved his pink laces so much. They didn't have any in his size.

When I got home, I found some online and ordered them. When he opened them, he laughed hysterically. He didn't think I would remember. Or that I would actually get them. He wore those things everywhere.




We have sorta been at odds with each other lately, especially over the baby. He is terrified that something will go wrong again. He is even more terrified that he will get attached to another baby that he will have to say goodbye to. I'm trying to stay optimistic. To the point of not letting myself think about the reality of babies dying. I feel like I'm not being a good mother if I can't at least be a little excited instead of dwelling on all those what if's.




When I was at Kohl's last week, I tried to distract myself from that horrible fall by looking through baby stuff for an upcoming baby shower. Even though I was looking for someone else, I saw so many things I wanted to get this baby. I kept hearing Bryan's words though. That it's too early. That I need to slow down because I might not even bring this baby home.

And then I saw these.

Itty bitty baby Chucks.

I remembered Bryan in his pink Chucks, and for a minute I pictured Daddy and baby both wearing their Chucks together. I think I might have actually squealed with excitement.

I hesitated for a few more minutes because I knew Bryan would probably think it wasn't a good idea.

But then I thought about it. This baby could die tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week. But so could Bryan. Or my parents. Or my sister. I don't love any of them any less. So why should I love my baby any less? Why should I not enjoy every minute of this tiny life, regardless of how long it's here with me?

So here's to making this pregnancy a good one...and finding some balance between excited expecting mother and neurotic pregnant lady.

Baby steps, right?

Maybe Next Time.

My landlord's husband died. His service is tomorrow afternoon, and I thought we should attend to pay our respects, even though we've only known him a short time.

My belly is already bulging. A lot. So I only have a pair of jeans and some sweats/pjs that still fit like they should. Nothing that would be suitable for a funeral service.

I felt horrible all day and everything kept going wrong. So I decided to just go back to bed. But then I talked myself out of it, and I decided to make a quick trip to get some suitable dress pants. I hate shopping, especially when I'm already not feeling very well, but I figured it couldn't hurt to go ahead and get it out of the way.

Just a quick trip in and out, right? That can't hurt anything.


Until I walked into Kohl's with wet boots and turned too fast on the shiny tile floor....and had the hardest, noisiest, crashing fall in the front of the store. In front of about 10 people.


I'm ok. I banged up my knee pretty bad. And I'm pretty sure my blood pressure sky rocketed for about an hour. (Oh, and I didn't even find the dress pants I was looking for.)


I think staying home and going back to bed would have been the better option. Maybe next time I'll listen to myself.

Doubting.

The past several weeks I have been beyond miserable. Camping out next to the toilet miserable. Not keeping down anything other than popsicles miserable. Wanting to hurl at just the idea of food miserable. Actually, miserable is probably a huge under statement.

I've been holding myself together with quiet reminders that all this morning sickness means my baby is still alive in there.

Until yesterday.

I tried to have my appointment moved up in the week because I had gone an entire week without keeping anything down. My doctor didn't have anything open, but the nurse wanted me to come in and have my vitals checked. I was put in a room in Labor and Delivery so they could fill me with emergency IV fluids and meds. A nurse came in to check the baby's heart rate with a doppler, but she couldn't find it. She brought in another nurse, and she couldn't find it either. I had to wait for the doctor to find a mobile ultrasound machine that she could bring to my room.

They told me that it was probably just too early to hear the baby's heart with the doppler. They tried to reassure me that everything was fine. But I went from drained and sickly to pure panic. I wanted to curl up in that bed and die.

(The baby ended up being fine. I'm still feeling miserable, but it's slowly getting better.)



On another note, I had a really hard time deciding to go public with our pregnancy. I know it's a very sensitive subject around these parts of the interweb, and I want to be careful to not hurt any of you.

The hardest part though, was telling my family. I told my sister, because she always hears everything first, and I told my parents. But I didn't want to tell anyone else. Partly because I didn't want to cause anxiety and worry. But mostly because I didn't want to hear about how this baby would make up for the two I lost and magically cure all of my sadness.

I stopped talking to several family members because of horrible things that were said after losing Brake. I was so afraid of what I would hear this time, that I didn't even consider the fact that I don't talk to most of those people anymore.

I finally couldn't stand feeling like I was keeping secrets anymore, so I sent a picture of my already bulging belly to one of my aunts.

Within an hour, I was on the prayer list at almost every church in our county. Some of the family members even call each other every night so they can pray together.

I feel incredibly loved. (And also really bad for doubting them.)

Fingers Crossed.

I've been silent on here for a while. It's been bothering me. It's not that I haven't had anything to say...just that I wasn't sure the right way...or time...to say it.

Back during the summer, Bryan and I decided we were going to wait on attempting more babies until after I got out of the Navy. It just makes more sense, and is so much safer, especially considering how things went the last time.

We spent Christmas weekend on the Oregon Coast, enjoying a perfect getaway and amazing break from the world. Christmas morning when we were waking up and getting things packed up for the trip home, Bryan made himself some coffee and a cup of tea for me. After my first drink, I instantly had this horrible, gut wrenching nausea that felt a little too familiar to just be from a bad cup of tea.

When we got home, we confirmed our suspicions.

Two pink lines.

Exactly what we had planned on not having for another several months.


We're both really scared. But I have this strangely calming sense of peace this time that is so much stronger than I had before. I'm trying to not get my hopes up too much....but not keeping them down either.


I hit 9 weeks today.


Keeping my fingers crossed....