My dearest Ronan,
When I found out I was pregnant with you, I knew immediately that you were a boy. It was late July 2007, and I got up early to test and when I saw the strong line, I crawled back into bed and hugged your father and said 'it's positive, Daddy'. We were so happy and in love. And innocent. So very innocent.
I don't know why it was in the cards to only have you for 28 short weeks, but I want you to know that you have forever changed us. You made us patient parents who really take the time to listen and enjoy our children. Even when we are frustrated with your sister's terrible 3s tantrums! I think R would have made you laugh on a daily basis, and you would've fiercely guarded her tender heart, which is always so pure and sweet that it should be a crime if anyone ever tries to break it. Your baby brother is such a sweet, gentle soul. He smiles and coos in such a way that you can't help yourself when you want to hold him tight and kiss him. R adores him. We all do.
I really believe that all of you knew each other before you all were born and came into our lives. And I believe when we take our leave from this life we will all know each other again. But the mortal part of me is forever selfish. I wanted you. I wanted to see you grow. I wanted to kiss your sleepy baby head, to cheer at your ballgames, to see how you looked at your fiance walking down the aisle to you, to see you hold your own children. This is the part that hurts the most, and it is what lingers as I watch your siblings do and learn all these fabulous things.
I know you know my heart, and how you will always have a place there. Thank you for being my son, and making me a mother. I promise I will always try to make you proud.
I love you Ronan. Forever.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Perspective
I had a horrible day.
It started on Monday with a crashed hard drive and the agonizing wait for 2 whole days to determine how bad the loss was.
Since moving to Ohio our fail-safe back up was not an option--and I will admit I got lazy with the back ups to the extremely slow external hard drive. I had hope that the damage wasn't so bad. The teenaged-looking tech told me that he saved '90%-95% of the hard drive'.
But when I got it back, that 10% had all the vital things I needed. My final reports, my signed documents, my FY12 proposals, all my mail from 2011, my data sheets. Everything. That. Was. Important.
I closed my office door and I cried. The sleep deprived-Reese couldn't pull it together, couldn't take it in stride, or even convince herself that it would be ok. I cried angry, tired tears at the unfairness of it all. My team started to whisper that their fearless leader was melting down. I IM'd my boss that it was all gone. He walked down from the Commander's Suite and offered condolences and bad jokes that eventually lifted my mood. My sweet tech slid a latte across my desk, and quietly said he thought I could use a pick-me up.
I managed to get it together about an hour later. I made a strategic plan about how to bounce back, channeled a little William Wallace ala Braveheart to pump myself up from this awful blow.
Then in the middle of clicking on the files and muttering that this sucked and how awful it all was, I caught glimpse of the date.
Four years ago I was in labor--hellishly awful labor to deliver my dead son.
And it occurred to me that if I survived that, lost files were a cake walk.
It started on Monday with a crashed hard drive and the agonizing wait for 2 whole days to determine how bad the loss was.
Since moving to Ohio our fail-safe back up was not an option--and I will admit I got lazy with the back ups to the extremely slow external hard drive. I had hope that the damage wasn't so bad. The teenaged-looking tech told me that he saved '90%-95% of the hard drive'.
But when I got it back, that 10% had all the vital things I needed. My final reports, my signed documents, my FY12 proposals, all my mail from 2011, my data sheets. Everything. That. Was. Important.
I closed my office door and I cried. The sleep deprived-Reese couldn't pull it together, couldn't take it in stride, or even convince herself that it would be ok. I cried angry, tired tears at the unfairness of it all. My team started to whisper that their fearless leader was melting down. I IM'd my boss that it was all gone. He walked down from the Commander's Suite and offered condolences and bad jokes that eventually lifted my mood. My sweet tech slid a latte across my desk, and quietly said he thought I could use a pick-me up.
I managed to get it together about an hour later. I made a strategic plan about how to bounce back, channeled a little William Wallace ala Braveheart to pump myself up from this awful blow.
Then in the middle of clicking on the files and muttering that this sucked and how awful it all was, I caught glimpse of the date.
Four years ago I was in labor--hellishly awful labor to deliver my dead son.
And it occurred to me that if I survived that, lost files were a cake walk.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Happy New Year!
It's amazing how quickly time passes from one day to the next.
We came home with a little nugget of a boy, barely 6 lbs 5 oz after losing almost a pound in the hospital, and struggled through a lot of November to put him back to his birth weight. We struggled with breast milk jaundice, which was a huge slap in the face since this time around I had milk aplenty to feed the boy. This basically kept the boy jaundiced (not extremely so), kept him sleepy, and it was such a challenge to wake him up and feed him. I did all sorts of tricks to try to overcome it, and it worked pretty good but not great, and I was mentally and physically exhausted from everything.
Then there was a hole in the heart scare that started with a murmur and a chest x-ray and escalated to an immediate trip to Children's to rule out what the technician thought he/she saw. God bless the wonderful African-born cardiologist with her familiar accent who walked into the room after the echocardiogram and said "First off I wish to say I bring NO BAD NEWS". Until that moment, I didn't realize P and I had been holding out breath. Henry lay lazily against my chest, stressed out and exhausted from the traumatic ordeal of having his heart ultrasound.
We started supplementing a simple 2-4 oz a day and finally countered the damn jaundice and Henry woke up and started eating like there was no tomorrow, gaining 13 oz in a single week once he stopped being so damn tired from the excess bilirubin that just refused to break down and go away.
We had a few people over for Thanksgiving, and then we had visits from P's parents and my father and step mother that were nice and exhausting all in the same visits. It was difficult to convey to them what we needed, how we could be helped and it amazed me how they would stand there and await instructions on what to do with their granddaughter, or stare at dishes and not wash them. I had never been so glad to have them gone, because it was like taking care of a multitude of people, and it just was so damn exhausting just taking care of Henry.
Trying to get ready for Christmas was insane. We managed to get the tree, decorate the tree, pull out the decorations, shop and truth be told, it's all a blur. The girl had a fantastic time, and so did the boy, but all Christmas felt to me was the endpoint, for it was the week after Christmas that I was due back to work.
Sweet Girl With her Dolly
Sweet Boy with his Reindeer Rattle
This past week was my first week back to work, and it was a great time to go back because almost 95% of my team was out on vacation. I managed to get my bearings and get over my frustrations out about things that just fell apart. But I was grateful the lab was in one piece--it's really all that I could ask for.
Pumping has been going pretty well. But most people were gone this past week, so I could relax and let it happen. When everyone is back, knocking on my door, demanding my attention, we will see how it goes.
There is more to say, about how the hole in the heart scare really shook me to my core, and how all of this has segued into the shit month of January. The highs of the girl's birthday in less than a week and the lows of Ronan's 4 year anniversary.
I can't get my head around the fact that it's been four years. Jesus, where does the time go?
We came home with a little nugget of a boy, barely 6 lbs 5 oz after losing almost a pound in the hospital, and struggled through a lot of November to put him back to his birth weight. We struggled with breast milk jaundice, which was a huge slap in the face since this time around I had milk aplenty to feed the boy. This basically kept the boy jaundiced (not extremely so), kept him sleepy, and it was such a challenge to wake him up and feed him. I did all sorts of tricks to try to overcome it, and it worked pretty good but not great, and I was mentally and physically exhausted from everything.
Then there was a hole in the heart scare that started with a murmur and a chest x-ray and escalated to an immediate trip to Children's to rule out what the technician thought he/she saw. God bless the wonderful African-born cardiologist with her familiar accent who walked into the room after the echocardiogram and said "First off I wish to say I bring NO BAD NEWS". Until that moment, I didn't realize P and I had been holding out breath. Henry lay lazily against my chest, stressed out and exhausted from the traumatic ordeal of having his heart ultrasound.
We started supplementing a simple 2-4 oz a day and finally countered the damn jaundice and Henry woke up and started eating like there was no tomorrow, gaining 13 oz in a single week once he stopped being so damn tired from the excess bilirubin that just refused to break down and go away.
We had a few people over for Thanksgiving, and then we had visits from P's parents and my father and step mother that were nice and exhausting all in the same visits. It was difficult to convey to them what we needed, how we could be helped and it amazed me how they would stand there and await instructions on what to do with their granddaughter, or stare at dishes and not wash them. I had never been so glad to have them gone, because it was like taking care of a multitude of people, and it just was so damn exhausting just taking care of Henry.
Trying to get ready for Christmas was insane. We managed to get the tree, decorate the tree, pull out the decorations, shop and truth be told, it's all a blur. The girl had a fantastic time, and so did the boy, but all Christmas felt to me was the endpoint, for it was the week after Christmas that I was due back to work.
Sweet Girl With her Dolly
Sweet Boy with his Reindeer Rattle
This past week was my first week back to work, and it was a great time to go back because almost 95% of my team was out on vacation. I managed to get my bearings and get over my frustrations out about things that just fell apart. But I was grateful the lab was in one piece--it's really all that I could ask for.
Pumping has been going pretty well. But most people were gone this past week, so I could relax and let it happen. When everyone is back, knocking on my door, demanding my attention, we will see how it goes.
There is more to say, about how the hole in the heart scare really shook me to my core, and how all of this has segued into the shit month of January. The highs of the girl's birthday in less than a week and the lows of Ronan's 4 year anniversary.
I can't get my head around the fact that it's been four years. Jesus, where does the time go?
Monday, November 21, 2011
Carry On My Wayward Son....
Around 4am on Halloween morning I woke up feeling contractions. Nothing too crazy--I thought that they could be Braxton-Hicks. But by 6am I was feeling the same pain at the top of my belly in a rhythm--indicative of true blue labor. By 7am, I sent a text to 2 of my team members to implement the 'I am in labor' plan, because I was suppose to give a brief that morning, but luckily, we had a plan in place just in case. At 7:15 am, I got in the shower and told P that I was in labor, but I was going to get a shower before we went to the L&D.
We got to L&D at 8:30, and the nurse at the doc office already called them and told them that I was en route. This labor was already different from the previous 2. I was having contractions every 5 minutes, and my belly ached. They put me in triage, and put the Doppler on to measure the heart beat and contractions. The doctor on call for the group came in---and of course she was the one doc I had never met. She was older and kind of a no-nonsense kind of girl. Didn't seem too friendly, and I was already sad that this was going to be the person to deliver me. But, after 2 more interactions, she smiled a little at my smart ass comments, and I knew we would be a-ok.
By 10:30 I was being prepped for surgery. And the majority of the prep was the trying to find a vein for an IV. I have terrible veins (deep and hidden), and the anesthesiologist came in (another woman) and was so warm and friendly, that she made me love her right away. She tried only once to find a vein (after numbing me no less!) and then called for the Doppler and did it properly. It took about 30 minutes for that whole procedure to be completed. She explained everything in great detail and patted my arm, assuring me that everything was going to be ok. She asked how many children we had, and I told her we lost our first child to stillbirth from Trisomy 18. She said she was so sorry to hear that. It was nice that she was sympathetic. Everyone was that heard our story.
It happened so fast. The being wheeled to surgery, the spinal block, the sheet being lifted above me (which incidentally, was a lot LOWER than when we were in San Antonio. I could see the docs pushing and prodding. Craziness!), the feeling of panic that always sets in when they are pulling things.
"The fluid is clear" the resident said.
"Here he comes!" the anesthesiologist said.
And I heard the wondrous sound. The cries. And cries. And cries. He cried more than the girl did. I was actually awake for this, and could see them working on him and give him a kiss while my innards were being pushed back into me.
Around that time, I was feeling some searing pain in my chest. Burning in my breasts of all things. Hormones? It was so painful that Dr. Wonderful Lady gave me a shot of something and I was loopty-loop for the rest of the day. The very wonderful nice thing about this hospital was that Henry was with us from the second he was born. He was not whisked away to another area. He stayed with me in the OR and in recovery. It was a nice thing to always have my {now very much drugged} eye on him.
Recovery in the hospital was going well until the end of the 2nd day. My blood pressure really spikes after delivery, and since I didn't actually labor long (which is where it tends to get out of control high because of the pain aspect of it all), I really thought it wasn't going to spike this go round and I could go home early. Nope. By Wednesday morning Dr. P came in and said "you know the drill. We have to get you stable here before you can go home. We want to make sure that you are not going to have to come back to the ER, because then you are not in our hands anymore". Which made sense. My BP was reaching the 160/110 range (on meds!), which is high, but normal. The nurse (young thing as she was) was freaking out a little, which in turn made me freak out. Deep down I knew it was normal, but something about a medical professional freaking out unnerved me.
I was getting stir crazy, and a bit lonely. It was hard not having the family there to keep me company. P would run home and spend some time with the girl and bring her to visit, but by Wednesday night, I was pretty much done with that place. I had a lot of pain (more so than last time) and I just wanted to be home in my own bed. (BTW, who designed those damn beds? Insanity).
By Thursday I was given my fistful of meds, including the powerful BP drug (and my BP is slowly coming down from insane range to the mid-high range 140s/90s). I had to deal with an incision infection that was caught early (thanks be to Jesus for my background as a microbiologist), and two hematomas that are causing me grief at the ends of my incision. But it has really been only this week that I have felt some semblance of normalcy. I thank the NP at my doctor's office, Carol. She has been a blessing, letting me come in weekly to make sure this scar and hematoma are under control. She asked about my mood the last time I was there, and I said with all honesty, I was feeling better. Much better than week 2 when I was convinced I was going to die from a virulent infection or from a stroke.
Henry is a sweet child. He sleeps a lot, but when he is awake he just hangs with you and just is.... He is most comfortable in the arms of anyone. There is only one time that in my sleep-deprived state that I mumbled his name and accidentally called him Ronan. And then I cried when I nursed him. I don't know how the hell I did that. I purposefully did not name him an "R" name because I didn't want to chance that happening on a regular basis.
He and Radha look the same. And they both resembled Ronan. It's a nice thing that my children look like each other. I feel somehow that I can imagine what he would have been like at these different ages.
On the second day, a nice young lady photographer came in and offered a photo shoot of Henry. I let her do it. She took a sleepy Henry and posed him in his nice, new blankie and snapped his picture.
"Do you have any other children at home?" she asked in between snaps.
"He's the second child we are bringing home," I said.
She stopped snapping.
"That's what I say. I have two at home and two in heaven," she said.
We nodded in respect for each other's loss. It was like my words were equivalent to the secret handshake. She knew what that meant, the power of the phrasing of those words.
She did good work. This was my favorite pic out of all of them...
And there was that moment, when we were about to leave the hospital, P snapped this picture of me holding Henry. He looked at the camera, and he wept when he saw the picture. The last time I held a baby boy we were not able to take him home...
There is not the blanket of grief on us this time, but the dusting that remains. And it will always remain....
We got to L&D at 8:30, and the nurse at the doc office already called them and told them that I was en route. This labor was already different from the previous 2. I was having contractions every 5 minutes, and my belly ached. They put me in triage, and put the Doppler on to measure the heart beat and contractions. The doctor on call for the group came in---and of course she was the one doc I had never met. She was older and kind of a no-nonsense kind of girl. Didn't seem too friendly, and I was already sad that this was going to be the person to deliver me. But, after 2 more interactions, she smiled a little at my smart ass comments, and I knew we would be a-ok.
By 10:30 I was being prepped for surgery. And the majority of the prep was the trying to find a vein for an IV. I have terrible veins (deep and hidden), and the anesthesiologist came in (another woman) and was so warm and friendly, that she made me love her right away. She tried only once to find a vein (after numbing me no less!) and then called for the Doppler and did it properly. It took about 30 minutes for that whole procedure to be completed. She explained everything in great detail and patted my arm, assuring me that everything was going to be ok. She asked how many children we had, and I told her we lost our first child to stillbirth from Trisomy 18. She said she was so sorry to hear that. It was nice that she was sympathetic. Everyone was that heard our story.
It happened so fast. The being wheeled to surgery, the spinal block, the sheet being lifted above me (which incidentally, was a lot LOWER than when we were in San Antonio. I could see the docs pushing and prodding. Craziness!), the feeling of panic that always sets in when they are pulling things.
"The fluid is clear" the resident said.
"Here he comes!" the anesthesiologist said.
And I heard the wondrous sound. The cries. And cries. And cries. He cried more than the girl did. I was actually awake for this, and could see them working on him and give him a kiss while my innards were being pushed back into me.
Around that time, I was feeling some searing pain in my chest. Burning in my breasts of all things. Hormones? It was so painful that Dr. Wonderful Lady gave me a shot of something and I was loopty-loop for the rest of the day. The very wonderful nice thing about this hospital was that Henry was with us from the second he was born. He was not whisked away to another area. He stayed with me in the OR and in recovery. It was a nice thing to always have my {now very much drugged} eye on him.
Recovery in the hospital was going well until the end of the 2nd day. My blood pressure really spikes after delivery, and since I didn't actually labor long (which is where it tends to get out of control high because of the pain aspect of it all), I really thought it wasn't going to spike this go round and I could go home early. Nope. By Wednesday morning Dr. P came in and said "you know the drill. We have to get you stable here before you can go home. We want to make sure that you are not going to have to come back to the ER, because then you are not in our hands anymore". Which made sense. My BP was reaching the 160/110 range (on meds!), which is high, but normal. The nurse (young thing as she was) was freaking out a little, which in turn made me freak out. Deep down I knew it was normal, but something about a medical professional freaking out unnerved me.
I was getting stir crazy, and a bit lonely. It was hard not having the family there to keep me company. P would run home and spend some time with the girl and bring her to visit, but by Wednesday night, I was pretty much done with that place. I had a lot of pain (more so than last time) and I just wanted to be home in my own bed. (BTW, who designed those damn beds? Insanity).
By Thursday I was given my fistful of meds, including the powerful BP drug (and my BP is slowly coming down from insane range to the mid-high range 140s/90s). I had to deal with an incision infection that was caught early (thanks be to Jesus for my background as a microbiologist), and two hematomas that are causing me grief at the ends of my incision. But it has really been only this week that I have felt some semblance of normalcy. I thank the NP at my doctor's office, Carol. She has been a blessing, letting me come in weekly to make sure this scar and hematoma are under control. She asked about my mood the last time I was there, and I said with all honesty, I was feeling better. Much better than week 2 when I was convinced I was going to die from a virulent infection or from a stroke.
Henry is a sweet child. He sleeps a lot, but when he is awake he just hangs with you and just is.... He is most comfortable in the arms of anyone. There is only one time that in my sleep-deprived state that I mumbled his name and accidentally called him Ronan. And then I cried when I nursed him. I don't know how the hell I did that. I purposefully did not name him an "R" name because I didn't want to chance that happening on a regular basis.
He and Radha look the same. And they both resembled Ronan. It's a nice thing that my children look like each other. I feel somehow that I can imagine what he would have been like at these different ages.
On the second day, a nice young lady photographer came in and offered a photo shoot of Henry. I let her do it. She took a sleepy Henry and posed him in his nice, new blankie and snapped his picture.
"Do you have any other children at home?" she asked in between snaps.
"He's the second child we are bringing home," I said.
She stopped snapping.
"That's what I say. I have two at home and two in heaven," she said.
We nodded in respect for each other's loss. It was like my words were equivalent to the secret handshake. She knew what that meant, the power of the phrasing of those words.
She did good work. This was my favorite pic out of all of them...
And there was that moment, when we were about to leave the hospital, P snapped this picture of me holding Henry. He looked at the camera, and he wept when he saw the picture. The last time I held a baby boy we were not able to take him home...
There is not the blanket of grief on us this time, but the dusting that remains. And it will always remain....
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Happy Halloween!
Baby Henry came into the world about 11:45 a.m. Halloween morning. Guess he was too excited and couldn't wait for his scheduled C-section on November 4th! :)
He weighed 7 lbs 5 oz and was 20.5 inches longs. He has a head full of dark hair and is really one of the sweetest babies I have ever met.
We are doing fine, and hoping to be home in a day or so.
XOXOXO---Reese
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
November 4, 2011
D-Day.
This is the day that they will go and fetch the boy if he does not end up following his big sister's footsteps and come on his own early.
We are just hanging out. I have doctor's appointments 2x a week. Everything seems fine and dandy. I am slowly biding my time.
I do find it amusing that the Perinatologist keeps asking if I am still working 'outside of the home'. I feel like asking him "this is the US, no? We haven't woken up in Canada, Finland, or the UK where we actually give proper maternity leave, now have we???"
Work is crazy busy, but as my Colonel pointed out, I'm just going to have to let go and assume it will get done.
That's all from here, folks. Thanks for checking in on me. :)
This is the day that they will go and fetch the boy if he does not end up following his big sister's footsteps and come on his own early.
We are just hanging out. I have doctor's appointments 2x a week. Everything seems fine and dandy. I am slowly biding my time.
I do find it amusing that the Perinatologist keeps asking if I am still working 'outside of the home'. I feel like asking him "this is the US, no? We haven't woken up in Canada, Finland, or the UK where we actually give proper maternity leave, now have we???"
Work is crazy busy, but as my Colonel pointed out, I'm just going to have to let go and assume it will get done.
That's all from here, folks. Thanks for checking in on me. :)
Friday, October 7, 2011
Blood Pressure and Sugar
So, did I ever mention that I get hypertensive with pregnancy? And that I get gestational diabetes?
The hypertension was pretty intense with the girl. It climbed up slowly starting at about 24 weeks, and I was popping methlydopa like candy by the time I delivered. A lot of it was just the stress of the unknown. And the gestational diabetes was well maintained with diet and a smidge of metformin.
Fast forward to this pregnancy. Blood pressure held off until 33 weeks. Since it's been 3 years, they decided to try a new drug on me, convinced that methyldopa doesn't work well. I took it in the morning, and two hours later there were bugs crawling on my face and I was vomiting in the bathroom next to my office. Back on methyldopa I went. And my blood pressure has been pretty stable with no protein in my urine. So this is PIH (pregnancy induced hypertension) and not pre-eclampsia (in case you were wondering).
The sugar situation is the same, but I have been doing really well with the diet, but for some UNKNOWN reason, they have become a bit psycho in the medical community about keeping fasting blood sugars below 90 in the morning. Mine hover around 93. So, after a week of more than 4 readings coming in above 90, they prescribed a med to help lower the fasting blood sugars. They started me on the lowest dose a couple of days ago. My blood sugar was 80 this morning. And I was starving. Like insane hungry. Then about 4 hours after lunch today, I started shaking. Badly. I took my blood sugar and it was 60! One of my Colonels (who is an M.D.) was trying like hell to find something for me to eat quickly to get my blood sugar back up. His daughter is Type I diabetic and he was (is) at a loss on why they prescribed a med when I was not having fasting glucose above 100. As I was leaning against my car I joked that they were trying to make sure the last 4 weeks of pregnancy were complete and utter hell on me. He agreed.
I am 35 weeks on Monday. They are going to fetch him at 38 weeks because of the PIH (even though it's under control). That means the week of Oct. 31-Nov 5 will be D-Day.
We've had lots of ultrasounds, and they show his chubby cheeks and a head full of hair. I get weepy at the thought that I get to meet him in a few weeks.
I have a baby shower tomorrow. Gifts have been spilling in. Little outfits of blue and brown. Blankets with monkeys on them. I feel almost normal.
Almost.
The hypertension was pretty intense with the girl. It climbed up slowly starting at about 24 weeks, and I was popping methlydopa like candy by the time I delivered. A lot of it was just the stress of the unknown. And the gestational diabetes was well maintained with diet and a smidge of metformin.
Fast forward to this pregnancy. Blood pressure held off until 33 weeks. Since it's been 3 years, they decided to try a new drug on me, convinced that methyldopa doesn't work well. I took it in the morning, and two hours later there were bugs crawling on my face and I was vomiting in the bathroom next to my office. Back on methyldopa I went. And my blood pressure has been pretty stable with no protein in my urine. So this is PIH (pregnancy induced hypertension) and not pre-eclampsia (in case you were wondering).
The sugar situation is the same, but I have been doing really well with the diet, but for some UNKNOWN reason, they have become a bit psycho in the medical community about keeping fasting blood sugars below 90 in the morning. Mine hover around 93. So, after a week of more than 4 readings coming in above 90, they prescribed a med to help lower the fasting blood sugars. They started me on the lowest dose a couple of days ago. My blood sugar was 80 this morning. And I was starving. Like insane hungry. Then about 4 hours after lunch today, I started shaking. Badly. I took my blood sugar and it was 60! One of my Colonels (who is an M.D.) was trying like hell to find something for me to eat quickly to get my blood sugar back up. His daughter is Type I diabetic and he was (is) at a loss on why they prescribed a med when I was not having fasting glucose above 100. As I was leaning against my car I joked that they were trying to make sure the last 4 weeks of pregnancy were complete and utter hell on me. He agreed.
I am 35 weeks on Monday. They are going to fetch him at 38 weeks because of the PIH (even though it's under control). That means the week of Oct. 31-Nov 5 will be D-Day.
We've had lots of ultrasounds, and they show his chubby cheeks and a head full of hair. I get weepy at the thought that I get to meet him in a few weeks.
I have a baby shower tomorrow. Gifts have been spilling in. Little outfits of blue and brown. Blankets with monkeys on them. I feel almost normal.
Almost.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
