A pregnancy after a stillbirth

Wordless Wednesday

9 months

Andy turned nine months on July st.  His stats are:  weight-28 lbs  height- 29.5 inches.  Yes, he's off of the charts.  He's gigantic.  He wears 24 months and 2T clothes.  Soon, when I find some time, I'll post a pic of the giant baby human.

This past weekend I stopped breast pumping.  Finally.  I had been waiting for this moment for nine months.  I never expected to be sad.  Breast pumping has been such a hassle.  In the beginning, I had to pump every two hours to bring in my supply, then every three hours... I had to lug around the bulky pump to work and all of the little attachments.  I should say though that that pump got me out of a lot of boring meetings, so it wasn't all bad.  But it is nice to be able to have freedom.  To not be tethered to that pump.  To be able to stay away from home as long as I want.  I don't have to worry about wearing breast pads and leaking on shirts.  But it is a little sad.  While I hated pumping, I loved making milk for Andy.  He's nine months old and has NEVER been sick.  We had to take him to the after hours clinic once for gas, but that's it.  To be fair though, that is probably caused more by the fact that he does not go to daycare.  But it is still a source of pride.  I feel proud of myself.  Sure, I could still be pumping or breastfeeding... but nine months is a great start.  Will it make the difference between Harvard and state school?  Probably not.  But I'm proud of myself nonetheless. 

Monica

They come in threes, or fours...

Just a warning, I may not finish this post.  I just took two sleeping pills and chased them with a beer.  I've developed horrible insomnia.  I hate being alone at night with my thoughts.  I don't like where they go. 

My mortgage company effed up and took out two thousand dollars extra from our bank account.  They sent us a letter two months ago saying that our monthly payment would go down to $1,700 because we no longer had to pay PMI.  Wanting to pay off our house sooner, I called them and told them to make our new payment an even $2,000 and put the extra $300 to the principle.  Well the asshat deducted $1,700 and then an ADDITIONAL $2,000.  This was on July 3rd.  Despite apologizing numerous times, they have yet to put the money back.  Dillweeds. 

My husband found my secret credit card charges.  He, "accidentally" opened the bill.  I told my mother and her reply was, "did I teach you nothing?" 

I've started to get that feeling again.  That feeling that has no words.  It's because Jimmy's second anniversary is coming up.  I feel like a black cloud is following me.  I want to be happy with Andy.  After all, I have one living child, which is more than many women have.  Yet I can't. 

Oh.. and my MIL may be moving in with us.  She cannot move around very well and needs care.  While I don't want her to move in with us, I can't tell my husband, "no."  What if it were reversed and it was my mother who needed care?  But uugghhh.  Just ugghhhh.

On a happy note, Andy is now pulling up to a stand on EVERYTHING!!  He'll be cruising in no time.  And he's darn cute too.

HA!!  It appears I'm still awake.  Stupid over the counter sleeping pills!!!  I'm calling for my Doc to get an RX for Ambien.  Ahh.. Ambien..

Monica

Wordless Wednesday

 

You are never too old to learn.

Or at least that is what the fortune cookie from Fire.bowl Cafe said.  I'm addicted to said place.  I know they put some sort of addictive chemical in their food.  I did not like that fortune for two reasons.  One,  because that is not a fortune.  Two, because it implies, sorta, that I have a lot to learn.  I do, about comma placement,as you have undoubtedly seen.  But it is appropriate.  You see lately I've learned a lot.  I learned that hydrocodone is the generic form of Vicodin.  All this time I had Vicodin, two FULL bottles to be exact, and never knew it.  But the sad part is.. it turns out I don't do well on Vicodin.  When I took it, I thought I was dying.  So I never took another.  Ambien, now that's some candy I'd like to get my hands on. 

The other thing I learned:  Panties have a tag and if the panties are on correctly, the tag will be on the left.  "Holy Shit", I screamed.  For thirties years I had always wondered if my panties were on correctly.  I'd be sitting at work and my panties would ride up my ass.  Why?  Because they were on BACKWARDS.  Now I know.  And I can thank Peter Falk.  No, he wasn't in my bedroom.  There was an episode of Columbo about it.  Can't you just picture Falk, brow furrowed, asking, "I just have one more question... why was the tag of the victims panties on the right side?" 

So, as I have illustrated, you are never too old to learn.  Have you learned anything recently you'd care to share?

Monica

Until they all come home

My father is a Vietnam vet.  He doesn't talk much about it.  All I know is that he was stationed near Da Nang.  A few grainy pictures of daddy, the olive green of his uniform saturating the picture are the only thing that he shares.  Once I stumbled upon is honorable discharge papers while looking for a copy of my elementary school records.  However every year we always made a point to tell him, "Happy Veteran's Day".  Sometimes we took him out to dinner.  A few years ago, I asked him where he wanted to go for dinner for Veteran's Day.  His answer surprised me.  "Nowhere", he replied.  He said he couldn't go out and eat steak knowing that young men and women were stuck in Iraq and Afghanistan on the front lines eating K (or was it C) rations.  I asked, "are you sure?".  "Yes, until they all come home", was his reply. 

I feel the same way about Mother's Day.  Although this is not my first Mother's Day, it is my first with a live baby.  I'm not going to go out to eat tomorrow with Andy in tow.  I won't wear a corsage and wait with the masses to eat Sunday Brunch.  I just can't do it.  It doesn't feel right.  I read on another blog (I'll be damned but I can't remember whose) a similar sentiment.  I can't take Andy out to eat while some other woman at the next table didn't get to take her baby home.  So I'm letting my DH know tomorrow  we are staying in.  "Until they all come home (from the hospital) I say."

PS.  I am taking my mother to Luby's today for Mother's Day.  It is all she wanted.

Monica

edited to add:  my DH hacked me off by giving me a card that read, "Happy First Mother's Day".  I didn't even know what to say so I said nothing.  I guess our first baby didn't count. 

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

 

The unexpected Guest

Someone came to visit me who I hadn't seen in quite a while.  AF arrived today COMPLETELY unannounced.  No warnings, as she was not accompanied by her usual escorts Cramps and Bloating.  Instead she just showed up.  It was quite a surprise because I hadn't seen her since Jan. 5 2007, and that was only her third visit since Nov. 5 of 2005.  So since Nov. of 2005 I'd only seen her three times.  I can't really say how it was to see her.  For so long I had been trying to avoid her.  Having her visit meant I wasn't pregnant, and while I was pregnant, seeing her would have been a disaster.  So when she showed up it was weird. I had to tell myself it wasn't a bad thing.  It was a good thing.  Like I was moving on.  Like I was back to normal.  Only I'm not. 

Of course I was completely unprepared for her arrival.  All I had to offer her were the pads I got when I was discharged from the hospital for post-partum bleeding.  So off to the store I went.  I stared for what had to have been half an hour at the dizzying array of choices.  I swear they must have introduced at least four new lines of tampons since the last time I shopped.  AF isn't picky, so I grabbed old reliable Tamp.ax.  The whole thing was surreal. 

Monica

An oldie but goodie

Here's a post when Andy was still Critter.  Still snug in his watery, pink world.  When he was still an, "If, maybe, perhaps, dare I dream".  I wrote this letter to him.  So far I haven't broken my word to him.  And I just ordered his belt.  I couldn't put his name on it though.  You know how paranoid I am about someone stealing my baby so I couldn't put his name on the back of his belt for someone to call out to him.  So it's just a leather belt with white whip-stitching.  It's as cute as all hell. 

Dear Critter,

 I promise to make homemade ice cream with you once a summer. Not in those new fancy machines, but in the old kind that one person has to sit on while the other cranks the handle. We will drink Big Red on the porch and gripe about the mosquitoes. I’ll try not to embarrass you by braggin’ about you too much. I’ll never part your hair on the side for your school picture. To tell you the truth Critter, I probably won’t even remember the school picture day. You’ll learn to use not just a spinning rod, but a bait-casting rod too, and I won’t yell too loud if you make a bird’s nest with it. You will make tamales on New Years (yes, boys can make tamales). Sometimes I’ll let you pick out a sugar cereal at the store. I’ll look too long at you in the rear view mirror when I drop you off at camp. Speaking of camp, I won’t write your name in your underwear or anything geeky like that. I’ll take you out to the country and let you ride in the back of grandpa’s truck, maybe even on the tailgate.. but probably not. If a movie ever as good as Star Wars comes out again, I’ll let you camp out in line to watch it… but I may not let you dress up like Yoda (I don’t want you to get beat up). I’ll take you to Disney World when you are old enough to remember it, not when you are three years old and all you have to remember it are some photographs that you suspect your parents may have altered to look like Disney World when in fact you were really at some sad street carnival. When it's your birthday I’ll take homemade cupcakes to your classroom (that is if you want me to). I’ll teach you about the Native Americans of Texas and how they adapted to their environment, so if you are ever stuck in the Piney woods, you’ll know how to live like the Caddo. I’ll let you vote Republican if you want. Hell, I’ll even let you go to OU if you want, but you may have to take out a loan and pay for it yourself. If you need braces, I promise to fork over the big money to get you the invisible kind. I won’t be the “cool mom” on the street. No one really respects her, not even her kids. Sometimes I’ll have to take away your fire engine and ground you, or put you in timeout, or maybe even swat your behind. Sometimes I’ll tell you, “no”. But I’ll let you unwrap a gift on Christmas Eve. I won’t buy all your clothes at Gymboree. You know grandma and daddy wouldn't’t let me anyway. I’ll cherish the smell of you when we bring you home from the hospital. We will go down to the shelter and pick out a dog and then we will take it to the old folks home to entertain the seniors. You will listen to their stories about the, “Good ole days”, and you will say “Sir and Mam” to them. I won’t have to tell you this, you will just know. I’ll make corsages for your homecoming dates, but I won’t let you bring girls to the house and close your bedroom door. I was a teenager too once! You can pretend you don’t know who I am if we see a pretty girl at the grocery store, but just once I will have to embarrass you. It’s my right as a parent. Critter, I’m gonna love you as much as possible. I’ll try not to screw you up. When you go through your, “paint the room black and listen to emo music stage”, I’ll still make you come to the dinner table. We all go through those stages. I still have some Cure posters myself. I’ll never give up on you or turn my back on you regardless of who you are or who you become. I’ll never compare you to Jimmy, but I’ll always love Jimmy. I’ll tell you about him when the time is right. He’ll be your big brother. We will be a happy family. Or at least only mildly dysfunctional.  I can't wait to meet you and hold you and love you forever. 

Love,

Mommy

PS… I will have to buy you cowboy belt with your name on the back. It’s just part of being a sixth generation Texan.  When you have your own kid you can do what you want.

Monica

6 mos