In transition

I have always been prone to nightmares; I wake up covered in sweat, heart pounding, unable to move nor speak. These dreams come in cycles sometimes a year or two will pass without a visit from the Old Hag, but when life has its way with me, she’ll pay a call.

This pregnancy, aside from a few lingering symptoms, still seems unreal. After struggling with infertility with our first and fearing the same with our second, it did not seem possible to suddenly find myself pregnant, but that is where we stand. Fourteen weeks in and my dreams have yet to come to terms.

Several nights ago I found myself in Publix wearing a paper gown. I was sitting on a gurney in the canned vegetable aisle under the fluorescent light. I sat there waiting for my doctor, studying my hands, wishing for something to read, and just hoping for the appointment to be over. My doctor appeared; she pulled up a stool, looked at a chart while shaking her head, “I’m sorry” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not really wanting to know.

“You’ve lost the pregnancy and failed to miscarry. The baby has been dead for weeks,” she looked at me sadly and wandered away, leaving me holding an ultrasound picture of an unrecognizable blob.

I shouted after her, “But we saw the heartbeat!” She was gone and I was sitting by the canned peas in my socks, as my neighbors filled their carts. I looked for my clothes, but they were gone. Carrying the picture and fighting back tears I began to walk to the front of the store.

“Miss! Miss!” a woman standing by an operating table gestured wildly at me, “You have to come over here.”

I told her I wanted to go home, sobbed that I couldn’t find my clothes or my keys. She grabbed me by the arm and ushered me to the table. I was too weak and heartbroken to fight as she strapped me down. People I barely knew walked by staring with pity in their eyes as a machine hummed and a metal bowl on the floor was filled with what had once been my child.

I awoke fighting my blankets, still hearing the machine, and begging her to stop.

Once again I’m stealing from Shauna.
Today I’m thankful for:

• Hats. Of all types.
• Finally finding good pizza.
• Post-pizza-pile-ups.
• Naps.

Why do children who were put to bed two hours late insist on waking an hour early?

Tim took the baby out and brought home a little boy.

I noted recently that I’m slowly climbing out of the first trimester funk. With that, my appetite is returning with a vengeance. There were a few times with my previous pregnancies where I’d long for a certain food. Perhaps I’d dream of it and wake with a memory of a taste or a longing for the way it would feel.

Until recently I have never dealt with the feelings of, “I must have this food or there will be hell to pay.” This morning was a prime example. I opened the fridge to retrieve some eggs for the boys. My gaze landed on the sirloin tip roast from last night and suddenly I could think of nothing else. Nothing except what would be the perfect accompaniment, of course.

It’s a good thing we had tomatoes. I’d hate to arrive at Kurios Farms before eight in the morning begging Juanita for tomatoes, “I hate to bother you, but you see this is an emergency!”

So is it really that strange to start off the day with a plate of roast beef with horseradish and a side of tomatoes lightly sauteed in olive oil sprinkled with cracked black pepper? If so, keep it to yourself, I’m in heaven.

Would someone mind refreshing my coffee?

It might be premature, but I like to think I’m leaving the exhaustion and misery of the first trimester behind. I find myself longing for naptime a little less each day. In my experience there are none so introspective as a pregnant woman and when you add a blogger into the mix, you create a monster.

I recently stumbled upon an amazing blog written by an American midwife in Malawi. Be forewarned many of the stories are heartbreaking.

I am so truly grateful to live where and when I do. I feel truly blessed.

I can’t tell everyone how happy I am to hear that all of the results came back clear.

No celiac, no colitis, no Crohn’s. All of his digestive enzymes seem normal, he’s absorbing fats and proteins as he should. There’s no underlying infection.

So, it boils down to we have no idea why he is the way he is, but it’s not affecting his absorption of nutrients, so we’ll monitor him.

It is so nice to know I’m not poisoning him with every meal.

Most mothers lament over their inability to get their children to eat vegetables. That does not seem to be a problem in our house. My boys are eating machines, if they can catch it they’ll eat it, with rare exception. Yesterday I was distracted, probably trying to de-fur the house as our basset hounds think it’s time for the great Spring shedding.

I heard my oldest scream, “No Marky No! No snatching!”

I arrived in the kitchen just in time to hear an ear splitting shriek from the sixteen month old as his brother bit him hard enough to draw blood. My husband unwittingly arrived home from work and was assigned the task of disciplining the three year old, while I comforted Mark.

What were they fighting over you ask?

Broccoli.

We made it through clear liquid diet and other pre-procedure fun on Wednesday just fine. I think I was more upset by the whole thing than Aidan. I was worried it would devolve into some horrendous experience that he’d tell other adults in a three year old’s convoluted way and I would have to explain, while the neurotic part of me would flip out waiting for them to call DSS and report all the horrible “going ons” at our house.

Joan was kind enough to stop by and say hello. Aidan mugged, squeaked, stomped around and pretended to be shy.

Eventually they got around to performing the endoscopy/colonoscopy and I was sent back to the room to wait. They underestimated the length of the procedure and left me to panic alone as an additional 15 or 20 minutes crawled by. Thankfully, I could see the head anesthesiologist wandering the halls, which I knew he would not be doing if there were a problem. Finally the doctor came by to tell me everything went fine. He said the colonoscopy looked pretty good and he got everything he needed. He also said that there were some abnormalities in his esophagus, but that it was probably damage from reflux.

So here I am with mixed emotions, mostly relief. I told three separate pediatricians that my infant screamed and held himself rigid for hours a day. “Oh, it’s just colic.” I’m a little angry, I was at the end of my rope with him as a baby and it turns out there were options if any of the three had considered he might have reflux. I know it’s in the past, but I was terrified he was autistic, now I know he was in pain.

We should have results from all of the testing at his follow-up.