by mayberry on January 18, 2009
We lost our baby, our little boy.
We’d known there could be–would be–was something wrong for a few weeks (which is why I haven’t been posting or commenting). The end finally came just yesterday.
The end, and the beginning of us missing him and wondering what if and if only.
Every day of these awful weeks, I took my prenatal vitamin, I avoided alcohol, I double-steeped my tea to lower its caffeine content. Just as I’ve been doing since the first days of my pregnancy. I wasn’t hoping for a miracle. I guess I just wanted to prove (to whom, I don’t know) that I did every last little thing that I could to protect him.
It wasn’t enough. And I do know that it wasn’t my fault.
But I hope my little boy knows how much he is loved. And that my heart is as broken as his little body is.
by mayberry on December 19, 2008
Over the ground lies a mantle of white…
You’re not kidding. In addition to the foot of snow we got 10 days ago (which mostly didn’t melt), we’re now in the midst of a fluffy downpour of flakes today, with more predicted for Sunday/Monday. White Christmas: check.
It’s not, however, a snow day. Still had to take Jo to school this morning. She gave it her best shot by putting an ice cube in the toilet and sleeping with a spoon under her pillow, but no luck. I have never heard of those two superstitions–is it a Midwest thing? We never did it growing up in Pennsylvania.
I have to brave the highways later on for an OB appointment. My practice now has a new procedure for urine tests: BYOU. They give you a little cup at your appointment and tell you to bring it back at the next one–full. Isn’t that delightful?
I had an sonogram yesterday, the nuchal translucency screening. Baby spent the whole time sucking his/her thumb and trying to shove away the ultrasound wand pressing down on its turf. Not to sound like a pro-life activist but it really is amazing to see that at 13 weeks gestation. When I got home, like an idiot I googled what a normal NT measurement is. It’s almost 4 times less than the number I thought I saw on the screen. Thanks a lot, Dr. Google.
by mayberry on December 15, 2008
Someone will probably want to revoke my Mom License for this, but I never used to check on my kids at night before I went to bed. Just getting them to sleep in the first place was far too time-consuming. I dared not risk it by tiptoeing anywhere near. The only time I chanced it was if I suspected they might not, in fact, be in their beds–hence the time I found Opie sound asleep on the floor of his room, completely bare of pajamas or even a diaper.
Lately, though, I can’t resist sneaking a peek. I must have established the habit when Jo was
sick this summer. Now I crack open each door just an inch or two, to see those little sleepyheads. I’d never realized Jo talks in her sleep. But nearly every night, she mumbles a little something. The sound of the doorknob turning is just loud enough to rouse her ever so slightly, but she rolls over and is dreaming again before I can even close the door. Opie, inevitably, hasn’t moved an inch since I left him a few hours before, snoring slightly, with the stuffed animal
du jour tucked in nearby.
Turning away from his door, I look across the hall at the room that’s now (theoretically) a home office, and will one day be the new baby’s room. Can it really be that one day another child will sleep right there behind that door? I’m still amazed.
by mayberry on December 4, 2008
1. How to dance
2. How to sing
3. How to quit (“You know. Like leave his job.”)
4. How to DON’T play with matches
5. About stop lights, go lights, and slow down lights
6. How to play the guitar
By the way, Jo and Opie are certain their new sib is a boy. Because they have consulted the Magic 8-Ball, and not only did it say that yes, it’s a boy, it also said that it’s not a girl. So, totally definitive.
by mayberry on December 3, 2008
Week 4: This isn’t so bad.
In Denver, Julie is either psychic or takes note of my greenish tint and the fact that I don’t drink any Skinny Dip. She sends me home with a huge wardrobe of maternity clothes (mine, hers, and even some of Liz‘s) “just in case.”
Week 5: This is … getting more bad.
Week 6: Feel like death warmed over.
Stop buttoning my pants. Unapologetically eat deli meat AND brie.
Week 7: Heartburn and morning sickness. Cruel and unusual.
Also cruel: “morning” sickness and potty-training, night-waking preschooler and vomiting dog.
[Pause to acknowledge The Boring. Aren't you glad you didn't have to read all of this in real time?]
Week 8: Way too fat and sick for just one baby.
Have totally convinced myself there must be two in there. Panicking about need for new car, crib, double stroller, and “how will I even get from the garage to the house with TWO BABIES?”
Week 9: Ultrasound! Just one (of course).
We tell the kids. They tell everyone they see including the teenage kid working at the playroom at the Y.
Week 10: Giving thanks for my whole family, even (okay, especially) the one that’s currently acting like a tapeworm.
by mayberry on December 1, 2008
Last Christmas Eve my husband and I had one of the most profound conversations of our then decade-long relationship. Conducted entirely in whispers (we were staying at his mother’s and Opie was sleeping just inches away in a travel crib), our talk touched on the experiences we valued from our childhoods, what we wanted for our own kids, and so much more. At one point, Jeff said he was sad that Jo and Opie are not growing up with lots of cousins around. They only have a few, and see them only once or twice a year.
Without even thinking about it–certainly without thinking he would ever take me seriously–I said, “We could have another baby.”
I was astonished when he said, “Yes, we could.” And for the first time ever, he really meant it.
And that’s how it came to be that the best present of Christmas 2007 will, if all goes well, be delivered sometime in June, 2009.
