Not Good Enough

Pregnancy-wise, all is well here.

Work-wise, all is well here.

Relationship-wise, all is well here.

So why did I end up having a mini-breakdown this morning and am still feeling blue several hours later?

I think I can easily blame hormones since, hey, they’re in my bloodstream and doing wonky things to my brain.  I could easily blame lack of continuous sleep since between the baby playing with my bladder, the cat knocking things over, the dogs hogging all of the bed and the husband’s snoring, I’m generally up 3-6 times a night.  And I get very emotional when tired.  I could easily blame any number of external factors- the weather, the fact that it’s dark at 4pm- but I’m not sure it’s really any of these things.   I think, sadly, it’s my old friend Not Good Enough.

Not Good Enough (or NGE) has come to visit me quite a bit in my 33 years.  I’m not sure when she first turned up but I do know that by the time I was nine or so she and I were quite close.  NGE is the one who sits on my shoulder and whispers negative things to me as I look around the room at the gym and see everyone else as thinner, fitter, and better looking than me.  NGE is the one who held my hand and stroked my forehead all through adolescence, trying to soothe me with words of discouragement- “Everyone else is smarter than you.  Everyone else is thinner than you.  Everyone else just gets it. You don’t.”

By the time college rolled around, I knew it was time for new friends.  I made a bunch but NGE was stubborn and refused to leave me completely alone.  She’d go away for months at a time but as soon as she saw an opening- an audition that was less than perfect, a bad grade on a test, a bad ending to a relationship- she’d swoop right back in, taking up her place on my shoulder for a long chat.

As an adult (ha, I scoff at this label!), NGE and I have a tacit understanding.  It’s one that we reached through years of therapy and “working on myself.”  I agree that she can hang around if she agrees to keep quiet the majority of the time.  I’ll let her come out and play once in a while, when I know I’m strong enough to handle it since she can sometimes have a point and allow me to see areas in which I could be improving.  But it’s very clear- as soon as she becomes hostile and damaging in her language, she has to go away to whatever corner of my brain she has claimed as her own.  And she needs to shut up.

Still, NGE is a wiley one.  She has managed to worm her way in without me noticing, especially when I’m distracted by other things.  By the time I realize what’s going on, she’s sitting on my shoulder, braiding my hair and intertwining the strands with such encouraging statements as, “No one will hire you for that job, everyone else is much better at that.”  or “No matter how hard you work out, you’ll never look as good as everyone else.”  It takes a lot of work to push her off my shoulder, to unbraid and brush those statements out of my hair.  But, still, it’s been a pretty good arrangement for the last few years.

Until this pregnancy.  You’d think, with all the anxiety I have in general, that NGE would leave me alone on this one.  I mean, I’m anxious about things going wrong with the baby, about how the baby will change our lives, about how we’re going to afford everything, about how this will impact my career….  It’s not like I’m sitting around, blissfully happy and feeling calm.  But, no, this is the kind of environment in which NGE flourishes.  And she’s been with me for the last five months, without me even noticing.

This morning I realized just how present she’s been in the last two weeks.  I happened to see a photo on facebook of a friend who is pregnant with twins and about three weeks ahead of me.  She looked beautiful.  A perfectly round little belly, serene expression on her face, perfect skin, no stretch marks and just radiant.  And I’m really happy for her. But NGE pointed at that photo and then pointed at me and said, “You don’t look like that.  You have two bellies- one is the baby and the upper one, well, that’s all your fat/organs/previous belly.  Your belly is covered in stretch marks.  Yours is pretty ugly.  And you aren’t radiant or serene.  You don’t even look cute. You’re mostly boobs and belly and it’s gross.  You’re just big, fat and anxious.  You’ll never be a pretty pregnant lady.”

Nice, isn’t she?

I think it might be time to send her back to her corner to think about what she’s done.  I wish I could remember how I do that because the other lovely thing about NGE is the longer she stays, the harder it is to put her away.  The longer she’s with me, the more I start comparing myself to those around me and the more I find myself lacking. The longer she’s with me, the more tired I am and the less willing I am to work to push her away.  She wears me down.

Maybe this was her way of telling me that I will never be able to completely evict her and that she’ll be with me forever.  Because I will work really, really hard now to put her back.   And I will succeed.  It will take several weeks and lots of work but she’ll go back to her corner, at least until she comes out again.  When she does show up again, I have news for her.

I will tell my friend NGE this:   I will work hard to keep her quiet in my brain.  I will work even harder to make sure that my daughter never, ever meets her.  NGE can spend my life beating up on me but the second she even thinks about my daughter, she’s done.  My daughter will NOT grow up with her own friend NGE.  Nope.  She’ll, I’m sure, create all sorts of other friends of her own (perhaps NGE’s cousin, I’m Worried or her uncle, Bugs Scare Me) but NOT NGE.  I won’t allow it.

So if the trade-off is that NGE is with me for life, well, I can live with that.  Because forwarned is forearmed, right?  I’m more aware now that she’s here and I can work to put her away.  I know she’s going to turn up a lot in the next few years as we begin to tackle this parenting thing.  I’ll be on the lookout for her- I won’t let her sneak up on me again.  If I catch her lurking around sooner, I can be ready to push her right back into her little corner and remind her to Shut Up.

I think I just wasn’t ready this time.  But I’ll get there.

 

21 weeks and counting

Today marks the 21st week of my pregnancy.  And what have I learned so far?

Well, I’ve learned that pregnancy makes me smell funny.  It also makes me notice the smells of the people in the next state.  And the smells of things that were made four days ago.  Basically, smell has become much more important.

I’ve learned that I don’t like to gain weight.  I knew this but always thought, somehow, I’d mind less when I knew the weight was due to another person occupying space in my body.  Nope, I just don’t like the weight gain.

I’ve learned that I truly, truly love my husband.  Despite our struggles and our disagreements and our differing backgrounds, we are a fine pair.  We are very much looking forward to this parenting adventure together and it’s been delightful discovering what we’re each worried or excited about and it’s been nice to see how well we can support each other.

I’ve learned that I like feeling the baby move.  It’s weird and almost indescribable but cool at the same time.  I’m sure I won’t think so in about 19 weeks but right now I’m almost sad to think about the baby being on her own in the world!  It seems like my belly is a pretty cozy place to be.  Again, I’m SURE in about 19 weeks I’ll be yelling at her to getoutgetoutgetout!!!!

And yes, you read correctly, we found out today that the baby is likely a she.  We decided to find out as we were having daily “discussions” about boys names but had been able to agree on a girl’s name and we were tired of calling the baby “it.”  So there’s about a 90-95% chance that the baby is a girl.  I like those odds.

I’ve learned lots of other stuff too, most of it too icky to share here but suffice to say, pregnancy is kinda gross.  It’s a toss-up as to if we’ll have another- not because we don’t want one but because this whole experience has been kind of gross and we may not want to be naked together again any time soon.  On the other hand, lots of this has been fun so I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Only 18 weeks, 6 days left!!!!

 

Nesting

I am not really a “nesting” kind of person.  I cook, yes, and like to have people over for dinner but that’s about as far as it goes.  I hate to clean, I don’t knit or sew or craft and I certainly don’t hang curtains.  And when people found out I was pregnant, they suggested that this might change as the time for the baby’s arrival drew closer.  I scoffed and said that would never happen.

It still hasn’t.  But what has happened is my insatiable need to “do” holidays.  At least foodwise.   So, in honor of Halloween, here’s what I spent my afternoon doing:

Eyeball Cupcakes

Potato Ghosts

Green Gruel (It's looking at you)

Mummy Meatloaf

And here’s what  my husband did (last night, when he was avoiding schoolwork):

Scary Pumpkin

Detailed Pumpkin

 

Two Years Ago Today

Two years ago today I was wearing a white dress and sparkly red shoes and I was dancing to Elvis’ “Can’t Help Falling In Love” with my new husband.  Two years ago tomorrow, I was on a white sandy beach in Maui, enjoying my honeymoon with my new husband.

We’ve been together almost ten years now and married for two.  If you’ve been reading along since the beginning of this blog, you’ll know that last year at this time, I wasn’t all that convinced that I’d be married this year at this time.  I can safely say that this last year of marriage, our 2nd year as husband and wife and our 9+ year as a couple, has been the best year we’ve had as a partnership.

It’s taken a great deal of work on both our parts, some major life changes and some enormous perspective shifts.  But this year at this time, I have no doubt that we have many, many happy years before us.  Lots of work still, and definitely some rocky times ahead but exciting adventures as well.

Starting of course with parenting the little lime that’s currently not so little and swimming around inside me.  I’m looking forward to co-parenting with my husband.  It’s exciting and breathtaking and just so amazing to be feeling so positive about the future.

So I’m glad that two years ago today I stood next to my husband and vowed to stay with him.  I’m glad that a year ago today, he and I were in Florida, trying to figure out how to move forward together.  I’m glad that we sat down together for a yummy dinner tonight and that I’m home and in bed next to him at 8:53pm.

Happy Anniversary to us!

 

 

Closing Another Door

So if we think of life as a series of choices, rooms, if you will (and even if you won’t), with adjoining doors that go on and on, then there comes a time when to move forward, you must make a choice, shut the door and know that you can’t ever return to it.  It’s impossible, in other words, to go forward without making a choice.

One of the things that is hitting me hard this week about the pregnancy is that it’s one door that can’t really be re-opened or closed, depending on how you look at it.  What I mean is, one can always find a new job, buy a new home or even (with a lot of messy paperwork and hurt feelings) find a new spouse.  But you’re not able to walk away or extricate yourself from your child- you are permanently connected and it’s a choice that can’t be undone.

Not that this is a bad thing- I’m extremely excited to meet my little lime in person and to be a mom and to co-parent and all of that.  Along with the excitement is a lot of anxiety (some about my own abilities, some about just how big a change it is and some that I haven’t been able to identify yet) and some sadness about the big Life Change that is coming.  Again, I chose this and want it and know that it will be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made and I’m fully aware that there’s no going back from it.

The other great love of my life gets married today and that’s another door closing.  It was one that had been mostly shut for, oh, at least 10 years now but with his marriage and the little lime on his/her way, it will not only be shut, it will be locked, vacuum sealed and covered in some sort of disgusting slime or bugs a la Indiana Jones so that no one will ever open it again.  (But the part of me that refuses to believe that all things are not accessible to me points out that it could be opened again but not without a lot of sadness, pain and messy, overwhelming paperwork)   Which is ok- I clearly made my choice to move forward, as did he.  And we made the choice to do it without each other- what’s more of a symbol of moving forward than to choose a different life partner and to become pregnant?

It’s just, well, another door I can’t open.  And the baby is another way of cutting off other doors to other rooms (opening up ones I’d never have otherwise, yes, but closing off others).  Being me, I hate to be limited.  I hate to think that some things are now impossible for me.  So it’s a bit anxiety-provoking.  And a small part of me is mourning those rooms that I don’t get to live in or visit or experience.  Even if I didn’t want to visit them.  Even if I made the choice of which doors to close.

Times like these I have learned (thank you to my therapist), to take a deep breath and to look around the rooms I do inhibit.  To see all the wonderful souvenirs I have in them from other rooms I’ve visited or passed through or decided to close off.  To enjoy my current surroundings and to look at the doors I haven’t opened yet.  To look forward to the rooms behind those doors which will be filled with more trinkets, comfy couches and, yes,  some uncomfortable chairs.  To let myself miss the rooms I can’t re-visit and to allow myself to get excited about the rooms to come.

Because when it comes down to it, I’ve got a pretty comfy, cozy, familiar and lovely set of rooms in which I live.  They’re filled with positive people, love, beauty and laughter.  I can usually avoid the hard-backed chair or two that are in it and in them I feel, well, at home.

I’m looking forward to the new room that will open when the lime arrives and all the new things he/she will have to decorate with (I’m thinking lots of mess and lots of beauty, at the same time).  I’m looking forward to creating more spaces for us to be together, as a family.  I know it will be worth it.

 

The Belly

Introducing….

My belly (at about 17 weeks, 3 days):

At this rate, I’ll be the size of a house by the time the baby is ready to arrive!!!  Oh well, healthy baby…

 

Chance is Lumpy

When I was in grad school, one of my research methods professors stated, “Chance is lumpy.”  Which, while probably statistically true (I didn’t really play close attention in that class), is a really funny statement.  I bring it up because I was thinking about chance and odds today and I can’t think about that sort of thing without remembering that statement.

When I was born, my parents were told that I was probably going to die shortly thereafter.  I was born 3 months early and that was extremely early (and extremely small- 2.5 pounds, 14 inches) for that time.  I spent several weeks in the NICU and (as you’ve guessed) survived and grew and became, well, me.  From that experience, my mother has developed a healthy disrespect for “the odds.”  When given a situation where odds are good that things will or will not happen, she tends to say things to the effect of, “Don’t tell me about the odds.  They don’t apply to me.”  (I think it’s her way of saying, “Chance is lumpy.”)

I’ve been feeling slightly anxious (shocking, I know) regarding the serial sequential screening results which were due back this week.  I just talked with the nurse and I’m pleased to report that, in this case anyway, chance wasn’t so lumpy.  The odds were in our favor and remained that way.  Our results are that our baby has a risk of 1 in 2,900 for an Open Neural Tube Defect, a less than 1 in 10,000 chance of Down Syndrome and a less than 1 in 10,000 chance of Trisomy 18.

Hooray for flat, non-lumpy chance!

 

No news is good news?

So, nothing exciting happening here, baby-wise.  This is good.  I’m getting impatient to feel the baby moving (One of the drawbacks to being on a message board, in a cohort thread is being virtually surrounded by other women in the 2nd trimester, all of whom (it seems) are feeling baby movement 24/7.) but also know it’s still pretty early.  I’ve had a flutter or two but nothing consistent.

In other daily, mundane news, this is national veterinary technician week. Something that wouldn’t have meant anything to me a year ago is now of import.  My husband is in his first year of vet tech school and is loving almost every moment of it.  As a result, I am now highly aware of various vet tech issues- this celebratory week, the debate about licensing vs. certification, the list goes on.  The end result is that I will likely be going by our vet’s office later today with coffee and donuts for all those hard workers.  ‘Cause I’m nice and all.

So other than spending a lovely weekend with a best friend in her current city of residence, I have no other news.  Just hanging around, incubating and trying to keep things afloat.  It’s not as hard as it used to be, for which I am grateful.  Mostly, I’m just thinking, “movement, movement, movement”.  Join me, won’t you?

 

Negative Day, Positive Outcome

So, the end of this story is, “……and everything is fine.  I’m fine, the baby is fine and all is well.”  Here’s the rest:

After a simply lovely day yesterday, in which I met K on the North Shore for massages by the ocean and then had dinner at her house with her husband and children and my husband (who had driven up to join us), we headed home and were in bed by 9pm.  I must say that I don’t want to skip over just how nice a day it was- K and I had plenty to talk about, our husbands seemed to get along (mine said, on the way home, “They seem nice.” and then proceeded to laugh about how he and K’s husband quoted lines from Pulp Fiction and thought of one of the at the same time.), the food was great and her kids were charming.  The massage was calming, relaxing and I felt somehow smoother both inside and out when it was over.

So, the husband and I get home and go to bed and do what lots of couples do between turning off the light and falling asleep.  A good time was had by all.  We fell asleep, curled in with the dogs and cat and about three hours later I had to use the bathroom.  So far, not so different from other nights.

After using the bathroom, I discovered I was bleeding.  Not a lot but enough to make me really, really concerned.  Something about my kind of anxiety and pregnancy doesn’t mix well as each time I use the bathroom, I check for blood.  Haven’t had any since the pregnancy started but always check anyway.

I went back to bed and then got up and called the doctor.  I talked with a very nice nurse who took my information, was reassuring since I wasn’t cramping or bleeding profusely and who called the on-call doctor.  The nurse called back a few minutes later and told me not to worry too much as lots of women bleed or spot during pregnancy.  She told me to call my OB in the morning and to go in, just to make sure all was ok.

Could you go back to sleep after a call like that?  I certainly couldn’t.  My husband was great, reassuring and soothing and even offered to stay up with me, if I wanted.  I declined since he had class the next day.  Instead, I read a thread on my message board, entitled, “bleeding and pregnancy.”  After about ten pages of mostly positive stories, I felt brave enough to use google.  Which made me feel better- something like 80% of women spot or bleed during pregnancy, often after sex due to the greater number of blood vessels that happen with pregnancy.  And all sorts of other facts which served to make me feel ok enough to try to sleep.

So try to sleep I did.  I got some sleep but not a lot and it was definitely not good quality sleep.  I woke up at lot and at 6:30, finally just got up.  I got ready for work and then went right to the OB’s office.  The husband wanted to come too but we decided he should go to school and I’d call him when I had an appointment.

The nurse at the OB’s office was nice and before I knew what was happening, had me in to see a CNM (Certified Nurse Midwife) who performed a “limited” ultrasound and used the doppler to listen for the heartbeat.  Both of which went well.  She also checked out my cervix and said things looked good.  Her one concern was the possibility of a low placenta and so she sent me off for a regular ultrasound to confirm.

Mom came with me for that, since I wasn’t sure if I’d go right in, like I did at the OB’s or if I’d wait and husband was still in class and by the time he could get there, even if he left right away, I might have already been seen.  Plus, it seemed that everything was ok so I didn’t want him to miss his class.  He accepted this grudgingly and kept his phone on for updates.

At the Ultrasound office, Mon and I waited for about half an hour and then went in for a regular ultrasound which showed that the baby was just fine, though not as photogenic as when were last there.  Heartbeat strong, measurements good– we got to see the little one yawn and we got to see little, tiny, tiny feet.  We got to see the feet because I also had a vaginal ultrasound- picture a long dildo (complete with condom on it) with the ultrasound wand thingy on the end.  The end result?  No low placenta.  Everything is really just fine.

A huge load off my mind and heart and I’m glad Mom was with me to see it and remind me that it’s all ok.  I took her back to work and headed to work myself, only come home about two hours later because as I was sitting in my office, testing with a child, I thought I was going to pass out.  I calmly told the child we were going to take a break and went into the Learning Center where two of my teacher friends demanded that I sit immediately as I was white as a sheet.  One got the nurse and we all decided I should go home.  The whole time, I was concerned that the poor kid in my office was going to be traumatized.  I don’t think he was.

So I made it home and took a nap and am up now, have eaten something and am trying to take it easy.  This pregnancy thing is hard work- both physically and emotionally.  I’m lucky to have my mom and husband and some good friends (three of whom emailed me in response to my panicked email last night with reassuring and positive thoughts) to help me naviagte it.   Whew.

But, as you know, the end of this story is that after a long night and day, everything is fine.  I’m fine, the baby is fine and all is well.

Whew.

 

Bring On The Night

So, it’s another hoppin’ Friday night around here and the unusual thing for tonight?  I’m sleeping alone.  Well, as alone as I get with two dogs, a cat and the little babe swimming around in the belly.  That’s right, I will be sleeping sans husband.

For some this may not be a big deal and, heck, it wasn’t a big deal to me two years ago when said husband was traveling for work and would be gone for months at a time.  In fact, I really liked it.  More space, less snoring, more covers, less elbows/knees/kicking– what’s not to love?

Now, however, I’m dreading it.  For several reasons.  Number one being that it’s October 2nd and I refuse to turn on the heat.  It’s just too early for the heat.  Plus, it’s expensive.  Which means that often when I awake in the night (for my sixth or seventh trip to the bathroom, joy), I am often mushed in against the husband with dogs and the cat tucked in around us and I feel nice and toasty.  Looking at the bed now, the dogs and cat have claimed his side of the bed and don’t look as though cuddling in for warmth is in the cards.

Secondly, it’s not like the husband is off gallivanting or traveling or anything.  He’s sick.  He has a cold and it’s a yucky, snotty one at that.  We decided that it made sense for him to sleep in the other room since my last cold was hell on wheels and I was unable to take anything for it.  Plus, he has to get up at 6am for some school stuff.  But that means he’s in the house.  Just a room away.  I think I can adjust to sleeping without him if he’s not reachable– i.e. away, in another town or state– but it’s just, well, weird to have him under the same roof but in a different bed.  The last time we tried that, we were technically broken up and he was sleeping on my sofa because he was painting our guest room.  And it led to- you guessed it- us sharing a bed again which wasn’t all bad because we ended up married.

Thirdly, these pregnancy dreams are just killer.  The nightmares abound for me, ranging from the husband having multiple affairs (and these always make me wake up irrationally angry with him) to zombies and monsters.  And when I wake up, panicking and trying to remember where the shotgun is (before realizing we don’t own one), it’s nice to have him next to me, providing warmth and snoring away.

So here’s hoping I can fall asleep alone and stay asleep alone and that his cold is all better by tomorrow night.  And that I don’t catch it.  Because really?  Being sick AND pregnant is NOT a good time.