Feb. 10, 2 pm

The following post was cobbled together from memory, from fragments previously written and saved and from e-mails sent to friends. Please excuse the clumsy writing. It's been a while, and I'm out of practice.



C* and I had this birthing thing all planned out. I had read the books, gone to the classes. I knew what to expect, what to pack, what to wear, what to bring.

Comfy jammies. Check. Two CD cases filled with music. Check. A deck of cards. Check. Snacks. Yep. All in a bag in the corner of the birthing room along with a TENS machine, a newborn diaper and baby's first onesie and socks. This birth thing was going to be a piece of cake, I thought. C* and I were going to play games and pig and rock out during the 12 or so hours I was expecting to be in labor.

Wrong. Wrong. Double wrong.

After nearly a week of contractions that led nowhere, the midwives did their blood pressure and baby heart rate checks and I was taken to the labor suite at 2 pm on Sunday, February 10, a mere 10 hours before Elliot's original due date. My cervix was only 2 cm dilated, but the doctor was determined to break my water, determined that I would give birth within 24 hours.

I had previously been told that I had excess locum (amniotic fluid) because of the gestational diabetes, so much so that the baby's head had failed to engage in my pelvis because she was literally floating in my uterus.

Doctor: OK. Here I go.

maarmie inhales and exhales deeply about a million times to get the full effect of the gas and air, the main pain management method she had chosen for the delivery. What a joke.

Doctor reaches through maarmie's cervix and uses a sterile plastic hook to tear through the amniotic sac.

maarmie: Puff puff puff puff puff puff puff puff

Guuuuuuuuusssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

More liquid poured out of me than I ever thought imaginable. The midwife had to change my bed several times and mop the floor more times than that in an attempt manage the flow of the gallons of fluid that poured out of me. I was disgusted and confused. I had no idea it would all be this........wet.

During the initial gush, when the effects of the gas and air were at their peak, I had a vision. I remember thinking that I all of a sudden realized what was REALLY going on. I remember thinking that I had figured out that this was some kind of plot cooked up by C*, the midwife and the doctor, that, in reality, I was on my deathbed, that I was dying and that my soul was going to be exiting the world to make way for the baby's soul to enter it, that the liquid draining from my body was my life force and that I was being sacrificed so the baby could be born. I remember being horrified that I had been tricked so easily, that C* had tricked me so easily, but I wasn't upset about giving my life up for my daughter's.

I asked C* about it when the doctor and midwife left the room, though, and made him promise several times that what I was envisioning wasn't really happening.

After my uterus had drained a while, I was told to get upright and walk around for a bit in the hopes that the baby's head would push down on my cervix and get the dilation ball rolling. After more than an hour, it was obvious my body was going to need additional help, so the midwife hooked me up to an IV filled with oxytocin. Nine hours later, the contractions were coming and I was puffing on the gas and air like crazy, but, again, the contractions hadn't been strong enough to get me past 3 cm. Just when we were thinking I'd need an emergency C section, my cervix popped open all the way, and we were in business once again.

About labor: If women knew what labor was REALLY like before they went into it, I'm firmly convinced they'd never get pregnant in the first place. Perhaps mine was worse because of the several failed inductions, five days of internal exams, on and off contractions and general psychological mind-fuck, but labor, as I remember it, was a nightmare at the time.

Just like they tell you, contractions are like a wave. You know it's coming, because it builds and builds and you can feel it's getting ready to plateau and then it's excrutiating and then a bit more excrutiating and you don't think you'll survive it and you're yelling and then it tapers off and disappears. Then you have about a minute break until you can feel the next one building. Just when you think it's never going to end, on and on and on with no headway, you get the worst contractions of all, ones that make every cell in your body pray for death. During these contractions, you have no choice but to push. That's all your body wants to do and you find yourself having these horribly painful contractions WHILE your body is also pushing this huge object out your vagina. Contractions and burning, that is all you feel. All the while you've got people standing over you telling you what to do, to push your chin into your chest, grab under your thighs with your legs bent in the air and push, push, push. One push is bad enough, but each contraction makes you push at least three times. After the second time, you just want to die.

I never cursed during the third stage of labor, just yelled "I can't! I can't!" over and over - for about an hour. Of course C* was standing to my left side cheering me on telling me how good I was doing and I was just looking at him like "Whatever! I'm not doing good! Leave me alone!" I never said that to him of course (even though I wanted to) and he told me later that he knew what I was thinking because it was written all over my face. But once the head was out, the body quickly and easily followed as did the placenta, the largest the midwife said she had ever seen. Enter Elliot at 2:34 am on Feb. 11 after exactly 40 weeks of pregnancy and a little more than 12 hours of labor.

All the waiting, all the fear, all the pain. It was all worth it, in the end, for my wonderful Elliot. Everything in my past - the guys I thought I loved, the jobs and careers I thought I wanted, the possessions I thought I needed - are nothing, mean nothing, compared to my lovely baby girl, my precious Boppy, my beautiful Bopbop. Until I married C* and became a mommy, I wondered why my life felt so empty. Now I know. Thank you, C*. Thank you, Elliot. You have both made my life so full.

Feb. 6, 6 a.m.

Midwife came in at 6 a.m. doing more temperatures, blood pressure, fetal heart monitoring then did internal examination before putting the (inducing) tablet in. Breakfast of Rice Krispies and dry wheat roll. C* having breakfast now. Registrar bugging me about medical cards and passport/visa. Hm. Twinges in uterus like period cramps. "That's something, anyway," says midwife.

1:15 p.m.

Not giving me a second dose of the hormone. Contractions small but pretty regular with pain in back. See how it progresses. Hopefully, I'm underway.

Feb. 5, 9:45 p.m.

Bed 22 at Raigmore Hospital in Ward 10. It's a full house. C* just left 10 minutes ago. I'm scared. It's hot. Midwife has done fetal monitor and taken urine and blood pressure. Just changed channel from whale dissection on TV. Couldn't stand watching them pull out intestines. C* beat me at three games of backgammon before he left. Now I'm trying to entertain myself. I'll eat and watch TV.

Ooh baby, baby

I check into the hospital tonight, and labor will be induced around 6 a.m. tomorrow. I am terrified on so many levels. What will the pain be like? What if something goes wrong? What if something bad happens to the baby? To me? What if I need an emergency C-section?

Beyond all the labor stuff, there's also the fear surrounding the baby itself. Will I be a good mother? Will I enjoy being a mother? Or will I quickly come to realize that I never should have had a child? That this is all some horrible mistake?

C* and I talked about all these things last night, me in tears for hours. All in all, what I was most sad about last night is that C* and I never got to have a traditional relationship. We haven't really had any significant time alone together. We haven't been able to travel, to go out and have fun. Overall, our relationship has been filled with really stressful situations that would tax even veteran couples. I'm constantly amazed that we're still together at all.

But together we are. And, soon, we will be three.

Mama mia!

As promised to a few of my friends, here's an updated photo of my big, fat gut. This is me at 36 1/2 weeks pregnant:



As you can see, it's not the cute little rounded baby hut it was just five short weeks ago. It has, instead, morphed into this watermelon-shaped, stretch-marked burden that is hard for me to haul around. If I don't start labor on my own in 2 1/2 weeks, I will be induced sometime between February 4 and 11, my 40th week. I thought I was beginning the slow descent into labor hell last night when my back started aching and my belly tightened for hours, but no deal. It's getting close, though. And I'm terrified.

On the horizon

I haven't been writing for a while because I haven't had anything to say, really, and we've had The Boy for the past week straight. The Boy got a Wii from his mom and her side of the family for Christmas, so we've been doing a lot of messing around on that. It has, at least, saved us from playing Monopoly twice a day like we've been doing in the past, but we've hardly touched the board games we got The Boy for Christmas. Board games. How old fashioned!

I'm getting my hair cut for the first time in six months today in preparation for the arrival of the little one. I'm thinking I won't have much time to do much of anything soon, so I'm trying to get myself in order as much as I can while I can. I'm going to be at the hospital three times a week until the baby comes taking prenatal and labor classes and going for a weekly scan to see how big this big bundle of joy is getting. The maternity nurse I've been dealing with already seems to think she'll be 8.5 to 9 pounds at birth. Lucky me.

C* and I have been acquiring all the things we need for the baby over the past few weeks. We've got a stroller, two car seats, clothing through 4 years of age (bought secondhand but in really great shape from a newspaper ad for £50), blankets, a baby sleeping bag, thermometers (body, room and bath), a baby bath, towels, washcloths, hooded robes, toys, hats, scratch mitts, socks, coats, shoes, breast pump, feeding bras, nursing pillow and changing mat. Whew! All that's really left to buy are all the lotions, wipes, creams and powders and a box to store it all in as well as a nightie, socks and a bathrobe for me to wear at the hospital.

Yes, the hospital.

It's looming on the near horizon. I'm 35 weeks pregnant come Monday. That means I could be delivering in as little as two weeks and as many as seven. Time to get my suitcase in order and figure out my delivery plan. I'm already thinking I won't be getting an epidural, that I can handle it without. We'll see when the first really strong contractions kick in. But this is the only baby I plan on having, and I want to remember, really remember, everything.

31 1/2 weeks and counting

Blech!

Snot is oozing from my left nostril as I type this post. I've had this nasty cold for a couple of weeks now. Sneezing, runny nose, coughing. A total pain in the ass combined with late pregnancy blahs (I'm 30 weeks pregnant on Monday) that involve lower back pain, a sharp pain in my abdomen, constant peeing (mostly in my underwear), constipation and the staving off of the growth of stretch marks on the underside of my large melonious belly.

Baby girl has been kicking up a storm, too, mostly while I'm TRYING to sleep at night. During the day, she's quiet as a church mouse except for a few kicks after I eat lunch.

But as soon as I settle into bed, roll onto my left side and manage to drift off - bam! - there she goes walloping the inside of my gut. The movements, aside from being more than a little weird, are hugely comforting for me, but, as time trickles on, I get more and more scared about the labor part of this whole scenario. It's gonna happen, and it's gonna soon. Nothing I can do about it. This kid has to come out, and there's only two ways she can make her appearance. Neither one of these ways appeals to me, but I prefer to give birth vaginally, if possible. And I'm going to try and do it without a spinal block, too.

I have an appointment with the diabetes lady next week and another scan in a few weeks. I have been assured the little one is of average size considering her gestational age, so I'm not worrying about the obstetrician having to induce labor early. Still, that leaves 10 weeks at most until my body is ripped in half.

When are men going to take over this gruesome task?

It's definitely a girl!

This photo of the baby is an update at 17 weeks. Hasn't she grown a lot? I am now at 21 weeks and counting, and I leave for Scotland on October 29.

My car is fixed. My visa is in hand. My furniture is sold. My resignation is tendered. My boxes are packed and ship out today. My diabetes is under control with diet and exercise. My credit cards are quickly getting paid. My remaining doctor appointments are made. My medication is filled. My suitcase is packed. I have checked out of my job even though my body is still, technically, here.

Even though the temperature is in the 30s during the day in Scotland right now, I cannot, cannot wait to leave.

Life sucks

To top off all my pains, I just found out this morning that I'm diabetic. I'm going to be paying a visit to a diabetes clinic here where, my OB says, they will likely put me on insulin shots. My glucose levels were high in a one-hour test AND a three-hour test, and I will likely have diabetes even after I give birth.

Something to look forward to...

Replivaland

Just what I needed. Yet ANOTHER horse pill to take each and every godforsaken morning. And I get to pay $40 a month for the honors! Lucky me...

Leaving on a jet plane

I got my visa.

Goodbye Tallahassee. Goodbye Florida. Goodbye USA. On October 29, I fly.

But first:

There are doctor appointments after doctor appointments.

I found out today not only am I anemic but my blood sugar is also high. So I have to take these prescription pills for the anemia and take some kind of THREE-HOUR test for the blood sugar. I already sat at the stupid blood people's office for almost two hours last week to take this first test! ARGH!

AND I HATE NEEDLES! DOUBLE ARGH!!!!!!!

AND: I have to get my car fixed.

A car accident last week resulted in $2,000 worth of damage to the front end of my car. I was going straight on a two-lane road, and the guy bolted out in front of me from a stop sign on my left. Smash!

So the guy, it turns out, is 32 years old, lives with his mom, is driving his mom's van on his mom's insurance and, you guessed it, doesn't have a job. The cop named him as the violator and said he could either issue a citation right then and go straight through insurance or we could self report giving him a chance to talk to mom and see about paying out of pocket instead of going through insurance.

I let him pick choice number two, to be nice.

Harumph!

Day of accident: I left work early to meet my insurance agent at a body shop and get damage estimates number one and two. Then, I went to see my OB to get an ultrasound and make sure the little one is OK. That's when I learned the baby is most likely a GIRL! Yippee! Everything checked out OK.

Day two: I left work early AGAIN to get damage estimate number three at a body shop of the guy's choosing.

Day three: I left work early YET AGAIN to meet the guy at a McDonald's to give him paper copies of the three estimates. I showed up on time and was sitting inside with said estimates in a folder. The guy showed up 20 minutes late, circled the restaurant twice...and left.

Day four: I arrived at work early to call the guy's insurance company and make a claim.

Day four afternoon: The guy called to see if we could meet later that day for me to give him the estimates. I told him no. He asked if we could meet the next day. I told him that I called his insurance company. He told me he showed up at the restaurant. I said, "I know you did. I watched you circle the building twice and leave."

Jesus. This is why I hate people so very much sometimes.

Our baby

On Monday, I will be 16 weeks pregnant. The night sweats stopped weeks ago, and the all-day nausea is a thing of the past. I still throw up first thing in the morning, but I'll take that any day over constant fatigue and waking up hot and drenched all night. Oh, wait. I wake up all night, now, anyway...to pee.

Here's a photo of our baby taken at 11 weeks. In 4 more weeks, I'll be having another scan and will likely post a photo update.

Test results are in

I anxiously returned the nurse's call Wednesday. She had the results from the blood test that would show if I have a genetic link to Downs. Negative. Bonus!

That result - combined with the result of an ultrasound that showed a normal amount of space at the back of the baby's neck/head - makes the chances that the baby will have Downs the same as any other woman, regardless of age, 1 in 10,000 said the nurse.

At 20 weeks, there will be a second ultrasound. At that time, the specialist will check all the baby's organs and brain and look for signs of spina bifida.

I continue to be nauseous and have been letting my friends in on the secret that pregnancy sucks. I am convinced that any woman who says she in any way enjoys pregnancy is a big, fat fucking liar who is saying what she thinks she needs to say to be a good pre-mom. But it's all bullshit. Pregnancy is a big ball of shit - especially when your husband is 5,000 miles away.

C* is compiling all the documents he needs to submit for the visa. Once I get them, I will apply. I'll probably know by the end of August if I'm going to be allowed to move to the UK or not. We haven't really talked about what we would do if I'm denied a visa. Yet another thing I don't even want to think about.

First ultrasound

My first ultrasound was scheduled for Monday. Before the doctor's visit, I stood puking over my bathroom sink. I'm nauseous every day, but I hadn't vomited in days and I chalked this up to nerves. I'm already huge, and I was fearing twins or more. Plus, I hadn't yet seen what was actually inside there, and I was afraid it was some huge misshapen monster-like creature, already fully grown and sporting head-to-toe fur.

I was wrong.

There's a little baby in there. About 4 centimeters long, the ultrasound lady said. I saw them clearly: the head, the body, the two arms waving and the two legs kicking as if he or she were doing the backstroke. It was all at once amazing and terrifying. It's our baby. And we heard the heartbeat. Nice and strong. About 175 beats per minute. That's all we know about the health of it for now.

I have an appointment with a genetic specialist next Monday who will begin a round of bloodlettings to see if there's a high(er) risk for certain genetic diseases. This is another part of it all that terrifies me. I don't want to obsess, and for the most part I don't. But sometimes I have these strange doubts, these strange, horrible feelings that I could never produce anything healthy.

But I know I shouldn't think that way. It's just the negative part of my brain gaining the upper hand.

10 weeks and counting

I had my first prenatal appointment at my OB/GYN's office this morning, then I gave blood to see if I carry the cystic fibrosis gene.

Because I am so old and decrepit, I am also being referred to a genetic specialist who will scare me into doing all kinds of tests to see if my baby is at risk of spina bifida, Down Syndrome and other horrible genetic diseases that would make me run out and have an abortion if I thought there was a serious chance my baby would have them.

And because I am so hugely fat (I weight 201!), I will be tested for my susceptibility to gestational disbetes. Lucky for me, my blood sugar has always been on the low side.

Sigh!

I have my first exam and ultrasound a week from today. I'm excited, but nervous. I've been told that, considering my size at 10 weeks, twins are a possibility. I told C* about this and he was ecstatic. Get it all over with at once, he said. "What makes you think I want more than one child?" I asked him. Argh!

At this moment, C* is in a plane hurtling over over the Atlantic Ocean. I can't wait to see him.

My pregnancy so far

Changes in my body abound in this 8th or 9th week of pregnancy, and most of it has been negative.

The pains in both sides of my abdomen have largely ceased (the doctor calls them "growing pains"), but my breasts are sore, my nipples are constantly hard, I often suffer night sweats and have trouble sleeping, I'm ALWAYS tired, I throw up about twice a day, I'm sometimes cranky and I'm incessently worried that I'm not eating healthy enough, that the cigarettes I've had have done irreparable harm, that I won't be a good enough mother, ad infinitum.

The up side is that the mood swings I have so far suffered haven't seemed to be any worse than my normal ups and downs. I stopped taking my anti-depressants, though, and, now that I've stopped smoking, it'll be interesting to see how my mood shifts from day to day, hour to hour and minute to minute. Already, C* has valiently withstood crying jags that have come from nowehere. I must say, he has handled me well so far. I hope the trend continues, and it's nice to know that I have an understanding partner to lean on when the hormones surge.

Baby names. We've had talks about them the last couple of days. Here's what we've come up with so far.

Girl names

Arley
Avery
Caitlan - means "pure"
Fallyn - means "in charge"
Hannah - means "grace"
Hunter - we've been thinking "Hunter Fallyn" for the first and middle names
Niamh (pronounced Nieve) - means "bright"
Nieve - means "snowy"

Boy names

Aeary - means "scholar"
Archer
Calder
Fallon - means "of a ruling family"
Flannery - means "descendant of the red warrior"
Fuller - means "cloth bleacher"
Harlow - means "from the mound of the people"
Nevan - means "holy"

I'm of a mind to find out if it's a boy or a girl well before it even thinks about being born. I want a girl, but, like I told the lady who had me fill out my paperwork at the eye doctor the other day, I won't put it up for adoption if it's a boy.

C* told The Boy about my pregnancy today. When he called me this morning, he said, "The Boy has something he wants to ask you."

"Okay," I replied suspiciously.

The Boy got on the phone. "Dad says you have a baby inside you. Do you?"

"Yes, I do," I replied.

The responding *gulp* was almost audible on the phone after which The Boy offered a hurried "OK" before practically throwing the phone back at his father.

"What did she say," I heard C* ask him in the background.

"She said, 'Yes, I do.' "

"He didn't believe me when I told him," C* revealed.

The Boy immediately asked if he could play video games on the computer. Were they his escape, or was he just not bothered? I'd be inclined to say he wasn't bothered, but you never know what's going through the mind of a young boy just after he finds out he's going to be a big brother.

C* will be here two weeks from tomorrow. The wedding is in just under three. I went dress hunting yesterday and was appalled at my dress size and the lack of anything tasteful-yet-fun-yet-not-too-revealing to wear for the wedding. The style of dress that I think would be most flattering is the babydoll style with wide sleeves, a high waistline and a full skirt that comes to the knee or just above. Kind of a modern hippie-style thing would suit me well. I found three of those at the mall yesterday that would have been good except for certain things wrong with each one.

One came in peacock colors that fit well in the tummy, arms and chest but needed to be about five inches longer. The thing barely came below my butt! Not good for a wedding.

Another one was dark in color with a nice pattern and length but fit poorly in the tummy and chest.

The third was just my style but not my size. They could order something closer to it from another store, but I'd have to pay for it up front and return it if it doesn't fit. Sounds like a hassle, but might be my only choice. I'm going to have a look around every day this week during lunch. I'm pretty flexible on what I'll wear. Could be a skirt and shirt, could be a dress. It just has to not make me look as fat as I am, and it has to be tasteful. Is that too much to ask?

The skinny on my impending fatness

I know I haven't written much more than a few complete sentences ever since I've found out that I'm pregnant. The truth is, it's been such a shock - not in a bad way - and there's so much that needs to be done that I haven't been focusing on much more than reading up on nutrition and exercise (I am tracking my daily nutrition at babyfit.com) and the steps C* and I need to take to get my ass back over to the UK on a fiancee visa so we can get married and get on with our lives and our family.

On Father's Day, I told my dad that I was pregnant. Having never met or even heard of C* before (except the few facts he likely heard from my step-mom), I expected him to be full of questions about the father-to-be.

Nah.

His questions were of the more masculine (read practical) variety. How long does it take to get a visa? Was this planned? When are you going to tell your boss? Etc.

But he seemed happy for me and said I sounded really happy. When I told him, he was speechless. When he regained his voice, he said to my step-mom, "Honey, she's pregnant." My stepmonster never got on the phone or asked any questions or said congratulations or anything. I'm sure she was far too busy welling up with negativity and bitterness because she allowed her own uterus and eggs to dry up like so many dead flowers while actively wanting to have a child of her own. Seriously, show her a kid, and nothing else matters. She can't get enough. Chances are, she won't be getting enough of mine, either. I'm not too keen on my child ever even meeting her.

My boss got a full briefing this morning, and many of my coworkers were told the big news yesterday. Everyone seems overjoyed for me. Naturally, they are full of questions that I don't have the energy or knowledge to answer now. All I think about is debt and vitamins and bills and and sleep and money and first doctor appointment and baby and baby and baby. And I'm wanting to get rid of as much debt as possible before I no longer have an income, am officially C's dependent and am unable to work for god knows how long.

The longer I stay here, the more debts I can pay. But the longer I stay here, the closer it gets to the delivery date and the more I'll be showing when C* and I get married.

Expected due date

My new book says that an expected due date can be calculated as follows: Take the first day of your last period, subtract three months and add seven days.

May 7 minus three months is February 7. Add seven days, and you've got February 14, Valentine's Day. That would make the child the ever socially-conscious Aquarius. Just a few days later, and he or she would be a Pisces.

Either way, belated or not, I'm thinking this baby will be the best Valentine's Day gift I could ever give or receive.

Newest (and most useful) addition to my book collection