Chasing A Child

No baby today

So we're ready for baby to come, but baby is going to stay put for a little while.

After many exams and much discussion this morning, the L&D doc decided that Sister is an "unstable lie", which basically means she's too damn squirmy to stay in one place very long. Meaning that, if we tried to turn her today, she'd likely flip back around tomorrow. She's still sideways, but since Tuesday, she'd flipped around from having her head on my right side to having her head on my left side. How did she do that?? And the risks of the external version outweigh the benefits of turning her at this point, "particularly with an anterior placenta" and the way she was laying. The little bugger was on her back, with one of her hands and both feet all jammed down in the exit door, which would have made it extremely hard for the doc to get a grip on her. She's small enough and I have enough amniotic fluid that they think there's a good chance they could turn her at the last minute if I go into labor in the next week -- the consensus was that there was no burning need to turn her today. Which means I went without food & water until 1pm for no reason at all, sigh! By the time they were ready for me to make a decision, I was too spaced out to think clearly, so I asked the Mister to decide for us. (He said he knew then that I was really really hungry, since I'm usually the Queen of Control Freaks.)

The current plan is to try to turn her next Friday. If that's successful, the doc recommended binding my belly so she can't flip back, and then inducing immediately. I'm okay with that plan for now. I'm opposed to induction for convenience and have been opposed to the idea that we need to induce just because I'm old and she'll be at 39 weeks, but now that we've added in the flip-flop problem, I'm thinking it's probably our best bet to avoid a c-section (although I know of course that induction can cause its own series of problems). I'm also much more confident that the hospital will let us move as slowly as we need to, unless there's a real emergency. I can't say enough nice things about the L&D staff I've dealt with so far. They say they're a baby-centered hospital, and I really see that in my experiences. No one is rushing me or pushing for medical interventions, and the focus keeps coming back to making sure baby will be as well-baked as she can be, weighing in all the various risk factors.

Plus, my Doc is back next week and will have plenty of time to overrule or tweak the current game plan, and the hospital staff has made it clear that if Doc wants a change, the hospital won't get in her way. It's kind of fun to see the look on their faces when I mention her name. She definitely gets a lot of respect : )

And, there's always the chance I'll go into labor before then. I'm still having mild contractions, and the L&D doc said this morning that I'm 1cm dilated, which made me burst out laughing. My body may be 46, but it somehow knows that it's going to have a baby! How amazing is that?!

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Finally, because this blog can't possibly be all baby all the time, I've got to give a shout-out to Squeaker, who has slept through the night for the past FIVE nights in a row. He's really turned a big noticeable corner in the past few weeks. His behavior during the daytime is markedly improved. He's cheerful and engaging in lots of imaginative play that we didn't see before. He's eating better and appears to be ravenous. I think the sleep-deprivation has been messing with both his developmental and physical growth. He's still borderline hyperactive, but it's much less destructive, and the tantrums are subsiding enough that he's tolerable to be around more often than not. Such a relief for all of us! And just in time ...

37w5d and not much to report

Pretty sure I'm (finally) having some Braxton Hicks contractions. Very uncomfortable, as the baby is in some whacky position that hurts, even without the contractions. I really didn't think I'd be ready to have the baby before she was due, but I've reached the point where I'm pretty much done with the drama. Bring on the finale ...

We're going to try for another ECV tomorrow. With my luck, we'll find out baby has turned head down again. Truth be told, the Mister and I are both ready to have this child now, and not just in the philosophical sense. We're literally bags packed, logistics planned, ready to go. (Heck, the Mister even sent my mom detailed directions -- with photos -- on how to work our streaming NetFlix so Squeaker can get his Curious George fix.) So if the external version stimulates labor, everything will be okay.

Many thanks to my dear friend Almamay for sending me lots of reassuring material about c-sections. I'm getting comfortable with the concept, although I'm still hell bent on avoiding one if at all possible : )

My desk at work is as clean as it's going to get. I walked out of there today planning not to come back, even though my last day is supposed to be Friday.

Working on finalizing the birth plan tonight. I know what I want, my doula knows what I want, my doc basically knows what I want (or will take the time to ask me), but I do want to have a document that we can point to for nurses and strange doctors, should that be necessary.

I'm adding some Christmas tunes to my iPod, just in case we need a little mood music. There was a huge stack of free CDs in the break room at work today, yay.

And ... that's about it. I need to wrap a few Christmas gifts, but that and pretty much everything else can wait if it has to. Did I mention I'm ready to have this baby? I've loved loved loved being pregnant, I know I will miss it in a lot of ways, and I consider myself incredibly lucky to have had the chance. But if I have to go much more than 5 or 6 days, y'all are gonna start hearing some serious whining.

L&D - test run #2

I've been worried about the baby the past few days. She hasn't been moving like she usually does. Last night I was up half the night (despite the JOYOUS fact that Squeaker slept through the night for the third night in a row ... first time in his entire LIFE he's done that!) because I wasn't feeling any baby motion. Woke up this morning in tears, told the Mister I was thinking of heading directly to L&D. Luckily, baby started moving as I was making breakfast, so we decided it was safe to wait until this afternoon's NST to get things checked out.

Busy day at the office. Made great headway on cleaning my desk, drowning my poor assistant in stuff to file, things to follow up on, etc. Finally headed off to the 4pm NST, where I found out that the baby is now ... SIDEWAYS again. #$%%&%@!!  Then the monitoring test strip came out "nonreactive", so they ran a biophysical profile (basically a long ultrasound), which baby passed, but both the nurse and I were uncomfortable with how lethargic baby seemed to be. The nurse buzzed her three times and ... nada. That kid would not wake up. That, combined with my worries of the past few days (plus the notes Doc put in my file that apparently read something like "Do NOT take any chances with this patient or heads will roll when I get back from vacation!") led the doc who's filling in for my Doc to order me straight to L&D for extended testing. The NST nurse (a self-confessed infertile who loves that I'm preggers at 46) was really worried and mentioned things like "emergency c-section," which of course was not what I wanted to hear. Keep in mind that it's now 6pm and I haven't eaten since noon. I have low blood sugar issues and I was tired from worrying all night. At that point, I was very suggestible and already convinced that something horrible was happening -- how could it not? An ideal pregnancy for an infertile is just too much to ask for. The universe was getting ready to smack me upside the head, I was sure of it.

I realized that I was starting to fall apart, so I grabbed a few snacks from a vending machine, then called the Mister (who promptly went into full-scale panic mode) and drove myself across the medical complex to L&D. The L&D nurse was great -- very no-nonsense and kind -- got me hooked up to the monitors, asked me a million questions, then brought me a box lunch and a big sippy cup of ice water. There was no cell phone service, but I figured out how to work the hospital wi-fi, so I was able to eat a crappy sandwich and email the Mister while I was getting monitored.

In the end, it all turned out to be much ado about nothing. The nurse and midwife both declared this test strip "gorgeous" and said the baby is doing great. Naturally, the on-call doc was the one I fired 3 years ago, but apparently we're best friends now, because she made a point to stick her head in and see how I was doing. I got stuck between nurses at shift change, so it took some time to get out of there, but eventually they discharged me to my own care, and off I went. I was home by a little after 8pm, just in time to dive into the chaos that is Squeaker's bedtime routine.

The good news is that now the Mister has his and Squeaker's bags packed, which means that we'll be able to get out of the house quickly if I do need to rush to the hospital. I learned a few things about what I should do if I go into labor while baby is still transverse (mainly, lay the F down to decrease the chance of cord prolapse while someone else gathers up my stuff, or, if I can actually feel the cord coming out, lay the F down and call 911). I figured out how the hospital's wi-fi works. I confirmed that it's a 20-minute trip when there's no traffic (and up to an hour when there is). But most of all I learned this -- for future NSTs -- eat first, as both the baby and I will do much much better.

Roller coasters make me nauseous

Carnival rides and I don't get along. My equilibrium is very easy to mess up, and I'm terrified of speed. Speed plus spinning is guaranteed to induce sickness. I even get dizzy on the carousel. I most definitely avoid roller coasters. But my life these days? Oy! The ups! The downs! The ups!  I feel like I did in college (well, high school) when I'd had too much to drink and I had to put one foot on the floor to keep my bed from spinning in circles.

Doc wrote today to say that the ultrasound showed normal growth and that the baby is in the 22nd percentile. But wait! Wasn't she in the 60th percentile last time? How is this normal growth? I'm so confused ... And of course by the time I wrote back to say "huh?" Doc was already gone on vacation. But she definitely said "this is good", so I'm going with that for now.

Then, at my NST, I had the nastiest mean nurse ever. Granted, it was a 4pm appointment on a Friday before a holiday week and I was 10 minutes late because the traffic was so bad, but I think she would have been equally rude in good circumstances. She grumped at me because I didn't bring her a urine sample (the nurse at the last NST told me I didn't have to!) then she kept me hooked up for 45 minutes (the last nurse only kept me for 20 minutes) and she left the freakin' blood pressure cuff on my arm the whole time (WTF!). And the gel for the ultrasound was not just warm, it was hot and I have a little burn mark on my belly because of it. Awesome.

But during the quick ultrasound to check my fluid levels, damned if Nurse Nasty didn't start off by saying "As you can see, she's head down ..."

WHAT?!

Yup. It's true. Sister turned around all by herself. She's clearly going to be one of those just-in-time kids who puts off doing her term papers until the night before they're due. Every single thing I can find on the internetz says 37 weeks is the time when baby must be in exit position, lest one's doctor freak out. Today is 37 weeks. She's probably in there saying "What, mom, what? I got it done on time. Why are you so stressed out?"

I was actually relieved to hear she was alive. We had a night terror incident last night that required two adults physically restraining a thrashing child who did not want to have his soaking-wet pajamas changed, and when I left his room, I was in a great deal of pain in my upper belly. I came this close to driving myself to L&D (because the Mister was still in Squeaker's room soothing him back to sleep), and if it weren't a half-hour away, I probably would have gone. I really thought he had killed his sister, and although she did move a little after that, I barely felt her move all day today. I was sure something was dreadfully wrong. Instead, it turns out she was probably just tired from flipping into the exit position, and the pain in my belly was from suddenly having a little butt jammed into a space where there used to be not much of anything. She was certainly active enough during the NST, so it doesn't appear that anything is wrong except in my head.

They canceled my ECV, yippee! Which of course makes me believe she'll probably take the opportunity to flip around again ...

36w6d

Had another check-the-growth ultrasound today. From what I could tell, baby is measuring at 34w and change, which is fantastic in terms of "will baby survive outside womb" but not so good in terms of "is baby growing at a steady rate". I'm well aware that late-term ultrasounds are famous for being inaccurate, but the tech seemed a little worried, and had a hard time getting readings on the blood flow through the umbilical cord. I'm hoping she was just new or nervous and that my placenta isn't tanking already. Unlike other ultrasound techs I've had with this pregnancy, she was very close-mouthed about a prognosis. They're not supposed to say anything, but so far I haven't run into a tech who wasn't willing to offer up an opinion if I voiced it for her first. I figured I'd hear from Doc this afternoon if it was bad news, and I didn't, so I suppose that's good. Should know more at my NST tomorrow.

Baby is not just sideways -- she's diagonal again. Head up under my right ribs, butt down over my left hip, and feet stretched out across and/or up my left side. No wonder I'm so uncomfortable! Plus, she's lying on her stomach, so her back is to my belly and her face was almost completely hidden. Who knows where her hands are -- probably grabbing onto my organs and holding tight so no one can move her. This girl does not like to get her picture taken, and I suspect she's not going to like a doctor trying to make her move into the jump position.

Doc has me scheduled for an ECV on Monday morning. She's going to be on vacation (of course!), so I'll be seeing another doctor she recommended. I thought about trying the acupuncture again, but I think I'll save that for a last resort in case Sister doesn't flip at the version or flips again after the version. Doc mentioned the 1% chance of something going wrong during the version, which could mean an emergency c-section, so I'm reading up on that lovely process. (Infertile + lawyer = always planning for the worst.) On the bright side, ECV has a 60-70% success rate. Of course, as my doula said today, sometimes babies are transverse for a good reason, and that reason might not become clear until they're born. Obviously, the universe is trying to tell me to let go of my preconceived notions (if I had a religious bone in my body, I'd phrase it as "let be and let god" but my bones are all atheists, so that's no help). I'm trying to just flow with it, I am. Easier said than done. I'm just glad Doc didn't want me to have the version tomorrow, because we're going to see Santa on Saturday, and Squeaker's been looking forward to it all week.

For now, I'm focusing on the things I can control. My hospital bag is packed, my grab-this-at-the-last-minute list is made, the doctor/hospital/doula phone numbers are posted in the kitchen, Squeaker's old car seat is clean and ready to go (the infant insert is so tiny!). Still need to fill out my disability forms, finish making lists and cheat sheets for my replacement, and do a bunch of other Very Important Work Stuff that may or may not happen. I made a hair appointment for Thursday next week, which practically guarantees I'll go into labor before then. I know it's early still, but I can feel my body and my mind getting ready for whatever's coming next. I would have liked to carry until 40 weeks, but I'm beginning to see that it's not very likely, and that's going to have to be okay.

When there's a disappointment, I don't know if it's the end of the story.

But it may be just the beginning of a great adventure.

~Pema Chodron

36w1d

This week was all about trying to turn this baby. On Monday, the Mister and I went to the naturopath. She put a giant acupuncture needle in each of my little toes, gave me a nasty drink made of some kind of bark (to relax the uterine muscles), and left me to sit for about 10 minutes. Then she oiled up her hands, closed her eyes, and very gently rubbed around on my belly. Within about 30 seconds, she pronounced the baby to be head down and, by golly, I could feel it. There was definitely a skull in my lower pelvis instead of feet. Hooray! The Mister and I were shocked at how easy it was. The doctor said that the baby was probably already headed in that direction and just needed a little help to get there. Whatever it was, we were stunned.

I drove happily back to work. But within an hour, I could feel her thrashing around in there. No! Stay put! Ha. Like a child of mine will ever listen to me. She's apparently been taking lessons from Squeaker (aka The Obstinate One). The little bugger squirmed her way around until she was lying exactly sideways, head to my right side, feet on my left. This was confirmed on Tuesday when Doc gave me an ultrasound in her office. Baby was basically lying on her back with one foot dangling behind her (so as to be able to kick me in the cervix because, y'know, I might miss that sensation) and one foot stretched up my ribs. Fan-tas-tic. Doc, of course, promptly scheduled me for an ECV at 37 weeks, which is next Friday. Everything else about my appointment was fine -- same low blood pressure, no protein in my urine, baby measuring her usual small size (easily explained by the transverse position), and yay I tested negative for group B strep. The only problem we've got now is how to turn this child?

That night, we toured the hospital where I'll be giving birth. The birthing rooms are large, but, well, the environment still feels very much like a hospital. I think it will be fine, but I'm so glad I'm bringing a doula to help tone down the medical aspects of the place. And really, who am I to be picky? At this point, I'll be lucky if I get to use the birthing rooms, instead of getting wheeled down the hallway for a c-section. Of course, I'm always mindful of how incredibly lucky I am to be carrying a near-term baby at all, when so many women out there don't have that chance. Still, to be so close to my dream situation and yet so far is ... frustrating.

By the time I got to my yoga class on Wednesday, the baby had jammed herself into such a horizontal position that even my teacher could see how ridiculous it was. "Oh you poor thing!" Um, yes, ouch. Thursday's position was the same, and by the time I got home Friday night, I was miserable. I spent a lot of time doing cat-cow and precarious inversions off the couch, all the time thinking the worst -- I'd get to the ECV on Friday, the baby would turn, and then by Saturday she'd turn back and I'd be stuck with a c-section and they'd find out I had a misshapen uterus or some other as-yet-undiscovered anomoly ... My brain is awesome about jumping to conclusions if given a chance.

This morning I woke up to more serious thrashing around inside, and I realized that something was different. It really felt like she was turning in the right direction. I lay still, so as not to bother her. When the thrashing finished, I got up, and could tell that there was no longer a head in my right side. I couldn't find a head up in my ribs either. The Mister said my stomach looked much different, and so did my yoga teacher when I saw her. This afternoon I thought I felt kicking in my ribs, but there was also motion down below (could have been fists or feet) -- with this damn anterior placenta, it's nearly impossible to tell. All I know for sure is that whatever position baby has found, it's infinitely more comfortable than what she's been up to so far this week. Fingers crossed that this is it! I'll keep you posted.

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To celebrate, I finished up the nursery. Luckily, the Mister was fine with the wall art. I think it turned out pretty well, given the limited space we're working with. The crib still has Squeaker's teeth marks on it, the stop light was a consignment store find, the changing table was a gift from my in-laws that just happens to match our existing dresser, the rug was a wedding gift, the chair rocks and the ottoman glides. I imagine I'll be spending a lot of late-night time in the corner under the tree : )

35w0d

First, a Squeaker update. He's vastly improved, as of today -- thank the gods. We were all at the end of our rope Wednesday night, but Thursday night he almost slept through the night (after fighting sleep for over 2 hours) and today he's been full of piss and vinegar, just like his usual self. It's like a giant weight has been lifted from the house.

Of course now he has thrush on his tongue (sigh!) ... luckily, his pediatrician is a wonderful woman who believed me when I emailed her to say "I'm 99.99% sure he has thrush, can you just prescribe something without making us come in?" She did, and I love her for it. She actually emailed earlier in the week because she saw in the HMO's system that he'd had his surgery, and she wanted to see how he was doing. I took the opportunity to ask her if she was taking new patients, and although she's technically not, she was excited to hear about Sister and said she'd be happy to add her to her roster. So that's good.

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35 weeks -- holy crap! If I carry this baby full term, there are only 35 days left! Doc has started making noises again about inducing, which means that it's possible I have less than 30 days to go ... I'm feeling so ginormous and uncomfortable lately that I'm just going to let things flow for a few weeks and see how I feel about inducing. I'm actually pretty comfortable with the idea of noninvasive methods of induction like acupuncture -- it's the drugs that I want to avoid. We'll see. I started weekly appointments with Doc last week and week after next we're starting twice-weekly NSTs, which means three, count em, three doctor appointments per week. Because I can really afford more time away from work -- not! Doc is now freaking out a bit about baby being breech and wholeheartedly supports my plan to pursue noninvasive methods of turning her. If she doesn't turn by 37 weeks, Doc wants to do an external version. I've heard that those are no fun at all, so let's hope we can avoid it. Obviously, I could avoid it and have a c-section, but I want to avoid that more than I want to avoid the version.

It's a busy time. Monday I see a naturopath/midwife who is supposed to be the local expert in convincing breech babies to turn. Both my doula and my prenatal yoga teacher (who is also a doula) recommended her highly, and I was lucky she was able to fit me in. Not sure what her methods are -- will keep you posted. Tuesday we tour the birthing center at the hospital, Thursday we meet with our doula and we're having a couple over for dinner who we met at our birthing class. It's all baby stuff all the time.

And speaking of baby stuff, I'm making good progress on my to-do list, at least as far as baby prep is concerned. Bought a bunch of usually-pricey AIO cloth diapers on major sale (thanks to my waiting-to-adopt neighbor who is on every baby stuff mailing list there is). Bought the crib bedding, washed the bedding and all the clothes we've received so far, ordered a big wall sticker (hard to describe -- will post photos when it's all done), decided what to do for a diaper pail, ordered a bag to use for the hospital (because I hate all of our luggage), got a really cute diaper bag practically brand new on EBay for almost nuthin ... Lots of boxes arriving this week. Now I'm down to things like "finish Squeaker's baby book" and "write thank you notes" and "make an appointment to get my hair cut/colored" so I don't look like a complete hag for post-birth pix. Also need to make an iTunes playlist, clean the car seat, make a list of all our accounts and passwords so the Mister can pay bills if I get stuck in the hospital (knock wood) ... This weekend my mom is coming up again, so I'm hoping to get a bunch of home office paperwork wrapped up and walk over to our local mama-baby-stuff store to get things like nursing bras while she and the Mister herd Squeaker. The to-do list never ends!

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On the work front, they've found a lawyer who has absolutely no experience doing anything that I do, but is apparently very smart, personable, and well-credentialed. She's a mama with two kids (both currently in daycare 5 days/week) who is trying to get full-time work with local big firms, none of whom are hiring until after the new year. So she's willing to commit to filling in for me for a few months, which is great in that it means she doesn't want my job, but is also scary because ... did I mention she has no experience doing anything I do? She did very well at her fancy NY law school and worked in one of the biggest fanciest NY law firms, so she certainly is used to working hard and is smart enough to figure things out, but they only want her to work 2 afternoons/week, which is barely enough to master the learning curve, and ... did I mention our industry is very quirky and she has no experience in anything remotely related to it? So, um, yeah.

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And finally, because I still can't believe I'm at 35 weeks, here is a 33 week belly shot. I've grown significantly since then, and yet my total weight gain is something like 21 pounds. I'm actually having to force myself to eat more so that Baby can pack on a few more pounds without cannibalizing mama's bones ... my face is completely gaunt at this point, partly from exhaustion and partly from baby consuming every extra calorie I can force down and then some. The problem with having toned stomach muscles is that there's barely room for baby, much less internal organs, so everything is so squished that I'm full after just a few bites, and getting full is extra uncomfortable because the skin on my stomach already hurts.So I don't really want to eat, but I have to. The things that tempt me most are scones, ice cream, milk, muffins, candy bars ...

Okay, never mind that whining stuff. Folks, I'm 46 years old and am going to actually have a viable baby that will probably not need the NICU at all! Can you believe that shit?!

Farewell, tonsils & adenoids ... hello, insanity.

Don't ever let anyone tell you that a tonsillectomy is just a simple procedure. Okay, don't get me wrong -- after spending the better part of a day and a half in a highly-rated children's hospital, I know that we are lucky beyond our wildest dreams that our worst problem is our child's sleep issues and the relatively minor annoyance of having his tonsils and adenoids removed. I know only too well, after seeing the anguish on the faces of a family waiting for their 15-year-old daughter to emerge from surgery for a brain tumor, and after talking with a mom whose son was born with parts of his skull prematurely fused together (at 9 months, he was in the midst of surgery to unfuse his skull so his brain can grow properly) ... I know that, compared with these kids and these families, we are incredibly blessed. Truly.

However, if I might indulge in a bit of a whine for awhile ... Today is Sunday. Squeaker's surgery was Tuesday. And everything in between is one big exhausting blur. I will always be everlastingly grateful to this mommy blogger, whose post I found before the surgery. If we hadn't known what was coming, we'd have been completely gobsmacked. The docs hinted at it, but they certainly didn't prepare us in detail for what was coming. I know that every kid's experience will be different, but here's how it's been for us.

On surgery day, Squeaker was Not Happy At All to be skipping his breakfast. Once we got to the hospital, he forgot about hunger in the newness of the adventure. He played with his toys in the waiting area, and did great in the pre-op staging area. He chatted up all the nurses, rode a tricycle around (and around and around) the nurse's station like a wild man, and happily played doctor on the Mister and I using his brand new doctor kit. When they gave him the versed or valium or whatever it was (bad mama, not paying attention), he got quickly and hilariously stoned, and when the nurses wheeled his bed off into the operating room, I was the only one in the hall crying. Squeaker was cheerfully pointing out the colorful giant butterfly stickers on the ceiling. I ran down to the cafe and got a quick snack for the Mister and myself. Our wait was very short, and soon the surgeon was coming to tell us that the surgery was over, Squeaker was in good shape, and we'd be able to see him as soon as he woke up.

Then things got a bit ugly. Squeaker had a horrible time coming out of the anesthesia. When we got to him, he was wailing and thrashing, his eyes were all unfocused, and thick stringy drool was coming out of his mouth nonstop. I sat in a rocking chair and held him as best I could, while the machines beeped away and we waited for him to emerge from his drug haze. He hated hated hated his IV lock and kept wailing about it being "owie." The nurse assured me that all kids his age said that, but I was still skeptical, having had more than one seriously owie IV in my day. Eventually he woke enough to ask for the Mister, who held him for about a half hour more. Finally the nurse said we could go upstairs to his room. We wheeled his bed through the halls, with me holding his good hand so that he couldn't tear at his IV lock. His room was pleasant enough with large yellow-leafed maple trees right outside, a private bath with shower, and a window seat that doubled as an adult bed. He continued to cry and wail inconsolably for what seemed like ages, while clutching a drool-soaked towel to his face. His room nurse, Mike, came in and talked with us about meds, and we finally got Squeaker to take some tylenol with codeine. At long last, he stopped wailing and began to express an interest in his toys and his Peter Pan video. After a few hours, he demanded dinner. I started him on a cup of crushed ice, which he tore through ravenously. Then we got a popsicle, and he kept that down. Finally, he had a few bites of mac & cheese and a cup of chocolate pudding. Everything stayed down, and his energy began to return. Mike came in and expressed wonder at what a different child he was. Food makes such a difference in our boy.

Several hours later, we were able to settle him enough that he slept. The Mister stayed the night, and I drove off into the pouring rain, exhausted and worried about Squeaker, but also worried about myself and the baby. I barely ate or drank all day and could tell that I was pushing my limits. Plus, I was driving with one dangerously soft tire. I took the streets home rather than risking a flat on the freeway, and finally found a gas station with air. So there I was in the dark at a nearly-deserted gas station, the rain sheeting down, holding a flashlight, pumping up the tire, 8 months pregnant and hoping that I wouldn't get mugged or pass out before I got home. Awesome. Fixed myself a huge breakfast when I got home, watched some Law & Order, and went to bed. Slept restlessly, woke early, showered, and went back to the hospital.

Squeaker was awake and wailing when I got there, and the Mister looked like he'd been up all night. Turns out he had been. See, here's the thing they don't tell you. The pain of a tonsilectomy is really horrible, and if you're a little kid who doesn't quite understand what is going on, all you know is that you hurt and these people are making you swallow stuff that makes the hurt worse (even though it will eventually make the hurt go away). So the Mister and the lovely Jamaican night nurse had spent the better portion of the night trying to force meds down Squeaker's throat. And he puked it all up, and there was blood, and that freaked him out, and when he's freaked out, he screams, and screaming hurts his throat, and so it went. Yet, at the early rounds that morning, the surgeon declared him to be "doing great" and discharged him into our care.

We're alternating the tylenol/codeine with ibuprofen round the clock. Each works well enough to take away most of the pain, but on his bad days/nights, if you get too close to the dosing time or past it, all hell breaks loose. He wakes up wailing, which hurts his throat, then the thick ropey drool starts in, which chokes him, which makes him cough and gag, and then he claps his hands over his mouth and refuses the meds because swallowing hurts, and so we have to hold him down and force him to drink, while hoping he doesn't puke it all back up from gagging on the drool. Sometimes he acts like he's going to drink the meds himself, and then throws the cup across the room or dumps it on his bed instead. The hysteria is really what hurts him, but the pain is so bad that he can't stop shrieking. Last night was particularly bad -- apparently at this stage, the scabs start to slough off -- and he began clenching his teeth when we held him down, which meant we had to dig our fingers into his jaw (which was already sore from having it held open for surgery) and pry it open. Plus, to add to the joy, he's having night terrors, which makes the hysteria completely unrelated to the pain, and makes our ability to soothe him almost impossible. The Mister has been sleeping in Squeaker's bed with him, and I wake up and run down the hall when the crying starts. Last night it was 10:30, 2ish, and 6:45. Each time it takes about an hour to dose him and calm him. And so it goes.

Yep, good times. During the day, he feels well enough to eat a litttle bit and drink just enough to stay hydrated. My mom came up on Friday and left today, giving the Mister and I a bit of a break to do things like exercise, shower, and pay bills. We're hoping that last night, or perhaps tonight, will be the worst of it, and that he'll be on the fast-track to healing this week. In the meantime, we watch his ups and downs and try to keep him from wearing himself out. Oh, and somewhere in there, I cooked a full Thanksgiving dinner for the Mister and me. I even baked an apple pie. Because, after all, we have a lot to be thankful for this year ...

32w6d - phew!

Just a quick update. Ultrasound went great. Little Miss has had a significant growth spurt and is now measuring exactly where she should be -- 60th percentile on the growth curve, according to the ultrasound tech.

She is firmly breech and looking sideways, just as Doc thought, although she is now facing my right side instead of my left side like she was at my appointment the other day. So she's moving enough to pivot around on her bum, but not enough to turn head down. My placenta seems ginormous, stretching from my breastbone all the way to just above my pubic bone, and the tech had to really search to find pockets of fluid ("It's all baby in there!") so I'm thinking it's going to take some work to turn this little girl around. Her head is jammed up underneath my ribs, which goes a long way to explaining why my ribs are sore and why I have to sit with my back perfectly straight to feel comfortable.

But at least I can cross IUGR off the worry list!!

32w4d

Oh the time, it flies. I think we're finally getting over our two-month cold here at Chez ChasingaChild. My ribs are still sore, but I barely notice it most of the time.

Other highlights in the past few weeks include:

I had my very first baby shower! Of which I have exactly zero photos, oops. But my friend did a lovely job setting it up -- the cupcakes were amazing, the food was beautiful, and Sister got lots of adorable swag. Squeaker got to have a play date with a little girl who exactly matched his wild energy, and a good time was had by all.

Next up, Squeaker's tonsilectomy was cancelled with less than 24 hours' notice, due to a paperwork error by our HMO (imagine my head spinning off and exploding all over my office), which the scheduler refused to take any responsibility for and instead blamed on the hospital for not checking her work. Excuse me? It's their fault because you wrote the wrong date?! At no time did she use the word "sorry" or "apologize" or anything else that might have prevented me from scrawling off a masterful nastygram to the Powers That Be, which I'm demanding that they put in her personnel file. And, when was the first day they could reschedule his surgery? Tuesday next week, exactly 2 days before Thanksgiving. Which means we had to cancel our planned 2-hour drive to spend Turkey Day with Squeaker's cousins, reschedule my mom's visit (she's going to come help us keep him "calm" while he convalesces, heh), pay for a day of dog kenneling that was already underway and reschedule the kennel 2 weeks later, tell my job "oh, sorry, it's not this week I'm going to be out, it's in 2 weeks, hope that's fine with you," not to mention explaining to Squeaker that his night at the hospital wasn't happening tomorrow, but would happen soon. ARGH.

Then last Thursday I was contacted at work by some honchos at a Big Company asking about something we'd done 15 years ago, which spiraled into my having to draft Mean Threatening Letters to a potential copyright infringer, and then spend most of the weekend fielding calls and email from my boss, our board chair, several fancy lawyers and, oh yeah, there was a billionaire thrown into the mix just for good fun. My boss texted me, people, and several times when the boss called our house I had to get Squeaker to stop screaming, playing his kazoo, demanding to talk on the phone, etc. We got it all worked out by the end of the day yesterday, but good grief, it reminded me of the Big Law life I happily left behind ... except that this time I was trying to balance it out with having a family and a life.

Which brings me to the matter of my maternity leave, which our well-meaning but apparently clueless HR department, in its infinite lack of wisdom, has decided to handle by bringing in some random as-yet-unselected attorney with who-knows-what skills or knowledge for -- get this -- two half-days a week. Because, y'know, only one day per week of what I do must be important, and there certainly won't be any need for my replacement to spend extra time adjusting to a very steep learning curve, right?! They have no apparent plans to bring this person in while I'm still working (god forbid I try to give the poor soul half a clue about how to do my Very Unusual Job), and they seem to think they can wait until the last second to start looking for said random lawyer. To say that things at my desk will be FUBAR during my leave is just the tip of the iceberg. I hate to say I predicted this, but, well, I did. Years ago. I just keep telling myself "it's not my problem" -- except that it will be when I get back. And my poor legal assistant is going to have her hands full explaining (over and over and over) that she is not a lawyer and no really she can't do lawyer work, and my clients are already starting to panic on me, begging me to finish all of their Very Important Projects before I leave (which is simply not possible) ... Sigh.

In cheerier news, I saw Doc today. She's very excited about my being this far along in the pregnancy, and kept muttering happily about the baby being fully formed, everything going to be okay, etc. Baby kicked her when she was trying to get the heartbeat, which made her chortle with glee. My blood pressure is so low as to be ridiculous, no protein in my urine, normal glucose levels. I knew that preeclampsia and gestational diabetes weren't going to be problems, but I think Doc is finally believing it too. My belly is only measuring 28 weeks, but that's 3 weeks larger than my appointment 3 weeks ago, so baby is on a normal growth rate, even though she's small. Doc says she's pretty sure Sister is sitting on her bum with her back up against my right side ribs and her legs kicking my left side ribs. Which is exactly what it feels like. Is there such a thing as transverse breech? Anyway, Doc says the fact that she's facing sideways probably has a lot to do with how small she's measuring. We have another growth ultrasound scheduled for Thursday and should know more then.

We started talking about my birth plan, and at some point, Doc tried to warn me that although she knows I don't want to be monitored constantly, the mere fact of my age is going to give everyone palpitations. "I know you don't look 46, but ..."  Obviously, this is a conversation that will be continued as we go along. I'm all for reasonable precautions, but if they start really bugging me for no good reason, I'm gonna sic my Wonder Doula on them. Take that!