to hold Babel in my arms. Good Lord, am I ready. But, as much as I am ready, just like as much as I was ready to be pregnant, how ready I am does not mean a damn thing. Babel's not ready, and thus, I have to wait.
I didn't know I would feel this way. I find myself frustrated that I can't patiently wait out these 100+ days and cherish the feeling of Babel kicking around in my belly. I'm almost certain I will miss these feelings when Babel is living in the outside world, yet at this very moment, I desperately want to hold him.
I first felt these feelings after the anatomy scan. It took me the full day after to realize that my sadness and irritability was over the date not being what I wanted it to be. I have a sweet picture of Babel covering his little face, exposing his little baby armpit, and oh, how I long to feel that crease of skin where his arm meets his torso. I ache for that little bit of Babel's body, much in the way that I used to ache to feel his kicks.
I don't want Babel to come now; I simply want it to be his due date *right now*. I sometimes fear that my impatient thoughts will make him come to us too soon, which is the last thing I want. Babel is like a not fully baked cake, the SMT says. He's firm on the outside, but under that top layer, his insides are still all runny. I know this, yet I still wish for it to be time.
On Monday, we had to go to the hospital for a little monitoring, though everything was just fine. Babel is breech and stepping/tap dancing/kicking all of my lady bits, sometimes sinking down and increasing the pressure when I stand up or go to the bathroom. I had a wee bit of back pain like I do when my period comes, so that, combined with the very low pressure, was just a little concerning. When I called the doctor, I expected her to maybe have me come in to the office, but more likely I expected to be told more fluids and more rest. Instead, she said "labor and delivery" and I momentarily panicked. I amazingly pulled myself together, though, in a matter of minutes. I listened to my body, knew that we were okay, and took it as a little extra peek at Babel.
When we arrived there and were hooked the monitors, TH and I were lighthearted, talking to Babel, listening to his feisty kicks. He obviously disliked the pressure of the monitors, for which I was glad, as he had been pretty quiet before that. But the more I sat there, listening to the woman on the other side of the triage curtain, the one who was giving birth to her baby in the coming hours, the sadness creeped in. I walked in to the hospital reminding Babel it was too soon and to stay put, yet I laid in that bed, wishing that it was magically January and Time.
Is this a leftover infertility present? I calculated that we started trying 4 months after our wedding day, and 38 months after that same day, Babel will be in my arms. Are my feelings just the result of our lengthy wait? I have been waiting for Babel's arrival for what feels like so long, and as we approach the doorstep, the shortest wait we have had yet, it feels entirely unbearable. And yet, I feel this way knowing that the days that I carry Babel all to myself are numbered. After him, I may never have these sensations again. I know this. I fear it. Yet, I can't help but be filled with longing for Babel's sweet baby skin in my hands, his breath on my cheek, his cries in my ears.
I am trying so very, very hard to be right here with Babel in these moments, yet no matter what I do, I want him to feel these moments as vividly as I do, breathing his own air and telling me his secrets without my interpretations. My hands are ready to hold his; the skin of my belly, his house, are no longer enough.
I still long for my baby, even while he's right here with me. What will be enough?
22 September 2010
06 September 2010
The Things You Don't Expect
It's been a long time since I clicked on "New Post". It's hard, girls. Really hard.
This little blogger box is where I went with my sadness. My days are mostly happy (mostly), but the ones that are chaotic and overwhelming don't come close to touching the sadness of those where I placed my fingers to the keys to let all the words out. The overwhelming feelings are just different, and they're not just pregnant mama kinds of worries. There are a lot of days where I still feel like I'm in No Man's Land.
First, I must tell you that the 20 week u/s, done on the dot and not a day sooner (much to my dismay), revealed a healthy, perfect little boy. From the start, I knew Baby was a boy, in a way I can't easily explain to most of the world. If IVF#2 hadn't worked, I was retiring our treatment jerseys indefinitely. I know many of you know that feeling. After the chemical of IVF#1, I vowed to try one more time, and you all were witness to my resolve and TH's strength in carrying me through. The shots, the calls, the counts. Everything. I handed it all over and let TH take care of me (or us).
In the days of the betas, the ones that started out low and played tricks for treats, I survived. When we made it past those days and I could finally breathe again, I started to think about the life that had made it through those few days that no other had yet accomplished. I told myself there was something different about this baby, different good. Out of all the babies who could have been, this baby stayed.
I started to feel Baby's strength. I marveled at it, and not too long after, I was certain Baby was a boy. Baby was strong. Girls are strong (just look at his mama), but this was fierce boy energy I felt. "Little boys grow into men that take care of their mamas," I told TH. "Baby is a boy."
Baby, or Luka Mihai, as he will be called (Babel here), takes care of me. I've felt him before most women feel their babies. I've talked to him when the fears get to be too much. Getting out of the first tri didn't magically stop all of the worries, and I've leaned on Babel to carry us through. I've already learned to trust him in a way I can't always trust myself. My little man and his tati (daddy in Romanian) take care of my fears.
My mom threw us a shower in Michigan over the weekend. I've been a terrible guest of honor, stalking the registries and shopping for baby clothes, unable to resist the Gap clearance rack with a coupon. I couldn't wait for our trip to the midwest, and I eagerly hopped in the car with TH, short on luggage and ready to bring back pretty little things for Babel.
The night before the shower was not what I expected. After a few days of shopping for Babel's room, my mom's present for us for the shower, and an increase in Babel's waking time in the belly, I was exhausted and overwhelmed. Too much baby in too little time. Where did this feeling come from? And how can I make it STOP?
The panic set in. My shower outfit was a pair of white dress pants with an empire waisted navy maternity shirt. I had been on the living room floor with The Belle and Oldest Little Brother doing yoga tricks and watching The Belle's pretty handstands. I overdid it and stretched my belly muscles a little, and the timing couldn't have been worse. As we got into bed, TH had to hold me to calm me down. I was certain I had ruined Babel's home (if only the doctor hadn't cautioned me about yoga that week!) and that things would go very badly for my white pants and baby at the impending shower. Hadn't my mother told me it was too early for the shower to be held? What had I been thinking? Oh no, oh no, oh no. I spiraled.
TH finally calmed me with a few little kicks from Babel. I slept fitfully, partially from the migraine I'd been trying to shake and partially from the fear. How many mothers visualize the loss of their baby the night before their shower to celebrate the life growing within them? To say I was not ready for these feelings and disappointed in myself are an understatement. The self blame definitely didn't help.
The next morning came, and I was left to get ready by myself while the rest of the house was sleeping. I primped carefully, fearing my weight gain would be the talk of the shower, hoping the hair I'd worked so hard to blow dry would take away some of the focus. The Belle's first words to me when she came into the bathroom to brush her teeth were, "Your hair is BEAUTIFUL." I exhaled, just a little.
When we were finally in the car and on our way, the nerves finally gave way. The Belle was in the backseat, and try as I might, I couldn't keep the tears from falling. I silently cried the whole way to the shower. I cried tears of fear and happiness. I cried out of sadness of all the days that had come before, the ones that made me believe this drive to the shower would never, ever happen. I cried out of love for Babel, who must have felt my emotions and happily kicked me the whole hour ride there. I cried when I touched my fully belly, and I cried at all the songs on the radio, not the least to What I Love About Sundays, which made me cry for all of you who have been on this road with me. I cried out of nervousness that I am pregnant, going to the shower my mother and grandmother meticulously planned for our new little family, knowing that 90% of the people in the room would not have a clue how much this day meant to me, to Babel.
When I told the SMT about my fears and tears, she understood. We've reached another milestone, which simultaneously requires rejoicing and nervousness that all the rejoicing could be taken away in an instant. But it wasn't. And every minute that went past, every moment one step further into the party, I relaxed just a little bit more. I never became the life of the party, and I never forgot the torrent of the emotions leading into those hours. But for that finite amount of time, I just was. I was the mama, carrying the Babel and opening the presents. Tati took the pictures and held my eyes when needed. And everyone else just happily celebrated Babel's impending birth.
And there we were.
This little blogger box is where I went with my sadness. My days are mostly happy (mostly), but the ones that are chaotic and overwhelming don't come close to touching the sadness of those where I placed my fingers to the keys to let all the words out. The overwhelming feelings are just different, and they're not just pregnant mama kinds of worries. There are a lot of days where I still feel like I'm in No Man's Land.
First, I must tell you that the 20 week u/s, done on the dot and not a day sooner (much to my dismay), revealed a healthy, perfect little boy. From the start, I knew Baby was a boy, in a way I can't easily explain to most of the world. If IVF#2 hadn't worked, I was retiring our treatment jerseys indefinitely. I know many of you know that feeling. After the chemical of IVF#1, I vowed to try one more time, and you all were witness to my resolve and TH's strength in carrying me through. The shots, the calls, the counts. Everything. I handed it all over and let TH take care of me (or us).
In the days of the betas, the ones that started out low and played tricks for treats, I survived. When we made it past those days and I could finally breathe again, I started to think about the life that had made it through those few days that no other had yet accomplished. I told myself there was something different about this baby, different good. Out of all the babies who could have been, this baby stayed.
I started to feel Baby's strength. I marveled at it, and not too long after, I was certain Baby was a boy. Baby was strong. Girls are strong (just look at his mama), but this was fierce boy energy I felt. "Little boys grow into men that take care of their mamas," I told TH. "Baby is a boy."
Baby, or Luka Mihai, as he will be called (Babel here), takes care of me. I've felt him before most women feel their babies. I've talked to him when the fears get to be too much. Getting out of the first tri didn't magically stop all of the worries, and I've leaned on Babel to carry us through. I've already learned to trust him in a way I can't always trust myself. My little man and his tati (daddy in Romanian) take care of my fears.
My mom threw us a shower in Michigan over the weekend. I've been a terrible guest of honor, stalking the registries and shopping for baby clothes, unable to resist the Gap clearance rack with a coupon. I couldn't wait for our trip to the midwest, and I eagerly hopped in the car with TH, short on luggage and ready to bring back pretty little things for Babel.
The night before the shower was not what I expected. After a few days of shopping for Babel's room, my mom's present for us for the shower, and an increase in Babel's waking time in the belly, I was exhausted and overwhelmed. Too much baby in too little time. Where did this feeling come from? And how can I make it STOP?
The panic set in. My shower outfit was a pair of white dress pants with an empire waisted navy maternity shirt. I had been on the living room floor with The Belle and Oldest Little Brother doing yoga tricks and watching The Belle's pretty handstands. I overdid it and stretched my belly muscles a little, and the timing couldn't have been worse. As we got into bed, TH had to hold me to calm me down. I was certain I had ruined Babel's home (if only the doctor hadn't cautioned me about yoga that week!) and that things would go very badly for my white pants and baby at the impending shower. Hadn't my mother told me it was too early for the shower to be held? What had I been thinking? Oh no, oh no, oh no. I spiraled.
TH finally calmed me with a few little kicks from Babel. I slept fitfully, partially from the migraine I'd been trying to shake and partially from the fear. How many mothers visualize the loss of their baby the night before their shower to celebrate the life growing within them? To say I was not ready for these feelings and disappointed in myself are an understatement. The self blame definitely didn't help.
The next morning came, and I was left to get ready by myself while the rest of the house was sleeping. I primped carefully, fearing my weight gain would be the talk of the shower, hoping the hair I'd worked so hard to blow dry would take away some of the focus. The Belle's first words to me when she came into the bathroom to brush her teeth were, "Your hair is BEAUTIFUL." I exhaled, just a little.
When we were finally in the car and on our way, the nerves finally gave way. The Belle was in the backseat, and try as I might, I couldn't keep the tears from falling. I silently cried the whole way to the shower. I cried tears of fear and happiness. I cried out of sadness of all the days that had come before, the ones that made me believe this drive to the shower would never, ever happen. I cried out of love for Babel, who must have felt my emotions and happily kicked me the whole hour ride there. I cried when I touched my fully belly, and I cried at all the songs on the radio, not the least to What I Love About Sundays, which made me cry for all of you who have been on this road with me. I cried out of nervousness that I am pregnant, going to the shower my mother and grandmother meticulously planned for our new little family, knowing that 90% of the people in the room would not have a clue how much this day meant to me, to Babel.
When I told the SMT about my fears and tears, she understood. We've reached another milestone, which simultaneously requires rejoicing and nervousness that all the rejoicing could be taken away in an instant. But it wasn't. And every minute that went past, every moment one step further into the party, I relaxed just a little bit more. I never became the life of the party, and I never forgot the torrent of the emotions leading into those hours. But for that finite amount of time, I just was. I was the mama, carrying the Babel and opening the presents. Tati took the pictures and held my eyes when needed. And everyone else just happily celebrated Babel's impending birth.
And there we were.
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