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.