Handmade with Last Minute Stress

Since my husband and I start giving each other handmade presents for Christmas last year and we loved it, we're doing it again this year. What does that mean for the time right now? Stress. Stress because I'm just now starting his knitted hat which matches his scarf. On top of just starting it, it looks awful. I mean like it's knitted by a first grader who was given no instructions. Seriously.

On top of just starting his present, we've got to make Wombat's too. And guess what? We haven't even started working on that one either. Not one bit, but we do know what we're making: a quiet book. I don't know what it'll be about, but I know that it'll be a quiet book. Maybe I should do some Googling.

Anyway, I'll totally show the final products when we're done. Oh, I forgot. I have Wombat's stocking and tutu to make too.

Holidays. Must start working on homemade projects sooner.

Why Did I Look at the Calendar?

Last year I stood out in the snow and cried.

The first snow happened the year before. Cold swept in. It felt just like my soul. Hubs, then boyfriend, and I held each other and wondered "why?"

It was the second worse day of my life; second only to the day before when the doctor said "sorry..." and my screamed filled the air.

I can close my eyes and see the room, feel the moments slowly tick by, feel Moose's body leave mine.

feet..head...arms...

Moose left me upside-down. Feet first, like he/she was trying to stop everything just like I was trying to stop everything.

Moose...my baby...my sweet baby...our sweet baby

I made a choice to not look at the calendar. I didn't want to know the date. I didn't want to have an anniversary of the day. I just wanted to miss my baby because having a date would mean every year there would be a day like this. Stupid hospital. Made me know the date.

Now, I sit here. Knowing the weather still reflects my pain.

It's supposed to be snowing at home. I just want to go home and feel the snow. It feels like Moose letting me know that Wombat doesn't change anything. That Moose is hugging me with cold, snowy arms.

Christmas from the Batters

Everyone loves some cute little baby feet, so what better gift to give to grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, and really good friends than a cute footprint ornament? Or at least that's my thought...

If it's yours too, here's how I made mine.

Supplies:

Paint
Scissors
Rolling Pin (mine is a metal tube from a home improvement store)
Air dry clay (you can actually make this if you want)
Sponge
Wax Paper

Step One
Lay the air dry clay between the wax paper and roll it out. As you can see on my rolling pin, before I used the wax paper, it got all over the rolling pin and wasn't pretty at all.

Step Two

Inspect your clay to see if it's the thickness you want. Mine is maybe 1/4" thick, but just use your own judgement on it.

Step Three
Squirt out your paint and dab your sponge into it. Make sure it doesn't have a lot of paint on the sponge because too much paint means you won't see the little lines in the foot.

I have no idea why this picture is uploading upside down. The fuzziness is trying to hold Wombat and take a picture of her foot.



Once you get the paint on, it should look like the above picture. Well, that's if it's not too blurry for you. Also, bright red is a Christmas color, but it kind of looks like a bloody baby foot, which is not cute.

Step Four

Stamp the foot. Try to have them not overlap like I did, but I salvaged two feet prints from the three.

Step Five
Cut out the cute little feet and add holes.

Step Six
Put them somewhere safe so they can dry. I'm also going to sand the edges to make them a little nicer looking. Since the red feet look like bloody foot prints, I'm going to outline them in green and tie a green ribbon on the top.

Oh, and don't forget to add the date to them with the baby's name so you're not sitting around once they're grown wondering which kid belongs to the footprint.

Changin Myself

Before I gave birth to Wombat, Hubs and I wondered into our favorite bar while the 2011 Women's World Cup was playing. We found a little corner to sit, eat our buffalo burgers, and watch. It was absolutely the only non-cycling, non-Olympic sporting event I've ever enjoyed watching.

Why?

I sat there watching these women being so bad-as (I'm a mom and must watch my language now, so it's bad-as) that it truly inspired me. All I could think watching them: I NEED to be this bad-as if I have a daughter; I must show her every day that she can be bad-as.

Pic from here.

It was so touching to me that I was in tears. Seriously. It wasn't the pregnancy hormones; it was that I've always been a wuss. I've always allowed myself to be a doormat. I let boyfriends cheat on me, get me to pay for everything, treat me like I was only good for one thing, and then I'd beg them to stay with me. Oh, and I'd bail on good friends to be with them. I've also let so-called friends get drunk every time I hung out with them so they could use me as their designated driver. I never stood up for myself and this game really hit home that I couldn't be that woman any more. I needed to be bad-as because my child needed a bad-as mom who sees the imposed boundaries of every day life and blows right through them. And if Wombat turned out to be a girl (we were Team Green after all), I wanted her to see me as a strong female role model. I wanted to be her Hope Solo (or any of the women of the American or Japanese teams*).

So what am I planning to do?

Well, here's my list:

1. Learn some new words to spruce up my conversation. Using "awesome" and "dude" is really cool, but what about "flabbergast" or "compadre?"
2. Teach myself to sew (not really bad-as in a traditional way, but I think it's bad-as mommery)
3. Constantly work to strengthen and improve my relationship with Hubs while being affectionate in a way that shows what a good relationship looks like (we have a great relationship, but great relationships are constantly working to stay that way)
4. Stop watching television so much
5. Get outside more, even in the winter
Stop being so shy
6. Start my own business
7. Ride 100 miles on my bicycle

Pic found here.

So there you go. I'm working on the first 3 (thank you Being Human for ruining #4 and 5 for me). #6 and 7, they pretty much go hand in hand. #8 is hard when I'm commuting an hour one way, Hubs is spending really long hours on campus, and Wombat can't ride in the Moose Caboose quite yet.

Pic found here.

When I can get on my bike, I do, but I'm no where near 100 miles yet.

Anyway, I know my list isn't revolutionary, but it's a start. Maybe, once I accomplish these, I'll add something a little farther out there and a little more like the women of the World Cup.

*Thank you! Watching you play really made something click inside my head about how strong a woman can be.

Angel Baby Pictures on Facebook

I'm quite tired of reading about people who are offended by Angel Moms posting their Angel Babies on Facebook. Yes, it's disturbing, but there's so little of our baby that we have. Plus, most Angel Babies don't look deformed; they look like sleeping babies. If it's really so bothersome, block the photographs. Let these parents do whatever helps them heal and shut your mouth because it's one of those situations you don't understand until you've been there.

One other thing, there's actually photographers who volunteer to come take very beautiful pictures of Angel Babies so these pictures are not just cell phone pictures. You can find more information about this at the Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep website.

And just to keep this honest, we never saw Moose. We never even found out if Moose was a a boy or girl. We wanted to remember Moose as our guitar-playing, Rush (the band) loving baby who played the push back game with his/her Dad. We have pictures, feet prints, bracelets, and other things in a box in the closet, but we've never wanted to open them. It's what we wanted and what we felt comfortable with doing. It doesn't work for everyone.

College: It's Never too Early

Every parent wonders how to pay for college because, let's face it, it's insanely expensive and keeps getting more so. To help with costs, a lot of parents start saving as soon as their kids are born, squirrelling away $5 here and $100 there. Well, that's great, but that's not really possible for us right now (husband out of work and I have major student loan debt). Instead, we're begging on the street...

Pic found here.

No, actually we're asking Wombat's grandparents, great grandparents, aunts, uncles, and whoever else buys her presents to buy her a present or two and give the rest of the money they'd spend on her to her college fund.*

To do this, we're starting a 529 for her before Christmas where all the money she gets goes straight to that. After all, the majority of the presents she's going to get, she'll play with for a couple of months, maybe years, and give away (think Toy Story 3).

Pic from here.

Why not use the majority of the money for something that's going to last the rest of her life? Something no one can take away from her? And something that's a financial burden?

Plus, she's going to get a ton of presents with all the family she has anyway. One or two presents from each of them still means a whole lot of unwrapping. Seriously, I just counted and she'll get approximately 15 presents if people just buy her one present each. That's a ton of presents.

Honestly, I thought it'd be hard to convince everyone to do this, but it's been really easy. Everyone is really excited about it, wants to do it, and keeps asking us about it. Hopefully, they will keep their excitement when they're passing by the toy shop and see a cute this or that.

Have any ideas about saving for college? Please share them in the comments.**

*Before you think I'm a genius and give me a standing ovation, I totally stole this idea from an advice column. A woman wrote in telling about how this was done for her. While she hated it when she was growing up, she loved that she graduated from college with little student debt unlike her classmates.

**Anyone else having trouble with the comments?

A Whole Lotta Love

One thing I truly believe that every pregnant woman needs is a Pregnancy Buddy. What is a Pregnancy Buddy? Well, a woman who's pregnant and due around the same time.

Found here and, no, neither are me.

Having a Pregnancy Buddy gives you a person who knows exactly what you're going through because she's at the same time in her pregnancy. During the first trimester, she's sick with you. The second, she's trying to hide her pregnancy from work as long as she can. And the third, well, the third, the two of you try to drag each other to the end of pregnancy because it feels never ending.

Now I realize that any woman who's been pregnant understands what it's like to be pregnant, but there's something about having someone who's going through it at the same time as you. Besides, once a woman holds a baby in her arms, it's hard to remember what all the fuss was about. (Yes, I know. I didn't believe that either, but it's annoying because it's true.) Also, husbands or partners are great at being there, but they're not pregnant (well, unless your partner is also a woman and you're pregnant at the same time...)

With Moose, I didn't have a Pregnancy Buddy; I had someone who was done having kids after having two. She knew what being pregnant was like, never liked it, and was happy to never have to deal with pregnancy again. During Moose's pregnancy, she listened to me be miserable and opened my eyes to what it's like to be a mom, but it wasn't something that we really bonded over. We were really at two different points in our lives. She already was a mom of two and I was just starting a family. It's similar, but not the same.

With Wombat, I didn't even think of having a Pregnancy Buddy. It's something that just happened.

Our friendship began with a simple message "hey, you're due the same time as me. Cool." And then, we just kept messaging. Back and forth throughout the work day. Every day. It was so easy to become good friends because we knew what the other was going through.

Now, I've never made a friend over the internet before since I was, like, 17 and they were more like a "friend" than a friend, but having a PB got me through on days when being pregnant was just too much for me. Whether it was the normal "being pregnant blows" or my sorrow in dealing with pregnancy after Moose, she was there for me. Plus, we could share cute baby stuff with each other without getting tired of it. And of course, we didn't always talk pregnancy and babies.

But we did become good friends.

So giant hugs and love to my Pregnancy Buddy. You helped me more than you could ever know.

Now, go find one for yourself because, along with prenatals and doctor's appointment, it's what every  pregnant woman needs.

I Tried It: Lactation Cookies

So I read about these magic Lactation Cookies* on my local La Leche League Facebook page. My thoughts were as follows:

1. I can eat cookies to make more milk?
2. I like cookies.
3. I wonder if they're some kind of gross, weird cookie with kookie things in them?
4. Let's ask Chef Google.
5. Hmm, they have chocolate chips in them.
6. I like chocolate chips.
7. I like chocolate chips and cookies.
8. I'm totally making these cookies
9. Hold on, what's brewer's yeast?
10. I think I need to go to the organic grocery store for this.

I braved a trip to the expensive, organic store, where they were actually really helpful; picked up old fashioned oats, brewer's yeast, and some flax (not the milled flax though, which I could've gotten at the regular grocery store). It didn't even cost that much either even with the Lactation Tea I picked up.

When I got home, I really wanted to make these cookies, but like every mother knows, things happen which means other things don't get done.

For over a week, other things happened and my cookies waited until the other night. It was cookie time. Truthfully, I mixed up the batter one night and cooked half of it the next day and am saving the rest.

My cookies. See there's not any visible chocolate chips. That means they need more.

So here are some tips:

1. Make sure your husband/partner doesn't turn off the timer.
2. Take the cookies out when they're still really soft. Mine are dried out because I thought they needed to get a little hard.
3. My husband wants to add molasses, so there's totally some fooling around you can do with the recipe. I read on the comments below the recipe that people had cut out a lot of the sugar.
4. I used peanut butter instead of almond butter and mine had a slight peanut butter taste.
5. I'm adding more chocolate chips next time.

As for the actual taste, both my husband and I like them. Plus, with all the good things in them, we can easily fool ourselves into believing that they're good for us. All in all, we'll make them again.

If you want to make them, here's the recipe.

*One important thing to know about these cookies, my husband and I call them "poopkies" because they cleaned us out. Maybe it's because I used regular flax instead of milled flax though. However, it's not like we ate Colon Blow.

Now That We Have Wombat, What About a Moose?

Now that we actually have Wombat in our arms, I think it's important to address something people may think: our loss is forgotten because we have a baby. In fact, after losing Moose, I was told to "just have another baby," to "get over it."

Did that happen?

NO

Of course having a baby doesn't make up for our loss. A piece of my heart died. I can still feel that hole right where it's always been and will always be.

In fact, I miss Moose every day, but now I know what I missed with Moose. Before, it was unknown. I didn't know what being a mother was like and how it'd make me feel. It was losing our child, which filled me with a rage I cannot even explain, but I didn't understand being a mom. Now that I do, it's, well, it's still beyond my words.

I sometimes daydream of holding Moose. Wondering even more if Moose was a boy or girl. What Moose would've grown up to be. All those things moms wonder about their kids, I wonder about with Moose. I never did that before. I just wanted our baby.

I know I'll never "get over" Moose. Moose isn't some ex-boyfriend; Moose is my child and will always be my child. All I can do is live, love Moose and Wombat, know that sometimes people say really stupid things, and be the best mother (to both my kids) I can possibly be.

Reusable What?

I'm about to share something that makes most people think I'm insane. Honestly, I thought it was overboard when I first saw them on Etsy. Then, I read. It used things I already had in the house, so it'd be free. I mean, there'd be the initial time to make it, but, after that, free. How could I not try it?

So I tried it...and I LOVE it.

So I had my husband try it and he LOVES it.

What is this magical discovery?...reusable wipes.

Yes, we reuse wipes in my house. Now, I know what you're thinking: GROSS, you use those to clean pooey, baby butts!

Yes, they clean pooey, baby butts, but seriously, they're awesome.

1. The solution uses things most parents already have: baby wash, baby oil, water, and a spray bottle (you know, your best friend if you had a vaginal birth?)
2. The wipes are two pieces of 8" flannel sewn together or you can buy them
3. They clean even the biggest pooey messes with one wipe
4. Less or no chemicals depending on what you use
5. No running out of wipes
6. Cost savings
7. If you're already using cloth diapers, why not wash wipes? However, you could do wipes even using disposables. It's very easy.

Want to try them out? Well, there's different solution recipes here. We use one tablespoon baby oil, one tablespoon soap, one drop tea tree oil, and one cup water. From making it, the best way to do it is oil, water, and soap last. Make sure to shake it up each time before you squirt it out just to mix up the oil.

As for how to apply the solution to the wipe, there's different ways of doing that too. Some people put the solution and wipes in an old disposal wipe box or some other box and pull them out like regular wipes. We use the squirter and my husband and I squirt the wipe differently too. I go for a little all over; he squirts a lot in the middle with the edges for drying.

The wipes we use are old flannel sheets that didn't fit any beds. To make them, I folded the sheet in two, measured 8" from the edge and pinned at the 8" mark all across the sheet, and cut under the pins.

Imagine this is a decent picture of a sheet, folded in half, and the red marks are stick pins.

Once I had a really long 8" piece of flannel, I measured 8" from the side and pinned, again cutting after the pins.

You're going to end up with 8" squares of flannel that's double-sided.

Now, you sew. I used this time to practice my sewing and use the different settings on my sewing machine. Remember, they don't have to be pretty; they're cleaning poo. Mine are dark blue, striped flannel with hot pink thread. I didn't flip the seem inside, so there was a lot of threads for a while when we did laundry. I made some more with the seem on the inside, but I don't like them as much. However, I like them more than disposable wipes.

As for cleaning, they clean the messiest poos with one wipe. Since we started using them 2 months ago, I can count on one hand the times I've used two wipes. Really, I can only think of one time. It's so nice not fighting with the wipe box when I trying to get Wombat clean.

The other benefits pretty much speak for themselves: less or no chemicals, no running out of wipes, cost savings, and ease of washing them. You can read up about chemicals in wipes. Honestly, I didn't even think about it when deciding to do reusable wipes. I did it for the cost savings, which I read is about $440 a year. Washing them is so simple. They're never so dirty that we have to rinse them out. We just throw them into the wash and they come out perfectly clean.

Oh, and if you're wondering about how we pack them in the diaper bag, it's super easy. We have a diaper pad that has a pockets. I fold each wipe into fours so I can pull out one wipe at a time. Our diaper bag also has a bottle holder which I use to hold the squirt bottle. Simple.

If you have any questions, post them in the comments.

First Words

When I was pregnant with Wombat, I often thought about what my first words to my new baby would be. I wanted them to be special, something written by one of those famous, dead poets. Shakespeare, Wordsworth, you know, those magical word smiths.

From here

Those first words to my child would go on to stand the test of time so that Wombat could always think back to those words for strength. Yeah, it was that important to me. Maybe it was one of those times that the English Major in me really spoke out; maybe every mother does this; I don't know. What I do know is I spent a lot of time thinking about it. Think, think,

From here

Well, one would think I would've learned my lesson from the wedding vows fiasco (I never wrote them and ended up improvising with "I promise to clean more. I promise to fold laundry even at bedtime.") Nope!

When Wombat was born, I never finalized anything. Granted, I don't think I would've remembered it anyway. So what came out?

"You will never doubt that I love you."

Better than my wedding vows. It's a truth that will stand the test of time. Words Wombat can use for strength. And most importantly, words that I think about every day because I must live up to them.

What were your first words to your child? Did you agonize over what you'd say?

Why the Break?

I want to let you know why there's a long break in my blog posts, especially in that I started this to be open about my pregnancy.

Well, for as it got closer to the time in Wombat's pregnancy when I lost Moose, I distanced myself from the fact I was pregnant. This doesn't mean that I was doing things that a pregnant woman shouldn't do; it just means that I didn't talk about it. I tried not to think about the baby I was carrying and I certainly couldn't write about it. My desire to meet this baby was so great that the only way for me to deal with pregnancy was to not recognize my need to have a living baby. Not to acknowledge how much my heart was hurting. Add on top of that the agony of a pregnancy for any pregnant woman (we all get emotional and cry pretty easy or is that just me?)

Every week, I went in for my ultrasound and twice a week I went for a non-stress test or electronic fetal monitoring. Wombat consistently measured perfectly at every appointment, but it didn't help. I was scared.

Then, something my husband and I didn't see coming happened. It was week 34 in Wombat's pregnancy. We had birth class that night, but I wasn't feeling well and neither was my husband, so I called in sick. When I got home, my husband was feeling even worse, so I cooked dinner. At first, I thought it was an allergic reaction to the prescription meds to help with his poison ivy because aspirin wasn't helping. When he said he wanted to go to the hospital, I thought he was overreacting, yet we went anyway.

He checked in. Told the clerk he was having chest pains. We went back within 10 minutes of getting there. I was more concerned with getting my pregnant self food than him.

Yes, you read that right. I wasn't worried about him simply because he's always healthy. He wasn't.

Blood was drawn, blood pressure taken, the nines. The doctor came in, relaxed and calm. He said that there were five and a half things which he was worried about; the half being the least likely. If it wasn't one of those, we'd go home and meet with a cardiologist another day. They rolled in an EKG, then a giant machine, which we turned down because my husband thought it was overboard. It wasn't.

Well, it was that half thing. The least likely thing. My thirty-something husband had a heart attack. Nitro pills, admission to the hospital, my husband getting pain meds, and "oh, this is the least likely thing to happen, but just in case..." Every time they said least likely, it's what happened. We were transferred to a larger hospital.

My husband in an ambulance, me following behind. We didn't have a big goodbye when they put him in the ambulance. I thought I'd see him at the next hospital before they cathed his heart, but I didn't. My husband demanded I eat before I came to the hospital.

I waited. I called his family. My dearest friend brought me food.

I waited.

waited

waited...tried not to look at the clock.

Told an hour, maybe two.

It was two and half hours later. I began to think something was seriously wrong when a doctor came rushing in. He started explaining things. He drew me a picture that looked like a heart a five-year-old would draw. I don't know what he said really. There was a sound at the door.

there was my husband.

Thinking about it, I can't describe it. It's too much for words. Not even a year into our marriage, I almost lost my husband, the love of my life.

We spent a couple days in the hospital. Him so grumpy that I laugh about it now. The nurses took care of us both, bringing me the most comfortable bed they could find and extra pillows.

So there you go. I needed a break from everything. I needed to wait for our positive, which we got when our beautiful daughter was born at the end of July. With her birth, she brought us a happiness that we needed on so many levels.

Eagle Ton

Yes, I know what you're thinking: what is an eagle ton? It's okay. I'm going to tell you, but first, some background. My sister, Pickles, recently moved to Vancouver; we're also super close sisters who talk about everything and just understand each other in that sister kind of way. Obviously, that means I miss her more passionately than just "I miss you, Pickles." I miss her so much that my missing her must be conveyed with emphasis, emphasis only conveyed with

Picture from here.

Yes, conveyed with adult language.

But I'm a mom now and I can't always use that language. Yes, it's going to slip out, but I need to watch my language in order to keep my daughter from running around saying "G-- D---- Mother F---er" like I may have done. Thanks Dad.

Anyway, back to my sister. In Skyping with her while holding Wombat, I can't just come out and say "I miss you a (insert adult word here) ton," so I've decided to just use the word "eagle" for all adult words. Therefor, I miss my sister an eagle ton. If I bang my toe, it's "mother eagle!" When I inevitably get milk in my tubes while pumping, it's "eagle it!"

Picture from here

So there you go. My new favorite word, besides Wombat, is eagle.

Halloween

Halloween is my favorite holiday. I think that's important to know because I planned Moose's Halloween costume the summer before Moose was even due (Moose was due in January 2010 and it was summer 2009). Only after I figured out that did I think about my pregnant Halloween costume. I ended up being a kangaroo because I had a joey in my pocket. Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of it, but I wore it with pride even though we went no where.

So after having Wombat, I wanted her to have the costume that Moose was to wear. The problem was that I needed to sew to make it. So I learned to sew.

That's right. YouTube videos and my sheer desire to make an amazing costume for my little Wombat taught me to kind of sorta sew. While not perfect, let me just tell you that I love this costume.

That's right. She's Slimey the Worm, Oscar the Grouch's pet worm and best friend. Slimey was my favorite Seasame Street character, so it only makes sense that I pay tribute to my love of this worm with an awesome Halloween costume. The hubs and I, of course, dressed up too. He's Oscar and I'm Grungetta. Yes, Grungetta is a Seasame Street character. She's Oscar's girlfriend, so there. Once I get a picture of the three of us, I'll share it. And yes, that picture is the only reason I spent hours working on her costume.

Wombat's Birth Story

Sorry this took so long. I started writing it the week we got out of the hospital.

It was a dark and stormy night…No, I lied. Actually, it was a beautiful Friday morning. At least that’s what I think. I woke up and starting having contractions right after breakfast, so I did as I’d been trained: lie down and relax, drink water, and walk around if they continued. They continued, but I didn’t want to walk. Instead, we brought out my phone because there’s an app for counting contractions. My husband timed while I dealt with the contractions, which really weren’t awful, just annoying at this point. Everything pointed to Wombat arriving some time Friday or early Saturday.



Since it was Friday, I had to go in for a Non-Stress Test (NST) any way, so my sister and I went to the Birth Place with my husband staying behind so he could work around the house a little more (he nested more than I did). Once at the hospital, I showed the RN my contraction app, which she loved, while she hooked me up. They monitored me for about an hour, it’s only supposed to be 20 minutes, then let me go as my contractions weren’t timing out perfectly. When I was walking out the door, she told me to go home and enjoy my husband…wink wink.



Once home, the contractions really backed off, so we; my sister, husband, and I; finished cleaning the house then went to see Cowboys vs. Aliens because who doesn’t love cowboys fighting aliens AND seeing Daniel Craig? Yummy! Evidently, Wombat enjoys watching Daniel Craig too because I started having more regular contractions during the movie, so we went home and watched Casino Royale, the one with Daniel Craig. The contractions kept getting stronger and closer together. We all thought we were going to the hospital any minute. My husband took a nap; my sister and I stayed up to count the contractions in hopes that we’d go to the hospital soon. We shouldn’t have watched a cheese-tastic, bad romantic comedy because the contractions fell off. I called the night.



The next morning the contractions started again with the same possible false hope of getting stronger and closer together. I was not amused. I wanted to sleep and eat and relax because there’s no way that this was the real thing. I’d had Braxton-Hicks contractions for weeks, everything was false excitement, yet this time it was not a drill. Finally, at 7ish, we were off like a herd of turtles to the hospital.



Contractions and riding in a car do not go together. They, in fact, are mortal enemies.



After a brutal ride on back country roads and a non-bumpy interstate, we arrived at the hospital, changed into our Team Wombat bright green t-shirts, and walked into the hospital. They put us into a triage room, the one I frequented the most during my NSTs, to hook me up to the NST machine (also known as electronic fetal monitoring). It was all familiar to me. However, my husband seemed a little nervous when I think back on it.



Our RN came in to introduce herself, which pleased both my husband and sister as they weren’t happy with the first RN to come in as she immediately started talking about me getting an epidural. Anyway, our RN read our birth plan, took a copy with her, and followed it without question (I love her!)



After being in the triage room for three hours, I was admitted. My RN guided us to our room, which turned out to be the room I wanted. It overlooked a horse field. Once all our stuff was moved to our room, I quickly got in the Jacuzzi tub. Unfortunately, I would not allow anyone to turn on the jets. There, I stayed for a while and yelled at anyone who tried to splash me with water. Once I got out, my husband wanted me to try the birthing ball, but it pretty flat, so I just got into bed. During this whole time, my husband and sister were using an acupressure point on my lower back to ease the pain; my husband easily pushed really hard with one hand while my sister, using her entire body weight, really didn’t push hard enough and I may have yelled at her. Between the two of them pushing on my back, I actually got a bruise which stayed around for several weeks. They laughed about it silently behind my back just as they did when I yelled at one of them. It was their way of getting through this extremely long labor.



So there I laid in bed for several more hours with the contractions getting stronger until they just fell off. Our doctor said that he’d normally administer pitocin at this point, so my husband should use one of our natural stimulation methods, which thus far had done nothing to induce labor; however, it worked once I was in labor and I was back to having contractions shortly going into transition.



Transition is where things get tough and most women ask for meds; I was no different and started begging my husband for meds. He told me that I would have to ask for them myself while my sister would tell me every time I said I was done that I was “done with that contraction.” Honestly, they were really getting on my nerves and I may have yelled at them several (many) times during the next two hours. Oh, the meds they offered where either an epidural or nubane. Nubane was given to me when I delivered Moose; it does jack, so I don’t recommend it and recommend, instead, just staying the course of no meds.



Finally, I started pushing, but didn’t put a lot of effort into pushing because I didn’t realize that I was pushing Wombat. Yeah, that doesn’t make sense, but I’d been in labor for a really long time at this point. Anyway, I pushed for two hours according to my husband. At first, I barely pushed, then I screamed more than I pushed until my RN told me that I was wasting my energy, so I got angry and pushed with anger. Wombat really started moving then with our doctor actually commenting several times on how strong I was to my husband.



Since my husband was catching, our doctor got him down there and my RN stepped into his place holding my leg. Our doctor gave him this quick lesson on how to help me not tear, work the shoulder out, and some other stuff. During this time, I was only allowed little pushes, kind of hard to do when my body wanted Wombat out. Finally, I was told to push, so I did. Then I head the magic words “one more big push and the head will be out,” so I gave a big push…and Wombat’s head popped out along with the rest of Wombat.



Yeah, I pushed so hard I pushed out a whole baby.



My husband caught Wombat before Wombat fell off the bed, put Wombat on me to nurse just like he’d been trained, and I laid eyes on our Wombat. Our beautiful Wombat. We were covered with a blanket as I asked my husband “what did we have?” He forgot to look in the excitement, so he lifted the blankets and said “it’s a girl I think,” to which my sister replied “yes, that’s a girl.” While all this was happening, my sister said “the head doesn’t look funny at all,” because most babies have funny shaped heads, especially when the mom pushed for so long.



My husband came around to look at Wombat and I, so I asked him “honey, how did we do this? How did we do this?” His reply: “I think we learned about it in Sex Ed.”



So in conclusion, it was a great, but really long birth with a Coach and Assistant Coach who were amazing (our doctor, who is a man, said that “if I ever have to give birth, I want you two as my coaches.”), and Daniel Craig induces labor, but cheesy romantic comedies do not.

Edited to add: Forgot, my water never broke. Our doctor, when I stalled, actually broke my water. I'd been taught that this was a bad thing to do as it won't start labor, but I was already in labor, so it did help to restart everything along with my husband doing natural induction stimulation. Our doctor commented about my bag of waters being very tough because it'd gone through some thing or some thing like that.

And as a reward for reading all that, here's a picture of Miss Wombat herself:

A Moose and Wombat

The days are ticking by and it's getting closer to the time during our pregnancy when we said "goodbye" to Moose. We're at week 24, well, tomorrow if you're going to get technical about it. Ten more weeks and it's that week. The week where I thought I was going to the hospital to possibly deliver a baby, but instead heard those words.

This time, things feel different. Wombat moves often while Moose was a quiet baby. Wombat isn't making me into a really picky eater, Moose hated when I ate pretty much anything. Wombat lets me walk around and do things; Moose preferred me playing video games or watching a movie. Every pregnancy is different just like every child is different. Yet these are my babies.

At this point, they exist in the same realm, but what happens if/when Wombat because a living baby who survives outside my womb? Does that make Moose any less my baby? No. It's just like when they were in the womb. One child is one way, and the other child is another.

Wombat will always be a younger sibling. Moose will always be the oldest sibling. Just like any younger sibling, Wombat will get hand-me-downs. There's blankets; toys; a swing; and, of course, lots of clothes.

Wombat will come into a family scared with loss and Moose will share that family. Somehow, we'll all be one family with children in two different realms. Never forgetting. Always remembering. Forever loving.

Freedom

My husband has decided that he's ready to skip to the end of this pregnancy. Well, I am too, but we have several weeks left as well as 12 weeks of Fridays down the drain at Bradley Classes (important, but we realized we have 5 more dance classes which are offered only on Fridays). Anyway, as much as he's done with me being pregnant, I'm, by far, more ready to pop this kid out than he is. Seriously, I'm having a hard time putting on my shoes. Not cool.

Okay, you may wonder because every pregnant woman reaches the point when they're done, what does this have to do with this post since I've already posted about how we're both done with me being pregnant? Well, I had a weird moment this morning: I forgot that I was pregnant. Yep, you read that right.

I was driving to work and started driving like non-pregnant me (read fast and having fun with the turns). It was so fun to drive like it was just me in the car, no Wombat sitting in my uterus making me drive the speed limit. Granted, it's not like I was driving 65 in a 35 because I just don't drive like that, but it was fun to feel like my body was my own again. No watching every step I take. No constantly driving the speed limit. No worrying about every little thing I do.

Then reality: I'm pregnant. I do have to watch my steps so as I don't trip. Speeding and having fun driving to work. I do have to worry about everything I eat, drink, wear, what I clean the bathroom with, make sure to walk every hour, back to watching everything because it effects Wombat.

Yes, I know this is part of pregnancy. It's just hard because I want my body back. I want my freedom.

Have you ever had a lapse where you forget something it seems like you just shouldn't be able to forget about?

Week 21ish Check-Up

Wombat, my husband, and I all went to the regular doctor Friday. Wombat was scanned, photographed, and recorded on video. We never had a video of Moose, so it was really cool that we received a DVD after the ultrasound tech was done. It also marked the first time that Wombat didn't want to move into the perfect positions; I actually had to lay on my side at one point.

As far as the actual appointment, everything went well. Wombat's heart rate was 150 beats per minute, so that looks like a boy according to that Old Wives' Tale. However, the Chinese gender chart shows a girl, so who knows. I'm still unsure, but I did have a little dream while watching the Paris-Nice cycling race the other day. (Yes, my husband and I love cycling. No football in this house.)

In this dream, I heard Bob Roll talk about our son being in the Tour de France. It was so totally awesome. I mean, our kids don't have to actually be bike riders, but having a dream about our son being in the Tour was pretty freaking awesome. And hearing Bob Roll talk to Phil Liggett about our son was, well, awesome.

But I still have no idea what gender our baby is. My husband thinks we're having a girl, my sister thinks we're having a girl, his family thinks we're having a girl, and I'm completely unsure. Isn't the mother supposed to have some kind of feeling?

So to sum it up: everything looks good, but I still have no idea the gender of our baby unlike everyone else. I'm also getting weaker and wanting to find out Wombat's gender. Help me stay Team Green.

That's a Good Sign

Recently I've noticed how many people tell me "_____ is a good sign."
Here's an example:
Me: Wombat keeps kicking me in the bladder.
Person: Well, that's a good sign.

How is that a good sign? I mean babies move in the womb; they kick and punch things. It's obvious that a lot of babies will kick their mom in the bladder; however, I've never read anything which states that kicking the bladder is a good sign.

It goes with being sick during the first trimester too. That's a good sign too. Surprising because I was very sick with Moose. Every day. Multiple times a day. During the whole pregnancy. People told me that was a good sign too, but it wasn't.

Let's just face it. This saying should be thrown to the side along with all the other crazy things pregnant women hear. In case you need a list, here are a couple ideas at what not to say:

1. You look like you're about to pop. When are you due?
2. Are you having twins? You're huge.
3. ____ is a good sign.
4. Aren't you worried about ______?

There's more, feel free to add them in the comments.

On a side note, I was informed by my lovely husband this morning that I'll have more gas since I'm in month 5. My response: "I'm so glad I have an office to myself." I'm already feeling like a giant, stinky, gas bubble and I don't know if I can take more.

Sorry

Just want to say sorry I haven't posted much lately. I've been having a mini freak out about my pregnancy. No, I don't think it's over, but I'll try to write more about it.

Mothers who Miscarry/Deliver a Stillborn Baby Get the Death Penatly

Yeah, that's the law being proposed in Georgia. Reading about it made my heart beat, my blood boil, and brought me to tears. I'm sure there's lots out there to read, but honestly, I can't read anymore. The things I read were enough. If you'd like to read more, just type it into Google and find a site you find reputable.

As a mother who lost her baby for unknown reasons, I'm just astounded that anyone would dare to propose this, especially someone who is an elected official in America. The way the bill is written, it means that any woman who suffers a pregnancy loss must prove that she had nothing to do with her baby's death.

Yes, it's meant to overturn Roe v. Wade, but I'm not talking about abortion. I'm talking about mothers who wanted their being tried as criminals due to nature. No, it doesn't sound logical, but that doesn't matter. It matters that someone wants it enacted. Can you wrap your head around that? I mean, really put that in your head and process it.

Yeah, if this passes, it means that, in addition to the pain of never going home with her baby, a woman must somehow prove she did nothing to harm her baby. With all the "you can have this, but not that. Oh wait a minute, this week, you can have that, but not this," out there, it seems the chance of a pregnant woman accidentally doing something which may be seen as harmful very easy. Did she take a small swallow of coffee after she found out? Death! Did she not read the label close enough on that unpasteurized cheese? Death! Did she forget her prenatals that one day because she couldn't stop throwing up? Death!

Yeah, maybe I'm taking it a little far, but I'm hurt and protective. Don't attack my Angel Moms! We are bound together in a realm of sisterhood. Plus, how could I ever prove I did nothing to harm my baby when no cause was ever found? Does that automatically mean this man wants me tried for murder? Doesn't he know that I already have a life sentence? There's no worse punishment than that.

Week 17

Right now is halfway to when I lost Moose. I'm freaking out. Really freaking out, like all the time. Sitting here, I'm pratcially in tears because I'm so scared. How am I going to make it through all of this. I mean I'm month 4. It's Febraury. I'm due at the end of July. I have so long to go.

Wombat, could you just punch, kick, or whatever REALLY hard just to let me know you're fine? I just need to feel you. I need something that's unmistakably you, not just a swish. I need a Mike Tyson punch, please.

It's a good thing I go to the doctor on the 21st. I couldn't wait until the 8th.

I guess it doesn't help that I read about a healthy baby being born at week 33. That's always a kick to my heart. However, her doctor suspected something was up and was monitoring her closer than I was monitored with Moose, but still. It hurts. But I can't live in "what if..." Life isn't "what if..." Life is what's happened and there's no turning back and changing it. Life is living without Moose and hoping Wombat makes it all the way through.

Every pregnant woman freaks about her pregnancy. Every woman wonders if everything is progressing properly. It's harder though when that unknown is a reality. Something constantly watching and waiting, tourmenting.

Yes, I'm also being a hormonal, pregnant woman. I may have cried over prenatals last night. Anyway, pregnancy hormones and loss do not go well together.

For those of you who are pregnant, what are your fears? We all have them because I see them on the Bee all the time.

I Want a Bradley Birth

I'm pretty sure that I've said repeatedly that I want a Bradley Birth; it's important to us. Us as in my husband (Let's call him George because I love that name) and I. But many people don't know what that is or think that the birth process needs to be something they think about. I didn't realize this either until I cried thinking about an epidural and giving birth to a watermelon aka Moose. So I did what all good Enlgish Majors do: read (yeah, I'm a horrible speller and okay at grammar, but I do have a degree in English. It's my literary interpritation skillz which got me the degree.)

I read The Business of Being Born about different births and then I read some more. After reading and talking with "George," we decided that the best choice for us was Bradley. It's not right for everyone and I firmly believe that everyone should do what is right for the mother and partner. I am not one of those "oh, you didn't have a natural birth so you're a horrible mother," people.

Every situation is different and should be discussed with a doctor.


Anyway, back to me. Once we decided on Bradley, we immediately started classes. By this time, it was pretty late in my pregnancy, so we needed to get on the ball. We'd go every Saturday, bond with our other students and with each other, bicker over being late, and dread doing homework (nothing that bad, just reading and worksheets). Through all this, we learned what to expect. What my body would go through, how to handle it, and how "George" could help me get through it. We did this for several weeks until I started having what I thought were Braxton-Hicks contractions on Friday. They weren't.

Skipping ahead...

We went to our room at the maternity ward/birthing center and "George" coached me through each contraction. "You're going to have one soon. Okay, just 15 more seconds (until it ebbs), you're halfway through, now it's starting to ebb and it's done" He set up music; The Cure because they're awesome and meloncholy.

He coached me through each contraction because we knew what to expect. It wasn't unknown. It was "this is what we trained for," and "this is what we know." It was good to have something known because we were in the unknown. It was good to have him there at every step telling me what was going to happen, when it was happening, for how much longer.

My #1 tip for labor is go to the bathroom when you need to go. There is nothing worse than you're body trying to push everything out of you and you not listening. I mean, if you want to poop on the table before you deliver, don't go to the bathroom. Otherwise, just go to the bathroom. It makes everything so much easier. And if you want your partner to go with you, it's the least they could do. I totally made "George" come with me.

Anyway, I labored in the tub. Just laid in that tub with warm water. Contractions were easy there. I was warm. Still "George" counted and coached.

People may say I did the hard work, but "George" sat beside me, putting his pain to the side, and took care of me. I had a distraction; he just had me and I could do nothing. He was my advocate. He was my voice. He did everything. Just like he was trained. Just like he wanted to do.

As we were trained, about 20 minutes before I went into active labor, I wanted drugs. I was adament about drugs. I thought they'd give me something to send me to Jupiter for my mental anguish. They didn't. They gave me crap. It wasn't worth it at all. I still hurt and felt everything.

Then I delivered a Moose. For the first time in 34 weeks, my body was all mine. No little Moose parasite. Just me. Yeah, the delivery went really quickly. (I did my Bradley exercises like I was told which helped me push that baby out in less than an hour)

Anyway, all that coaching from "George" made the difference. All his training with Bradley made it his second nature. It brought us closer. It made us a team like never before. I think our team would be just as strong if we had Moose, but we didn't. And since we didn't, it made it easier for us to talk about our pain. To tell the other everything. It's still that way. We tell each other everything. We're open to each other, even the crazy things that we'd never tell anyone else and never thought we'd tell anyone.

Taking Bradley Classes gave us the tools we needed to get through the labor and delivery. It made it possible to live through our loss.

Ironic thing about the day I delivered: our Bradley Class was taking the Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and SIDs class as I was delivering.

I've already signed up for Bradley Classes for Wombat's birth since we never finished the classes for Moose's. After Wombat's birth, I am really hoping to become a Bradley Instructor. They need some Angel Moms in that organization because they have no idea about Angel Moms. They, like so many, don't know, but need to know since they are teaching birthing.

Any other questions? Here's a link to their FAQs or feel free to ask me.

Dear Wombat

You're an awesome baby, you really are. No, I'm not breaking up with you. I can't. I'm your Mommie. We're stuck together for the rest of our lives. Sorry. What I'm trying to actually say is I'm sorry I'm not saying you're the most awesome baby ever. I just can't.

See really, you're a second child. You're not my first born. You'll always have to tell your younger siblings (Hopefully you'll have them) that you may be older, but you can't say the oldest. You'll always have Moose, who will always be older than you. Maybe Moose won't fart on your head, argue with you over whose turn it is, or tattle tale on you, but Moose will always be there.

The good thing is you'll never be alone. You'll always have an older sibling watching out for you. Always have your back.

But let's talk about you. You're feisty. I know. You wiggle all the time at the doctor's office. Your heartbeat is so strong. You're really strong because you made sure I felt you at 10 weeks. You even let your Dad feel you. Keep that feistiness. I know it'll bite me when you aren't contained within my womb. It's fine. Just get out of there healthy. Scream at the top of your lungs when you pop out (could you really just pop out and make labor super easy? That'd be awesome. Thanks). Let me know you're fine.

Anyway, keep up the good work of growing and letting me know you're still going strong. I may complain about peeing all the time, but really, I don't mind. You're my kid. I'll always get your back unless you get a face tattoo. Please no.

Anyway, remember I love you. You're an awesome baby. I'm a really awesome Mommie. Why don't you stay around and meet me? Your Dad is super awesome sauce amazing. If you make sure to stay around and meet us, I promise we'll make it worth your while.

Love,
Your Mommie

2 Pounds

So as I stated before, I'm doing Wii Fit (thanks ZJ Titan for the awesome Christmas present). Well, I guess it's working because instead of gaining weight, I'm losing it and not just according to Wii Fit either. The doctor's weight said I lost weight.

Yes, please, everyone hate me now.

It's crazy. What woman in her fourth month of pregnancy (and hasn't been that sick) actually loses weight? I do that's who. It's all coming from my fatty thighs though, not the belly. The belly grows and grows and grows. Obviously I'm proud, but we did ask the doctor. She said it's fine because she won't be concerned until I reach the thrid trimester. Plus, it's only 2 pounds in a month. Nothing crazy from not eating or anything. Besides, Wombat and I love food way too much.

I'm just glad to be getting in better shape for our Wombat. Anyone else start exercising while pregnant? Did it do anything?

Red, Red Wine

We went to the doctor again yesterday. This time it was just the regular doctor, but still, we heard a nice heartbeat. As far as all the tests, so far, everything is normal. Nice, but I wish they could tell me that I'll 100% have a baby in July who will leave the hospital with me. However, saying that I know that there are the less than 3% who aren't lucky. If I'm one of the lucky ones, that just means that some other woman is walking away in tears again. Statistics do come from somewhere, right?

As far as how I feel, I have a baby in my lungs. I can't breathe and it's annoying. Yes, I'm a woman who has an Angel Baby complaining about being pregnant, but pregnancy is freaking hard. Maybe if I could have a medium rare steak with a really nice glass of Cabernet, I'd shut up for a little while, but I can't. Well done steak with milk or juice or water or, for a treat, grape soda. I just want some wine, really good red wine. It doesn't even have to be Cab. I'll just take something red.

So, yes, I'm complaining like any other pregnant woman about missing something she can't have while pregnant. Guess I've got something in common with regular pregnant women than I thought.

What are/were the things you missed while you were pregnant?

Hum...

Since the last post, we've gone to the doctor at least two more times. There was a Nuchal on Friday and a meeting with a Geneticist yesterday. So far they say everything looks fine. All the tests are fine. The measurements look fine. The heart rate looks fine. Everything looks fine.

So why am I not happy? Why does that just make my heart ache?

Guess I'm just kind of lost with this whole thing right now. It doesn't mean that I don't love Wombat; it just means that I'm a little lost, worried. I just want July to come.

Time Out

Yes, this is about my pregnancy and about a Moose, but I want to take time out to say that I have an amazing husband. Feel free to gag because it's going to be one of those gushy posts.

He's been jobless since August. Instead, his everyday is spent making sure that I have a healthy breakfast and lunch packed. Making me herbal tea in the morning; it used to be coffee. Yum! Cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, insulating, general maintenance, car/truck stuff, obviously looking for jobs, among whatever else he can get his hands on. The point being he's taken this jobless thing to really support me and our growing family.

Yes, he hates not being able to bring home a paycheck and support his pregnant wife. It's just not that way right now. It really shows me how important it is to have someone at home doing all the little things so that I can come home and "play" WiiFit.

It's awesome and I never tire of coming home to him. He's my sunshine everyday even though my office has no windows.

Feel free to tell me about the awesome things your significant other does which brightens your day.

Doctor's Appointment

We have another doctor's appointment today. They're always scary to me. In fact, sometimes I sit in the waiting room with tears in my eyes. It makes me feel like everyone else thinks I'm not excited about this baby, but I am. I'm so excited that I refuse to admit to myself how excited I really am. It's just I don't want to hear "I'm sorry."

Today's appointment is with our regular doctor's office. No High Risk Doctor (HRD) today. And I have to remember my questions. Oh, I'm supposed to write them out so I won't forget them., but I don't have a Wombat baby notebook yet. Oops. Scrap paper isn't bad, right?

I want blind optimism

I want to go buy cute baby clothes. I really, really, really do. I want to buy some cute little baby things so that I can look at them and imagine Wombat wearing them, playing with them. I want to do the things that an unafraid pregnant mother does.

But I won't. I won't buy a single thing until we deliver a healthy baby. It just won't happen and I'm jealous.

I want blind optimism, which is something I never really had.

We're Everywhere

I remember thinking after we lost Moose that I was alone. No one, other than my husband understood. I was wrong. We're everywhere.

When I returned to work, the first person to ask me about my baby, had lost his second child to a tube defect. It was, according to him, a 1 in 10,000 chance of happening. It just happened that it happened to him. Another co-worker lost a child, but his wife and he went on to have 6 other kids. When I told one of my grandmothers, it turns out she'd lost one in month 5. Something I'd never heard.

At my new work, I just told one of my bosses the news and said that I had tons of appointments due to fetal demise (he's older and not really emotional). He said that he and his wife lost their first. I think he teared up for a minute thinking about his lost son. He said that every birthday his wife still morns their baby. The rest of their children are grown with children of their own, yet they still miss their Angel Baby.

As I carry Wombat, I think of Moose every day. Probably every hour, if not every second. I will never forget Moose.

I don't know where I'm going with this, but the point is, if you've found my blog and you're going through that period of "I'm alone in this," you're not. Angel parents are all around us. They just may not be as vocal because, as you unfortunately know, having an Angel Baby hurts.

When I was at this point, I found comfort in DailyStrength.org. However, please know that there are a lot of pictures of Angel Babies on the site. There's also numerous Facebook groups. For in person meetings, try looking for SHARE in your community. It's the only in person group near me and I always forget to go. If you're in a larger city, there's probably something more. If not, please remember that you're not alone.

We're everywhere.

What if....?

I have to admit something. It's pretty big and really caught me off guard: I'm excited to have Wombat. There I said it. Yeah, that seems a little weird as every pregnant woman I've ever met is excited about her baby. However, after a loss, it's different. There fear is there. The knowledge of what can and did happen. How that feels. It's all there. It's experienced. It made me think that I wouldn't be excited until I actually heard the doctor say "congratulations!" Well, then it happened.

I was talking to my online pregnancy buddy who is due pretty much the same time as me. Let's call her "Mollie." Anyway, I realized in talking to "Mollie" that I was excited and admitted it to her. Her response was that she was really excited that I was excited. All this got me thinking as I was driving home...

At the end of July, I could actually make my lifelong dream of being a mother come true. I could be holding a baby who will throw up all over me, make me heave with stinky poop, possibly pee on me, break my heart when he/she cries, light up my entire soul with just one smile, and I have no idea what else. It's going to be a roller coaster.

When I think about it that way, how could I not get excited. Yes, another piece of my heart could disappear like it did with Moose, but what if it doesn't. What if this actually works out? What if I actually get to hold one of these?



Granted, my Wombat will actually be a person with a fantastic nickname, but still...what if?

Then There's that 20%

We've started telling people that we're having a baby. They're all excited as is my husband. I'm excited too, but I know what could happen. Really, my husband and I both know. The stats are something like one in every four pregnancies don't make it. 80% of those losses happen in the first trimester, but then there's that 20%.

That 20%. Now statistics are something that some people despise. My thought is averages are averages. Maybe my numbers are better. Maybe not. According to my High Risk Doctor (HRD), who doesn't like numbers; we've got less than a 3% chance of something happening to Wombat late term, which is higher than a woman who has never suffered a loss. Still, that's a pretty good chance of holding a living Wombat. That's better than most grades I received in school. An A+ even. Hum.

However, when we tell people that we're pregnant, I just don't want them to hug me, congratulate me, tear up, basically anything a person would normally do when someone announces pregnancy. I don't feel that way.

Let's just act like I'm saying I bought a new coffee mug and save all the hyperness for the actual arrival of a healthy, breathing, happy Wombat.

And no, this, contrary to what many people seem to think, does not mean I'm "over" Moose, that I want to hear about _____'s baby, or I'm not scared out of my living mind that one day I'll either have a new urn on the mantle or I'll be responsible for a sweet, innocent, little baby and the decisions I make will have a lasting effect on someone's outlook on life and his/her sense of humor.

Update on Wombat

We went to the High Risk Doctor (HRD) Friday. It was kind of reassuring, but also upseting. Our doctor's office for Moose was supposed to supply us with all the information from Moose including autopsy, test results, bloodwork, whatever. Well, they didn't, so the HRD didn't have all the information that was needed. On top of that, the appointment was made wrong. My new doctor's office made the appointment like I had preterm labor as in delivered a healthy LIVING baby, just early instead of an Angel Baby. Ack! We didn't get to do all the things we were supposed to do because it was too busy. Now, were' going back to them two more times in a little more than a month and seeing the new doctor probably twice in the same amount of time. There's going to be lots of appointments.

Oh, and we're hoping to still have a Bradley Birth with Wombat, but the HRD doesn't want me to go past Week 39. Wombat, you hear that. Please, come before Week 39 if you're healthy and ready. I really don't want a C-section, but, if that what it takes for me to hold you, I'll do it.

The Backstory

Hi-
So I’m writing this as an Angel Mom, a woman who lost her baby after week 25 in her pregnancy, who is now pregnant again. My hope is just to be open about what’s going on, how I feel, and shed light on a situation that is far more common than anyone realizes.

Back story:
I was pregnant with an amazing little baby who was due in January 2010. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, I went to all my doctor’s appointments, read many books about pregnancy and childbirth, took my prenatals, ate healthy, and all those other things expectant moms are supposed to do. I mean, I was even made fun of about how strict I was by other moms.

Anyway, during week 34, I started having what I thought were Braxton-Hicks contractions until we realized that they were every 20 minutes. We called the hospital and followed their instructions “drink water, eat something, lay down, if they don’t go away, come in.” They went away and we just laughed about the “oh my gosh, the baby is coming,” scare.

The next day it happened again. Contractions 20 minutes apart. I took a shower (because who wants to be stinky when they go into labor? No me.) and my mucus plug came out. Got out of the shower, called the hospital, went in, was admitted, and the nurse used the Doppler to find the heartbeat. She couldn’t. She grabbed her supervisor. She couldn’t find it. They called the doctor on a Saturday night. She couldn’t find it. And that’s what she did an ultrasound. All she said was

“I’m sorry.”

From there, if you’re an Angel Mom, you know. I need not say more.

For those of you who aren’t, Shakespeare couldn’t even explain with his silver pen that feeling, that moment, how it changed me forever, and how much I honestly hope you never understand.

I delivered our baby after more than 12 hours of labor with the coaching of my beyond amazing husband. We never held our baby, never saw our baby, and never found out the gender. What we do know is our baby’s nickname is Moose, Moose played air guitar to Rush, and loved to poke me in the ribs so Daddy would poke back. Obviously, Moose equaled Awesome Baby because Rush equals Awesome.

After many weeks of waiting, there was never a cause found for our loss. It means that we could try again or not. Clearly, I’m writing this blog about our next pregnancy, so we’ve decided to try again.

Wombat (yeah, we like weird nicknames for our babies in utero) is currently right over 11 weeks and due in late July. We don’t know what will happen, but I’ll do my best to document whatever events occur.