Life With Baby

Hello there. Have you missed me? I apologize for the silence. It's been a hectic few weeks around here (quietly hectic, of course-- you should never wake a sleeping baby!). Let me catch up...

After celebrating Christmas on Monday, Jay left yesterday to return to Dubai. He was originally given 2 weeks of leave, but was granted an additional 6 days when I ended up with a Cesarean section and wildly high postpartum blood pressure that carried over from the last few weeks of my pregnancy (which is what necessitated the attempted induction that resulted in the Cesarean). I was grateful that Jay was here for Patrick's birth and had nearly three weeks at home even if his command couldn't see fit to give him more leave despite my doctor saying my recovery would be 6 to 8 weeks. (I'll save the eye-rolling and snickering for another post.)

I'm also grateful that I'm recovering more quickly than anticipated. Even my doctor and the nurses were impressed with how well I'm doing. Good thing, eh? Though it wasn't the birth experience I wanted-- and that's something I'm still coming to terms with-- the end result was a very perfect baby. I have no regrets in sticking to my guns and refusing to be induced before Jay came home or for opting to be induced rather than go with a Cesarean section first. The induction was hell on earth and I wouldn't wish that kind of artificially induced pain on anyone, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it would work. (Also to be saved for another post: the evils of being induced with Pitocin before a baby is ready to be born.) I'll be analyzing the situation for a long time to come, wondering what I could/should have done differently and whether anything would have made the difference between a natural birth and a Cesarean, but I imagine the disappointment and sense of disconnect will fade in time as I settle into motherhood.

It's hard to believe-- and scary, if I let myself dwell on it-- that I am the sole care provider for a newborn. Me, who had never changed a diaper before this little one came into my life. Even then, I didn't change my first diaper until he was 4 days old. (I spent 4 days in the hospital and was more than willing to let Jay take care of the diaper-changing duties.)

In some ways, the next few months will be worse for Jay. It's hard for me to imagine leaving Patrick for even a day right now, so I can't imagine what this experience is like for Jay. I'm grateful this should (hopefully) be his last deployment. We'll all get through it, somehow. Patrick will do better than either of us, I think-- which is as it should be.

So here I am, a new mother alone with a baby until June (maybe May, but I'm not counting on it), wondering how this all happened and grateful this amazing creature came into my life...

Time Goes By (36w1d)

Somehow, it's gotten to be November. Autumn, my favorite time of year because it means fall leaves and cooler weather and Thanksgiving and Sheri. I think back to March and knowing I was pregnant even before the pregnancy test came up positive. Then June, when I knew it was a boy even before the CVS test results confirmed it.

What I didn't know was that Jay would be deploying this year. There were a couple of precious months over the summer when we thought he'd be able to stay behind. Then August came and the plan changed and my world started to fall apart and then fell apart completely when he left October 1.

I can't really even describe the feelings associated with Jay leaving because I'm still going through it, still processing it, still living it. Depression doesn't quite begin to describe it, though. It's more than that. It's sadness and loss and feeling like the weight of the world-- not just the weight of a baby-- is on my shoulders. Which sounds hopelessly clingy and pathetic to my independent brain, but it has nothing to do with dependence and everything to do with a sense of how things should be. And this isn't it.

So, I haven't blogged during this pregnancy as much as I thought I would. I haven't been as happy or excited as I should be-- or at least as happy and excited as others think I should be. I don't know that it's entirely because Jay is deployed and I will be taking care of the baby by myself for six months until he's home, though that's a huge part of it. Hard to be happy and excited when I know how hard it's going to be to do all of this on my own. But I also think it's my nature to be a bit subdued with big changes-- even changes I want-- until I see how it goes. I'm mentally gearing up for this experience, knowing it will be demanding and exhausting and at times scary (having no one to offer a second opinion when it seems the baby is sick or feverish or morphing into Rosemary's Baby, for instance) and that doesn't leave a lot of room for excitement. Do I sound terribly cynical? Probably.

But when it comes to the pregnancy itself, I have no real complaints. Even with the gestational diabetes complication, it's been relatively easy. The GD is a bit of an annoyance, but it's manageable through diet. I had my followup on Tuesday and my numbers are good enough that I don't need medication. Other than the occasional freak out by my doctor when my blood pressure went up (stress will do that to a person, you know-- especially one who internalizes her emotions the way I do) and the early genetic testing because of my age and previous miscarriages, everything has gone beautifully. (The "so far" is assumed, right?)

I had my 36 week appointment yesterday. Everything is great except my iron-- baby seems to be sucking it out of me, despite an additional supplement. He also hasn't dropped yet and my cervix is still closed and firm-- not unusual for a first baby, but I was kind of hoping for some progress. Of course, I have been joking that this baby isn't coming until his father gets home, so maybe on some level he understands that I don't want to do this alone. I love that Sheri will be here and having a doula gives me some peace, but I will still feel alone if Jay isn't here. And if that makes me clingy and pathetic, so be it.

Where Have I Been? (31w0d)

(This is not entirely baby-related, but for readers who don't also read my primary blog, this will catch you up on my life in general. I will try very hard to get back on the baby track and update more regularly.)

Well, hello there. So nice of you stop by and see if I'm still alive. I am, thank you very much. Though there are days when proving that biological fact (breathe in, breathe out) is about all I manage to accomplish. Rough week or so. Very rough. I mean, not death rough or finding out you have cancer rough or being diagnosed as allergic to chocolate rough, but pretty damn rough. And I'm tough, so you'll just have to trust me on how rough it has been.

Jay is in Dubai, UAE. If you don't know where Dubai is, you can visit their Department of Tourism and Commerce. Or, you know, visit Dubai. I've always been a bit geographically challenged, so I did have to look it up initially to get a better sense of where it was. Geography wasn't offered my senior year of high school because of low enrollment. I bet many of my former classmates don't know where Dubai is, either.

Anyway, Dubai. A far cry from Iraq, though I've had people ask me if it's like being in Iraq. From what I understand, it's like being in Las Vegas, if Vegas were owned by sheiks. Of course, you can't ski in Las Vegas (I don't think?), but you can ski in Dubai. Rich, exotic, ostentatious, decadent. That's Dubai. And that's where Jay is. Strange, huh? But this is a very strange deployment. First, he's in a hotel and not on a ship. I mean, who stays in a hotel for eight months? The Navy, that's who. That's your tax dollars at work, folks. Though his hotel is not exactly a palace, it's certainly better quarters than a naval ship and it has room service. No complaints there. Second, there's per diem-- and it's enough for three very nice meals and plenty left over for a plane ticket home when baby comes. Third, it's eight months-- the longest deployment he's ever been on. Very different for us.

All in all, it's a good deployment for a lot of reasons, including that he's relatively safe. (As safe as one can be in the Middle East, of course.) Plus, we have Skype. Skype is a wonderful and amazing thing. I think back to that first deployment after we were married (19 years ago today) and there was no internet, no e-mail, no phone calls unless he was in port and then it was ridiculously expensive. Now we have free internet video calls via Skype. The world has changed a lot in nineteen years. If not for the timing, this might be an awesome deployment (hopefully his last) and I might be visiting Dubai and learning to ski on a fake ski slope. Oh, but the timing... Timing is everything, folks.

So, while Jay is in Dubai, I'm counting down the weeks until this baby arrives. The days are flying by-- which is contrary to what most other pregnant women seem to experience in their third trimester. I've heard time drags and it seems to take forever before the baby comes, but for me it's as if the days are a blur and I went from July to October with no memory of August and September. I'm 31 weeks today. Only nine weeks-- at most-- to go. And it's flying. Whoooosh! See, there it goes. Perhaps if Jay were home and I knew I wasn't going to be alone when the baby is born, the time might be going slower. But not knowing if-- well, actually assuming-- I'll be alone makes it all so much bigger and scarier-- and go by faster.

Where have I been? I have been trying to hold it together. I have hyperventilated myself into more than one panic attack in the past couple of weeks (most recently when I took Jay to the airport) and I know that's not good for me and can't possibly be good for baby, so I'm trying to get that under control. So far, so good. I've been dealing with my over-cautious, liability-fearing doctor. Despite his concerns, I don't have pre-eclampsia, thankfully. (C'mon, whose blood pressure wouldn't have skyrocketed after the weeks I've had lately?) Apparently no gestational diabetes, either, though I did fail my one hour test. (I haven't heard about my three hour and they said they'd only call if I failed.) Baby seems to be doing very well and is very active (to the point of painful sometimes), so I'm glad for that. Me, I could be better. It is what it is, though.

I'm looking for a doula. I'm reading up on natural childbirth. I'm working on my to do list(s) and trying to take care of the things we didn't do while Jay was home. (Though he managed to do quite a lot before he left.) I still have a birth plan to write and a hospital bag to pack. I figure I need to pack that hospital bag sooner rather than later because I keep hearing of women having their babies early. Two so far-- 26 weeks and 30 weeks. I'm hoping for nine more weeks, for baby's health and my sanity, but I know it really could happen at any time. Packing the hospital bag will make it all the more real. I'm not ready for real. I'm ready for a great big dish of creamy denial smothered in rich blissful ignorance syrup. Please.

Mantra of the next twoish months: I can do this. It will be fine. Jay will be here before the baby is born. Even if Jay is not here, I can do this alone. I will be fine. Baby will be fine. All will be fine.

Song playing in a continuous loop in my brain: "Help!" by the Beatles.

Oh, the dichotomy that is me.

So, that's where I've been and where I am now. Sleep deprived due to various aches and pains and restless pets and 2 AM panic attacks (me, not the pets). Relieved that I got Fairy Tale Lust in by my deadline, but now anxious to hear what my publisher thinks so I can write some lovely acceptance letters (and a whole bunch more not so fun rejection letters) and promote the book. Worried about myself, Jay, the baby. Blue, edging into depression. Trying to stay busy (not difficult) and keep my brain off the scary stuff (impossible). Pampering myself in some small ways (naps, taking myself to lunch, new books that have nothing to do with babies, breastfeeding or parenting). Trying to make time slow down so Jay has time to catch a plane from 7,000 miles away to be here for his son's birth. Looking to the future, when things won't be so scary (whenever that is). Planning some trips for next year to promote FTL (Nashville, Chicago, New York... ?). Surviving. Doing the best I can. Hanging in there.

It feels like I should be happier, excited. I'm not. I'm just in limbo, anxiously waiting and hoping for the best. Hopefully baby won't hold it against me. If he does, I'll buy him a pony.

Overwhelmed (25w6d)

That one word sums up my life quite nicely at the moment. Overwhelmed. Pregnancy takes a lot of energy. Anyone who says otherwise is lying. Even though I've had an easy time of it (so far-- lest the pregnancy gods think I'm being cocky), there are days when I would very much like to detach this weight growing around my middle and pass it off to Jay to carry. Or the mailman. Whomever.

But I really am doing well and I try to take it all-- the insomnia, the various weird aches and pains, the awful heartburn and even awfuler acid reflux-- in stride and with a sense of humor. After all, it could always be worse. And I know it. And I'm grateful that it's not. I truly, truly am.

But on top of pregnancy and the hormones that stay on an even keel most of the time only to send me careening off the deep end when I least expect it, there is the husband who is deploying for over seven months. The husband who I'm not even sure will be here when this baby is born, no matter how he tries to reassure me. There is that and the overwhelming (there's that word again) feeling that I cannot do this alone. And by "alone" I mean without him.

I know I won't be technically alone. There will be Sheri, the closest thing I have to a sister, and there will be friends, the closest thing I have to a family. But it is not the same as the father of my child being there, you know? As grateful as I am to those who will be here even if Jay can't (and I am grateful in ways I will spend the rest of my life trying to express), I feel like I'm drowning when I think about the fact that he might not make it home from Dubai in time for the birth. That he might not be able to leave Dubai before the deployment is over-- next May.

So, I do what any good pregnant woman would do: I try not to think about it. What else can I do? I have my lists and my Plan A and Plan B and Plan C (I'm still working on Plan D) and I'm taking care of myself physically and mentally as best I can and sometimes that involves just not thinking about all of the worst case scenario stuff. (Even though I am trying to have a plan for all of it.) I'm trying to keep my blood pressure within the range of normal and the only way I can do that is not to let my mind wander too deeply into the realm of the Bad Stuff. I'm not actually in denial (since I'm clearly aware of all the possibilities), I just can't think about too much at once. One thing at a time, one day at a time, one plan at a time. That's my goal.

Three more months of pregnancy and who knows how many months alone with a baby. I can do it. I have to. But right now I really, really don't want to think about it.

Wherein the Expectant Mother Freaks Out (21w6d)

Actually, the freaking out started a week or so ago and comes and goes in sporadic fits of heart palpitations and feeling like I can't catch my breath. What am I freaking out about? Well, it seems that the reassurances that were made in June that Jay wouldn't have to deploy with his unit have turned out to be empty promises. Now it seems almost certain that he will be deploying. In September. He won't be home until May 9.

Tell me, wouldn't that make you freak out, too?

So, here we are, mere weeks before he is most likely deploying for seven and a half months. To add insult to injury, it still doesn't seem to be 100% certain-- more like 99.5%, which is enough to give me false hope I can't afford to have after having false hope for nearly two months. I already felt as if we were running out of time when the only date I was counting down to was my due date. Now... now I feel as if someone stole months away from me. And that isn't all that is being stolen. My peace has been stolen just as surely as all those months.

I am trying desperately to be pragmatic about it all. They are saying Jay can come home before I'm due so he won't miss the birth. Of course, this is the same "they" who said he wouldn't have to deploy in the first place. Do I believe them? Not especially. Do I want to believe them? With my whole heart.

Jay shouldn't miss this experience and I shouldn't have to go through it alone. But what should be and what is are not always the same, especially when you're a military family. So we're trying to reassure each other it will be okay. If we're lucky, he'll get home a few weeks before I'm due and get to stay for a few weeks after the baby is born. It isn't much-- not to this never-changed-a-diaper expectant mom who will be looking at 4+ months of caring for a newborn all by myself. But I have to believe it will all work out all right. What else can I do?

I won't be completely alone for all of this. I don't have family and Jay's family lives elsewhere (and I don't think I'd feel comfortable having them here anyway). But I have Sheri, who is as close to a sister as I'll ever have. She has assured me she will be here for the birth and after. Believe me, I need that reassurance right now. I also have a few friends here who will do what they can. I can't really expect too much though, since two of my friends are expecting babies as well and everyone has work and family and other commitments. There's only so much anyone can do for me and I just need to wrap my mind around the idea that I'm going to be on my own for a lot of it.

Freaking out commencing now...

I'll survive this. Of course I will. I am tough, which is probably what should be engraved on my tombstone for the number of times I have heard it over the years. Yes, I am tough. But why, oh why do I have to be tough for this? I was only counting on having to be tough enough to go through natural childbirth. Now I have to be tough enough to do a lot more than that. It feels like I can't catch a break. I know I'm whining-- believe me, I know. I try not to complain. The Navy has mostly been good to us and we have a wonderful life. Still, right now it's hard not to whine and feel sorry for myself. I'll snap out of it. I'll do what I have to do, even if I don't have a clue what that is right now. I'll be fine (and so will Jay and so will baby). But not today. And not tomorrow. And not September 21, when he's supposed to deploy. I will most definitely not be fine then.

I think what makes me bitter is the fact that I shouldn't look at the next year as something to survive, but as something to look forward to. I never thought I'd be here and I have been enjoying it. Now, the happiness is mixed with sadness and anger and outright terror. I'm trying very had not to let this news of Jay deploying suck the joy out of being pregnant and all of the planning that I'm finally allowing myself to do, but it's hard. I alternate between full out panic (which wakes me up at 3 AM and keeps me from going back to sleep for hours) and feeling like I have to live up to my tough reputation-- for Jay's sake as well as my own.

So this is where I am now and I have to say it sucks. Probably not as much as it's going to suck in January when I'm actually living this worst case scenario instead of just imagining it, but it sucks just the same. It doesn't feel fair. And before someone reminds me that life isn't fair, let me just say I'm fine with taking what life throws at me. God knows, I've experienced my share of crap and have taken it all in stride and come out a stronger person for it. But this one time... couldn't it just be happiness and peace for me? Damn.