In a Preggo State of Mind

As Billy Joel sang:

"Some folks like to get away

Take a holiday from the neighborhood

Hop a flight to Miami Beach

Or to Hollywood...”

But I'm taking a breather

On the Baby Brain Line

I'm in a Preggo state of mind...

 

On November 19, 2011, I woke up, glanced at my snoozing husband, headed into the bathroom, took a pregnancy test, waited three minutes, saw the result, and in a bug-eyed stupor awoke my husband by saying, "Hey, you need to see this," as I thrust the positive stick in his hand.  In retrospect I clearly see this was wrong.  The poor man's reply to me was simply, "Guess this means we'll be getting a minivan."  Yipes! 

NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

An hour later I caught him on his iPad researching baby names!  What?  How could he so calmly and quickly come to terms with this shocking revelation?  We had given away every baby item fathomable some time ago.  We were good with our little neutral family:  One boy, one girl, and one geriatric dog were more than enough for us to handle.  Talks were being had about surgically finalizing said family.

We broke the news first to a handful of close friends, our children, and parents.  Our son's reply through tears was, "No, I don't want you to have a baby.  BABIES STINK!"  Indeed, at times, they do, son...

So, here I sit, the first trimester nearly behind me, bad skin, an aching body, raging hormones, cravings & a 3 lb. pooch to prove it.  Urgh...

Through the last few tiring, nauseating, hazy weeks, I have had time to let the + sign register.  It's sunk in to my core, and while I occasionally catch myself still bug-eyed at what is to come, I have accepted the fact that our little family has been blessed with an addition, that our kids' bedrooms will need to be shifted, that their lives will completely change, that diapers & sleepless nights are in our near future, that dear Abbey will become a middle child, and that it will be ONE, LONG whale-like summer for me.

I've been a hormonal hurricane.  I watched The Lion King with my kids perched on either side of me on the couch today, and in the first two minutes I saturated two tissues.  Darn that Circle of Life and it's emotional crescendos...seeing Mufasa and Sarabi present their cub, Simba, from Pride Rock to all of the animals in the kingdom sent my estrogen into an ugly cry overdrive.  Even Pumba & Timon's Hakuna Matata number made me teary...for real.

The shock of having a third cub in our house has thrown my brain into mushy preggo-induced tailspin somewhat earlier than I remember in past pregnancies.  I have already caught myself missing things on my calendar, like my son's karate class...two weeks in a row - Doh!  After a Christmas party, I placed Ziploc bags of leftovers in our pantry.  The food that clearly was supposed to be put into the refrigerator was found a few hours later and sadly tossed.  Just the other day while talking to a friend I found myself frantically searching my purse, my house, & running out to my car seeking my cell phone which...duh...was clutched in my hand and being held to my head as I was speaking into it!  Last night while eating dinner I reached out to take a sip of water and realized the salad dressing bottle was in my hand.  Thankfully the cap was on the bottle and dear hubby didn't notice.

Good grief.

Clearly I am in a haze.  Don't ask me what day it is, because I honestly don't know.  I do know that it is 2012 though.  Dick Clark told me so.  I feel a bit like him these days though.  You probably shouldn't ask me for the time either as I don't think I can clearly see the clock hands through this haze.

So, why is this haze so thick?  Why did it assume control of me so early on in this pregnancy?

I catch myself thinking back to how hard it was to conceive our son.  After 2+ years of trying and two rounds of fertility drugs, 12+ hours of labor, there he was, a perfect bundle (to this day the prettiest brand new, non-alien-like baby I've ever seen). 

Maybe I'm such a space cadet lately, because I am dwelling on the labor part in my head a bit too much.  Labor is not fun.  AT ALL.  How could 12+ hours of pain, writhing around, restricted to a bed, unstoppable flatulence, & vomit with an audience consisting of my parents, dear hubby, his mother, and my best gal pal at the foot of my hospital bed ever be fun?  My doctor kept leaving my bedside to rush home to check on his sick wife.  That didn't sit well with me - what if he infected me or the baby? 

I had made the mistake of watching a segment on 60 Minutes the night before my induction about a woman who died shortly after giving birth due to an infection caused by the anesthesiologist touching a beeping pager while administering her epidural.  Due to the anxiety caused by this segment,  it took nearly two hours, three attempts, lots of tears & sweat to receive my epidural.    The anesthesiologist said it was the most difficult epidural he'd performed in eight years!  Of course hearing him say, "The needle is hitting something" repeatedly didn't ease my anxiety.  I'm lucky I didn't end up with paralysis.  Perhaps I would have been better to just go au naturale, but it was my first labor experience and honestly I was terrified of everything and tenser than I'd ever been in my life.

Two years later my daughter's arrival was a breeze, or so we thought...

I went into labor the day before my induction was scheduled.  Thanks to an epidural that was administered late, my unprofessional "commentary" to my doctor as he performed the painfully odd delivery, a superstitious, southern nurse who turned me on my side and rightly declared the baby would be out in thirty minutes -- this one was a crazy, fast trip.  Total labor time = 4 hours.  The next day we were told our little lady actually broke her collarbone on her way out thanks to my tilted, narrow canal.  It was devastating news to know that she was in pain, and then, she was like a pathetic baby bird with a broken wing to me.  This fact has now put baby #3's delivery in the high-risk category.  Her (I'm certain it's a girl...) arrival may have to be the result of a c-section.

All of this said...I'm there...at the happy place of acceptance.  I even bought a little crocheted hat with a big flower on it.  Like I said I know she's a girl.  Dear hubby and I have hammered out a boy's name, but we can't seem to agree on a girl's name.  He claims it's a moot point, because we're having a boy.  The kids also claim it's a boy.  Our son has also come to accept the fact that a baby is coming to live in his house, and he has even lovingly named the bun "Jakey."

This morning a button popped off of my pants, and I suddenly had flashbacks to horrid cankles, internal blows from baby heels to my rib cage, unwanted hands rubbing my Buddha belly, interrupted sleep due to a smooshed bladder, leaking body parts (plural...), and all of the many other FUN parts of pregnancy in my imminent future.  I've only gained 3 lbs., I swear, but everything has shifted, and I'm down to maybe four (on a good day) pairs of pants that I feel like aren't constricting the bun.  I really don't want to wear the maternity tents yet.  Sigh...really, I don't, but soon I will have no choice.  

Until then, I guess I'll just hum quietly to myself songs that comfort me in an effort to get over the willy nilly.  I'll take solace in Billy Joel's words:

"It comes down to reality
And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide...

...I don't have any reasons
I've left them all behind."

I'm in a Preggo State of Mind.

**Mr. Billy Joel, please don't sue me for merely quoting your lyrics.  I've spent good money at three of your concerts, & I own your children's books.  And I'll declare my love for you.  It's not just my preggo state of mind talking...