I have some exciting news.
Rainbow Baby is a BOY!
I knew I said I would find out the sex, then I changed my mind and didnt want to find out...but I changed it back again. I am very very excited and relieved. Here is the story of The Great Unveiling.
Taking Jack to preschool this week, I clicked him into his seat, walked around to my side of the car and well and truly went flying. Somehow, I skidded on the steep gravel driveway in shoes that had no grip, and fell onto my hands and knees, taking the skin off my palms and bruising my knee very badly. I was relieved, however, to miss the massive fresh bird poo that had just been laid on the driveway. Thank goodness.
The impact of the fall, even though I didnt hit my abdomen, was enough to scare me senseless. I trooped on to preschool, dropped off Jack, came home and showered...to wash off the dirt, skin and blood.
I called The Boss, who was away delivering babies or something (how dare those women go into labour when I have fallen over?)
Kelvin ended up calling the beautiful midwives at the Day Assessment Clinic, who told me to come straight in. I sheepishly turned up, and they fussed around me, organising a CTG, ultrasound, blood tests and a visit from a doctor. I had to have blood tests to check for any haemorrage that may have occurred from the impact. I then had the fetal heart monitoring, which was completely normal. Funnily enough, since the fall, Rainbow Baby had been more active than ever. I was also sent to have a formal ultrasound to check for any bleeding, placental abruption or fluid loss. I nervously watched the screen as the sonographer took measurements. I wanted to ask if the baby had any of the same kidney issues that Sybella had, but was too nervous in case she said "yes." Eventually, I closed my eyes and worked up the courage to ask...but it turned out that the baby's renal pelvis measurements were completely within range. I also did not appear to have the uterine "fold" or "sheet" or "band" that I did with Sybella's pregnancy. That helped put me at ease also.
As I watched Rainbow Baby, legs splayed, wriggle around, I noticed a "bulge" between those splayed legs. "Is that...a penis?" I asked hopefully. The sonographer laughed. "Yes, it is."
I exhaled and a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. This is hard to explain in writing, just how I felt during this moment. In an instant, things were "different." The baby was a boy, not a girl. I had given birth to a healthy boy before. And now I was going to do it again. Of course, there was no gender-related reason that Sybella died. She didnt die because of something to do with being a girl. But I was irrationally afraid that my body couldnt successfully produce girl babies...and so I had never found out the sex of Rainbow Baby for fear of it being another girl, and the anxiety that would come with that knowledge.
Also, I was terrified of returning to the same hospital, the same birthing suite, within 10 months to give birth to another girl. It was too...similar. There would be too much emotion and too many memories. Already, knowing I was having a little boy, likened the upcoming experience to Jack's beautiful birth. The one that ended perfectly, with a live baby.
I left the Day Assessment Clinic feeling lighthearted and happy and bursting to tell my news. I couldnt stop smiling for ages. And not only that, my fall hadnt compromised the baby at all.
Now, about this little boy's name...we may have changed our mind. Not sure. Kelvin is umming and ahhing, and although my first choice is Reuben, we have another name in the wings that we are both excited about. It's cute. But we might keep it quiet for now, just so there is one surprise, since I ruined the big surprise of the baby's sex!
See Baby This Week
Friday
Wednesday
Week 29
Good days and bad days. That's what I have to live with at the moment. I never know what is coming, whether it is a good day or bad day, but they seem to come in runs. A few good days, followed by a few bad ones.
I mostly walk around in a state of disconnect and apathy. When I happen to be sitting down, and the baby gives me a kick, I am filled with complete euphoria for about two seconds. I am overwhelmingly in love, and I take that as a good sign. A sign that the baby is strong and healthy. I always knew there was something "not right" about Sybella's pregnancy and so when she kicked me, I (subconciously) very rarely allowed myself to connect with her when she moved. But when Rainbow Baby is having a dance in there, I am filled with wonder, just the way I was when I used to feel Jack. I never get tired of the kicks and jabs (although, by now they are more rolls and pushes)...even when I am trying to sleep and baby has the hiccups. I just lie there in the dark, one hand on my belly, and I smile.
Those are the good days.
The bad days, on the other hand...
The bad days are the ones where nothing gets done, because I am lying on the couch, an ice cold glass of water next to me, tears streaming down my face because I cant feel any movement. Or, I can feel movement but it isnt "satisfactory." Each time this happens, I am positive that this is the time my baby has left me. Sometimes I feel "empty" as if the baby has gone. Of course it hasnt, and there is usually a movement shortly after this panicky episode of fear. The movement doesnt abate my fear for that time, and I usually ring The Boss. One particular time, however, he wasnt in his rooms. He was on leave.
For me, this was the end of the world. Funnily, it ended up being a wonderful turn of events.
My last appointment with The Boss ended with him asking me, quite reasonably, whether I thought my anxiety was being managed properly. Was I on the right medication? Was I seeing the right psychologist? Was I functioning satisfactorily? He told me that the number of appointments I needed to get through wasnt "normal." That he had many women in the same situation as me, that were coping much better. That I wasnt special, or that my situation wasnt unique.
Look, he said all this very nicely. And personally, because it sounds harsh, I put it down to him having no sleep from delivering babies all night, and had just had it to the eye teeth with this maniac patient who was in his office every five minutes.
I did take it on board...but not very well.
So the next time I had a panic attack, I didnt call him, I called Delivery Suite. And they...sent me to a wonderful, secret place.
My hospital has a Maternal Fetal Medicine unit. Attached to that unit is a Day Assessment Clinic. Armed by two beautiful midwives, who sternly told me I was never to sit at home crying and waiting for baby to move. I must come straight in, whenever I needed to. On this particular day, I had Jack with me. Into a big armchair, I sat...much like the armchairs in Gold Class, with the levers on the side? A midwife strapped me up to a Fetal Heart Monitor, gave me and Jack a juice and a sandwich, gave Jack some toys...and left us there to listen to that beautiful heartbeat thumping along at 132 BPM. I hadnt felt so safe or validated in 29 weeks. I was so thankful to find this magical area.
A long talk with the midwives later, we settled on a schedule. Once a week I would go in for monitoring. If I needed to come in between, then that was perfectly fine.
It is my own special time with Rainbow Baby. Peaceful, quiet, alone. Listening to each other's heartbeats.
See Baby This Week
I mostly walk around in a state of disconnect and apathy. When I happen to be sitting down, and the baby gives me a kick, I am filled with complete euphoria for about two seconds. I am overwhelmingly in love, and I take that as a good sign. A sign that the baby is strong and healthy. I always knew there was something "not right" about Sybella's pregnancy and so when she kicked me, I (subconciously) very rarely allowed myself to connect with her when she moved. But when Rainbow Baby is having a dance in there, I am filled with wonder, just the way I was when I used to feel Jack. I never get tired of the kicks and jabs (although, by now they are more rolls and pushes)...even when I am trying to sleep and baby has the hiccups. I just lie there in the dark, one hand on my belly, and I smile.
Those are the good days.
The bad days, on the other hand...
The bad days are the ones where nothing gets done, because I am lying on the couch, an ice cold glass of water next to me, tears streaming down my face because I cant feel any movement. Or, I can feel movement but it isnt "satisfactory." Each time this happens, I am positive that this is the time my baby has left me. Sometimes I feel "empty" as if the baby has gone. Of course it hasnt, and there is usually a movement shortly after this panicky episode of fear. The movement doesnt abate my fear for that time, and I usually ring The Boss. One particular time, however, he wasnt in his rooms. He was on leave.
For me, this was the end of the world. Funnily, it ended up being a wonderful turn of events.
My last appointment with The Boss ended with him asking me, quite reasonably, whether I thought my anxiety was being managed properly. Was I on the right medication? Was I seeing the right psychologist? Was I functioning satisfactorily? He told me that the number of appointments I needed to get through wasnt "normal." That he had many women in the same situation as me, that were coping much better. That I wasnt special, or that my situation wasnt unique.
Look, he said all this very nicely. And personally, because it sounds harsh, I put it down to him having no sleep from delivering babies all night, and had just had it to the eye teeth with this maniac patient who was in his office every five minutes.
I did take it on board...but not very well.
So the next time I had a panic attack, I didnt call him, I called Delivery Suite. And they...sent me to a wonderful, secret place.
My hospital has a Maternal Fetal Medicine unit. Attached to that unit is a Day Assessment Clinic. Armed by two beautiful midwives, who sternly told me I was never to sit at home crying and waiting for baby to move. I must come straight in, whenever I needed to. On this particular day, I had Jack with me. Into a big armchair, I sat...much like the armchairs in Gold Class, with the levers on the side? A midwife strapped me up to a Fetal Heart Monitor, gave me and Jack a juice and a sandwich, gave Jack some toys...and left us there to listen to that beautiful heartbeat thumping along at 132 BPM. I hadnt felt so safe or validated in 29 weeks. I was so thankful to find this magical area.
A long talk with the midwives later, we settled on a schedule. Once a week I would go in for monitoring. If I needed to come in between, then that was perfectly fine.
It is my own special time with Rainbow Baby. Peaceful, quiet, alone. Listening to each other's heartbeats.
See Baby This Week
Friday
Week 28
Okay, so my "birth plan."
Now, I have a "thing" about birth. I think it is very personal, there are no hard and fast rules and nobody has a say about your choice apart from you, your partner, and your doctor.
I dont like "birth plans," as in the written type, that specify "no epidural/no intervention/I want to be on my fit ball, vocalising."
Not that I think those things are bad, I dont. But my goodness, if I have learned anything from Sybella's death, it is that you cannot plan everything. Not everything goes the way you want to to, or think it will.
Jack was a breech baby and very large. I discussed at length my birth choices with my doctors and midwives. I was presented with options for a vaginal delivery, and a cesearean delivery. I was told of the risks and benefits of both. I was sent home and told to think about it. I was never coerced, or told that I had to have a cesearean, although that is what I chose in the end. Why did I choose it?
For Jack's safety. The one and only reason. Not because I was afraid of the pain of labour. But because I wasnt interested in experiencing labour and birth if there was a risk of Jack breaking his hips, of him getting stuck at the neck, of my borderline placenta praevia becoming a problem. I had been bleeding from 34 weeks and was not risking a natural birth, I felt it was too dangerous. I wasnt told it was too dangerous, I felt it was too dangerous. Big difference. I was autonomous in my decision and I made it independently.
Sybella's birth was a normal vaginal delivery (I hate the word normal when referring to birth. What is normal? Certainly, although my delivery was "normal," the outcome of a dead baby wasnt!)
The thing that got me through Sybella's induced vaginal birth was the fact that I was unprepared. That sounds funny, I guess. But I had no expectations, no plan, no idea what I was in for. I guess, knowing she was dead, I didnt care about the pain of labour, in fact I welcomed it. It was a bittersweet irony how good I was at labour, how beautifully I birthed her, how "easy" labour was for me. Physically, I didnt feel that labour was a big deal. It was not the worst pain I had ever felt. I have had migraines that are worse. My body knew instinctively what to do. Curling up on the bed was what helped me the most, even though many say that walking around and having "active labour" helps. Not me. Walking around was excruciating. If I wasnt pressing my spine into the mattress, or sitting on the toilet, then I was in agony. So even though I was a labour pro, my little dead baby at the end meant that I always viewed my cesearean with Jack as my most triumphant birth experience.
Bottom line, and my point being: Birth is personal. There is no "right" way to give birth. There are no "disappointments" in birth, if you end up having to have pain relief, or a c-section. It is so intensely your own experience, and when your live, pink, screaming baby comes out at the end, whatever way it got here was worth it.
I am leaning towards a scheduled caesearen with Rainbow Baby. My anxiety is mounting more and more each day, will peak at 34 weeks, and by 38 weeks, I know I will be downright certifiable. I would love another natural birth. Love it. I would love to endure all that pain and hard work, and experience the elation of pushing out a beautiful live baby. But mentally and emotionally, it is better for everyone (read: the people who have to live with me) if I have a date set, a count down ready and a plan in place (ironic, seeing as I just said I hate plans!)
I know myself. And I know what is best for my emotional state as well as my family's. Most likely, Rainbow Baby will be born via ceaserean section at the end of February, 2 weeks early. People can raise their eyebrows all they want and call me weak, but I know that they are wrong. I have never been stronger as I have had to be the last 28 weeks.
And this is my call.
(And for the record, caesareans are way harder and way scarier than vaginal deliveries. I am prouder for enduring a c-section than my natural birth. Definitely not the easy option.)
See Baby This Week
Now, I have a "thing" about birth. I think it is very personal, there are no hard and fast rules and nobody has a say about your choice apart from you, your partner, and your doctor.
I dont like "birth plans," as in the written type, that specify "no epidural/no intervention/I want to be on my fit ball, vocalising."
Not that I think those things are bad, I dont. But my goodness, if I have learned anything from Sybella's death, it is that you cannot plan everything. Not everything goes the way you want to to, or think it will.
Jack was a breech baby and very large. I discussed at length my birth choices with my doctors and midwives. I was presented with options for a vaginal delivery, and a cesearean delivery. I was told of the risks and benefits of both. I was sent home and told to think about it. I was never coerced, or told that I had to have a cesearean, although that is what I chose in the end. Why did I choose it?
For Jack's safety. The one and only reason. Not because I was afraid of the pain of labour. But because I wasnt interested in experiencing labour and birth if there was a risk of Jack breaking his hips, of him getting stuck at the neck, of my borderline placenta praevia becoming a problem. I had been bleeding from 34 weeks and was not risking a natural birth, I felt it was too dangerous. I wasnt told it was too dangerous, I felt it was too dangerous. Big difference. I was autonomous in my decision and I made it independently.
Sybella's birth was a normal vaginal delivery (I hate the word normal when referring to birth. What is normal? Certainly, although my delivery was "normal," the outcome of a dead baby wasnt!)
The thing that got me through Sybella's induced vaginal birth was the fact that I was unprepared. That sounds funny, I guess. But I had no expectations, no plan, no idea what I was in for. I guess, knowing she was dead, I didnt care about the pain of labour, in fact I welcomed it. It was a bittersweet irony how good I was at labour, how beautifully I birthed her, how "easy" labour was for me. Physically, I didnt feel that labour was a big deal. It was not the worst pain I had ever felt. I have had migraines that are worse. My body knew instinctively what to do. Curling up on the bed was what helped me the most, even though many say that walking around and having "active labour" helps. Not me. Walking around was excruciating. If I wasnt pressing my spine into the mattress, or sitting on the toilet, then I was in agony. So even though I was a labour pro, my little dead baby at the end meant that I always viewed my cesearean with Jack as my most triumphant birth experience.
Bottom line, and my point being: Birth is personal. There is no "right" way to give birth. There are no "disappointments" in birth, if you end up having to have pain relief, or a c-section. It is so intensely your own experience, and when your live, pink, screaming baby comes out at the end, whatever way it got here was worth it.
I am leaning towards a scheduled caesearen with Rainbow Baby. My anxiety is mounting more and more each day, will peak at 34 weeks, and by 38 weeks, I know I will be downright certifiable. I would love another natural birth. Love it. I would love to endure all that pain and hard work, and experience the elation of pushing out a beautiful live baby. But mentally and emotionally, it is better for everyone (read: the people who have to live with me) if I have a date set, a count down ready and a plan in place (ironic, seeing as I just said I hate plans!)
I know myself. And I know what is best for my emotional state as well as my family's. Most likely, Rainbow Baby will be born via ceaserean section at the end of February, 2 weeks early. People can raise their eyebrows all they want and call me weak, but I know that they are wrong. I have never been stronger as I have had to be the last 28 weeks.
And this is my call.
(And for the record, caesareans are way harder and way scarier than vaginal deliveries. I am prouder for enduring a c-section than my natural birth. Definitely not the easy option.)
See Baby This Week
Wednesday
Week 27
So, I've gotten to that uncomfortable, huffy puffy, sweating, have-to-sit-down-every-five-minutes, waddling whale stage. The really heavy stage. When people say to me "oh, those last weeks are the worst, arent they?"...when I'm not even int the last weeks, damn it. Or "when was your due date?" How do you answer that with "February"? When it is only December?
Look. I'm not a fatteh. I am a person who is little, has a short torso and long limbed babies. Therefore, my pregnancy bump sticks right out front. It's just how I was made.
Check this out:
Look. I'm not a fatteh. I am a person who is little, has a short torso and long limbed babies. Therefore, my pregnancy bump sticks right out front. It's just how I was made.
Check this out:
At least I can say I'm in the third trimester now. That might fool people. Bleurgh.
The air conditioner drips and I cant use it for long periods of time. I lie in front of the fan, legs and arms akimbo, to stay cool. The Sydney humidity is insane right now. Insane.
Everything takes twice as long and I have had to resort to using a "claw" to pick stuff up off the ground like someone on Weekend Detention doing highway rubbish duty.
I sleep terribly, because Jack still insists on sleeping in our bed. Truthfully, I love it and I love cuddling him during the night. But it makes for a fitful sleep. I would have received the award for World's Most Terrible Mother the other day, when after one particular night of a total of 2.5 hours of fitful sleep, I couldnt wake up in the morning. I finally peeled my eyes open at 9.30am, to see that Jack was nowhere to be found. Calling for him, there was no answer. Stumbling, bleary eyed out into the backyard and I was met with the sight of my child, sitting atop the hills hoist clothes line, hoiking pegs over the fence. I waddle back inside, to the sounds of "Oi!" coming from George the neighbour's side. But I dont care about George. I just care that I have no pegs left.
Huh.
My physical exhaustion makes for a grumpy Steph. No one should dare get in my way...
Shoppers at Coles get glared at, or muttered at to "mooooovvve" when I'm feeling particularly narky. General challengers get stared down, indignantly told what exactly is on my mind, usually with condescension.
Dont I sound gorgeous right now?
Rest assured, this is not a 24/7 affliction. I am generally well behaved. Unattractive, but well behaved. But I have my moments. Kelvin has learned to "manage" me which means fervently nodding his head and agreeing with everything I say...which includes conspiring to violently assuage war on the snails who do poo in my letterbox.
11 weeks. That is all. (Next topic: My Birth Plan, which explains why I'm having a 38 week delivery instead of 40+).
Sunday
Week 26
Since the baby's movement patterns have become stronger and more regular, I thought I would relax, knowing the approximate times I would feel a kick.
Unfortunately, no. The more the baby moves, the more I freak when it doesnt move. There are quiet moments, somtimes complete stillness in there. When I experience those moments, the moments when I cant feel anything, I kind of lose my mind. I drop everything, stop and start kick-counting. I eat lollies, drink ice cold water, poke, prod, jiggle and cry. I cry a lot while I do this.
This week, Rainbow Baby had such a quiet day that I actually stalked The Boss. I stalked him.
Im not proud of it. This type of anxiety really pushes the boundaries...
After four hours of complete stillness, I rang his office, to see if I could "call past for a check." Now, this is laughable, because we live an hour away. The Boss's office and my hospital where I will be delivering is a sweet one hour drive away. The Boss's secretary told me he was at the public hospital across the road (my delivery hospital) doing Clinic duty. Big mistake.
At 3.30pm, I bundle Jack into the car, drive down the Freeway, and present myself at the hospital's obstetric Clinic (funnily, where all my antenatal checks for Sybella and Jack took place).
As The Boss walked out to call his next patient, he catches my eye. He stops. Looks around. "Hi Steph."
Hmmmm. I anticipate that he is going to have the shits. But I still have not felt the baby move, so I feel justified in my crazy behaviour.
I wait until his last patient has finished and walk into the room apologising profusely. I explain that the baby hasnt moved in five hours, I was stressing out, blah blah blah. As I babble, explaining myself and apologising, The Boss calmly takes my blood pressure and coaxes me over to the portable ultrasound machine (that he has hunted down especially for me...normally in the public Clinic only the doppler is used.)
I keep babbling, until he shows me a strong heartbeat and a baby kicking away, happily oblivious to my anxiety. With a deep breath, I shut up. The Boss explains the baby's position, which is one that the limbs are facing inwards, meaning I havent been able to feel the movements. Well. What a little bugger.
"So," says The Boss conversationally. "You found me. Thought I could hide here."
"Yeah," I respond. "Sorry for stalking you and chasing you all over the place."
He laughs, and gets immediately accosted by Jack, who wants to explain, and dramatise, the details of his last vomit.
What an afternoon for this saint of a man.
See Baby This Week
Unfortunately, no. The more the baby moves, the more I freak when it doesnt move. There are quiet moments, somtimes complete stillness in there. When I experience those moments, the moments when I cant feel anything, I kind of lose my mind. I drop everything, stop and start kick-counting. I eat lollies, drink ice cold water, poke, prod, jiggle and cry. I cry a lot while I do this.
This week, Rainbow Baby had such a quiet day that I actually stalked The Boss. I stalked him.
Im not proud of it. This type of anxiety really pushes the boundaries...
After four hours of complete stillness, I rang his office, to see if I could "call past for a check." Now, this is laughable, because we live an hour away. The Boss's office and my hospital where I will be delivering is a sweet one hour drive away. The Boss's secretary told me he was at the public hospital across the road (my delivery hospital) doing Clinic duty. Big mistake.
At 3.30pm, I bundle Jack into the car, drive down the Freeway, and present myself at the hospital's obstetric Clinic (funnily, where all my antenatal checks for Sybella and Jack took place).
As The Boss walked out to call his next patient, he catches my eye. He stops. Looks around. "Hi Steph."
Hmmmm. I anticipate that he is going to have the shits. But I still have not felt the baby move, so I feel justified in my crazy behaviour.
I wait until his last patient has finished and walk into the room apologising profusely. I explain that the baby hasnt moved in five hours, I was stressing out, blah blah blah. As I babble, explaining myself and apologising, The Boss calmly takes my blood pressure and coaxes me over to the portable ultrasound machine (that he has hunted down especially for me...normally in the public Clinic only the doppler is used.)
I keep babbling, until he shows me a strong heartbeat and a baby kicking away, happily oblivious to my anxiety. With a deep breath, I shut up. The Boss explains the baby's position, which is one that the limbs are facing inwards, meaning I havent been able to feel the movements. Well. What a little bugger.
"So," says The Boss conversationally. "You found me. Thought I could hide here."
"Yeah," I respond. "Sorry for stalking you and chasing you all over the place."
He laughs, and gets immediately accosted by Jack, who wants to explain, and dramatise, the details of his last vomit.
What an afternoon for this saint of a man.
See Baby This Week
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