tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57453997396609983852024-03-12T22:49:28.220-05:00Desperately Seeking the StorkSunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-74623430227145695112012-11-22T01:48:00.000-06:002012-11-22T01:48:39.834-06:00Wheels spinning...I am here. I know it seems like I am not, but I have purposely avoided writing to avoid obsessing. We are going nowhere fast, and it is driving me a bit insane. Our precious donor went to see Dr. B in September as planned. She was screened for std's and the like, and all came back good. At that point Dr. B took her off of birth control pills. Apparently she had been on them for quite some time. Now, this is the old-fashioned girl coming out in me, but how long does one really need to be on BCP when one is only 23? So I think back. I started taking them in college. I was madly in love with Bobby. We were exclusive. Maybe I was 19, I don't remember. But 19 to 23 does not seem long, does it? I don't know when Sweet Girl started taking the Pill, maybe she was 16, maybe I shouldn't know. But she stated in her profile that she wasn't in a relationship, so I am confused, and yes, I guess a bit judgmental.<br />
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Anyway, no STD's but my girl has to go off her pills and have 2 periods before the party begins. Period #1 happened October 15 and period #2 is MIA. Dr. B says I will start Lupron approximately December 19, and our girl should be right behind me. We still don't have an FSH test, but the big bucks have been sent to the agency. I am working on losing weight, enjoying the holidays, and hopefully receiving a much earned promotion. I am doing everything I can to keep my sanity. My little boy is learning and growing every day. He becoming such an amazing little person...next step..big brother.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-35317066217498628312012-09-09T16:26:00.001-05:002012-09-09T16:26:26.582-05:00The night before the medical screeningTomorrow is our donor's first appointment with Dr. B. Possibly 2-3 weeks for all results. More waiting....ugh! I'm building character. I'm getting stronger. Insert your favorite "patience" cliche here. And now a little letter to a girl I will never know.<br />
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Thank you, sweet girl, for being our donor. You have no idea how much this gift means to us. Promise me you are healthy, fertile, and not partaking in drugs, excessive alcohol, or anything else that would render you unhealthy or infertile. We are paying you a good chunk of change, so please hold up your end of the deal. A little boy is counting on you to help us with a little brother or sister for him. It means the world. Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-65880952890557797052012-08-21T16:49:00.001-05:002012-08-21T16:49:29.800-05:00Hurry up and WAITMy nerves are getting the best of me, or maybe it's just nasty PMS. Dr. B has had our donor profiles for a week now, and we still don't know anything. You may already know this about me, but I am really into signs, what stuff means, numbers, etc., and this delay is really sending me to Did We Make the Wrong Decision Land. I hate doubting. I want to be so confident about this, and I am sure we will laugh about this time in Dr. B's office, as he explains why he put us off for so long. I feel certain that that will be the outcome, but for now I'm pissed. And about to start. Not a good combo.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-58931683824798251512012-08-14T22:40:00.000-05:002012-08-14T22:40:20.636-05:00And then there were two...I thought I was going to have a reprieve from tonight's elimination. I did think the pretty, young girl had gone on vacation or lost her phone in South Padre. An hour ago I checked my email one last time, and there it was. She is available. All three available and waiting to be my donor. This morning I told Pierce before I left for work that if we found ourselves in this situation, then I was less in love with the proven donor. I must be insane. Proven seems like a golden ticket. Proven is like knowing which one of the kids in class is the smartest and copying their work instead of possibly picking the kid who studied less than you. I just know in my heart that one of the others will rise to the challenge. I am trusting my gut....and Miller. In five rounds of "Pick a Girl" not once did my son point to the proven donor. He is fearless, and his mommy is following his lead.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-1920978688553729882012-08-13T22:46:00.002-05:002012-08-13T22:46:18.352-05:00Pick a GirlThis is what we chanted as we held Miller up to the computer screen, displaying the images of our Top 3. Unlike American Idol, I can't hear them sing. I can't watch them try to win my vote. All I can do is look at things like education, family health history, looks, hobbies, whether or not a tattoo (or five) seemed like a good idea (and they usually did), and contrived answers to questions like, "Why do you want to be a donor?" "Would you prefer the process be open or closed?" and on, and on. In all fairness, the website of the agency I have been using has been well-organized and very easy to use. So why is this so stinkin' hard? Why am I more concerned that the girl look like me than if she's had a baby before? Why does it feel like this whole process is happening to someone else, and I am just watching, observing, and learning vicariously?<br />
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Tomorrow we will narrow our 3 to 2. Someone will be kicked off. Who will it be?<br />
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In the running we have<br />
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Donor A - 28 year old mom of 4 boys<br />
Donor B - 23 year old college student (no kids)<br />
Donor C - 27 year old proven donor<br />
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I love pieces of all of them. <br />
This is not for the faint of heart.<br />
Just sayin'Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-48311863188565247002012-07-22T22:31:00.000-05:002012-07-22T22:31:15.053-05:00Moving onSo here I am again...three months later. I still miss Hope. I think I always will. I think I wish I had never known about the possibility of twins. When I looked at the picture of her from 2009 before she was frozen and compared it to the picture after she was thawed a couple of months ago, I could see only one cellular mass. Hope's id twin died in a test tube, of this I feel certain.<br />
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Pierce is going to call the RE tomorrow about a donor egg consult. Our wish is that I be pregnant by Christmas. I don't know if this is a reasonable wish in the world of donor matching, but it is time for us to move forward. Last week I celebrated my 43rd birthday. That morning I felt sadness that my birthdays don't seem special to me anymore. I thought about the day that Miller was born and allowed myself to feel the intensity of that joy again. Then I pictured my parents on the day I was born, and then my birthday felt amazing again. It didn't matter what I got for presents or what I did with my day, I knew that 43 years ago I made two great peoples' dreams come true. I pray with all my heart that I feel that amazing joy again. I pray that I don't feel differently that the baby isn't biologically mine. I pray that Miller knows a joy I have never known, what it is like to have a sibling. I know that our odds of this turning out well are better than anything we have done previously. I am still completely terrified.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-66800124238191683962012-04-23T00:04:00.001-05:002012-04-23T00:04:22.354-05:00Broken<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have always been fascinated by pictures of embryos. There is something amazing, surreal almost, and then a sense of something really special. This is not a picture most parents ever see or have in a baby book. I vacillate between feeling privileged to have these beautiful photos and bitter that I can't live the land of "babies come from sex". This picture is of our snowbaby, embryo c, AKA Hope. After going through the emotional calisthenics of 'should we have our embryo tested? should we proceed with this FET at our clinic or go to CCRM? should we let her go and move on to donor eggs?...' after making peace with our original decision to pursue our FET, we felt that we were given a shot at a whole new miracle. As I mentioned before we were given the responsibility of bringing our little one to the RE's facility in a nitrogen tank. It was an emotional day to say the very least. One minute I was carrying the tank into the ARTS facility where we had left Hope nearly 3 years ago. A bit later I was starring into the tank at a cup. The cup was holding a straw with my name, social, and a date on it. The date was the day after Miller and Savannah were transferred, the day Hope was frozen. Through tears I confirmed that, yes, it was me. She was mine. And with that, Pierce I strapped her in to the belt in the backseat of the Explorer. I sat in the middle, one arm around her in the tank and the other, ironically, in Miller's car seat. I cautioned Pierce to drive carefully and made nervous conversation the less than 10 miles nearly due north. <br />
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At the clinic we waited for the embryologist to come out and speak with us. She had the report that showed all of the embryos that had been retrieved during our cycle. She smiled, pointed to the paperwork, and said, "I did these." Her smile was comforting, and she seemed genuinely thrilled to be reunited with an "old friend". I remember thinking that she wasn't a typical science geek. She had such a heart and spoke of my embryo as well...I'll get back to that thought. Anyway, she asked to see the picture of our embryo. I told her that I knew Dr. B had one in my file but that the hospital had not given us one when we picked her up. She explained to us that in her notes from May 2009, she had graded our embryo with two letters, separated by a comma. Yes, I had seen that on the report. This means, she said, that this embryo is two babies. She wanted to show us on the picture, but since we didn't have it I had to take her word for it. She said that it was very rare for this situation to actually turn into the live birth of identical twins, but she felt obligated to let us know as they had recently transferred an embryo like ours, and the couple did in fact become pregnant with identical twins. I dared to let my mind go there. Pierce and I picked out names for two girls and then two boys. I considered nursery logistics, maternity leave, potential bedrest issues and the ugly drama that would no doubt arise in the workplace. I pictured Christmas morning with my gorgeous, nearly-three year-old and two little bundles in matching My First Christmas onesies, all with little blond heads and pale, curious eyes. I dared to dream. I believed that God had this miracle saved up just for our little family, that he would not allow my father's bloodline to end with Miller, that my shred of 39 year-old fertility had been carefully preserved to carry out this blessed mission. And just like that, Hope and Grace were gone.</div>
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This is how it all went down. March 16 was Cycle Day 1. March 17 I started taking Estrace. March 28 I had a lining check, and all was wonderful. Lining measured 13, which is textbook I am told. Apparently it is noted somewhere in my file, "Patient always makes good lining". U/S tech did note that I had a few cysts, so I had to give blood to ensure that I had not ovulated through the Estrace. If I had we would have scrapped the cycle and started over. Dr. B discussed dates with us, and we all decided on April 3. We ended the appointment with my first IM shot of progesterone. All was going well. The next day my bloodwork results showed that I had not ovulated, and all systems were go. We continued the progesterone shots every night. Pierce was actually quite good at them, despite the fact that I had started to develop bruises and hard knots on my hips. The day before transfer I stressed all day that I would receive a call that she had not survived the thaw. I couldn't focus on anything. I found myself in silent prayer nearly all day. Transfer day came, and after signing a bunch of releases and handing over our tax refund, I undressed and waited. I had a full bladder, but I wasn't uncomfortable. Even before the valium I had an odd sense of calm. It was out of our hands. Only God could determine the fate of our snowbaby now. I watched the flickering light on the screen above my head as Dr. B guided her to the top of my uterus. The embryologist checked the catheter to make sure that she had not gotten stuck and confirmed that yes, Hope, was back in her momma. I felt such a sense of victory! We had come so far. 39 year-olds never have embryos make it to freeze, and many embryos do not survive the thaw process. Identical twins are extremely rare, and yet we made one of those rare embryos. We, who can't make babies the old fashioned way, made a miraculous embryo at advanced maternal age, froze it, thawed it, and brought it back home. </div>
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Eight days later I peed on a stick, no two sticks, BFN times 2. Two days after that I went for my blood draw with a heavy heart. The idiot that drew my blood asked me if I was nervous or if I thought I already knew. I told her that I was pretty sure it would be negative. She then proceeded to ask me if I was bleeding and I said no. She then said, "Well that's a good sign." I wanted to respond, "OK, you fucking moron. I am on hormones that are preventing me from bleeding. It doesn't matter how not knocked up I am, I will not bleed until my husband is instructed to stop stabbing me in the ass with large needles every night. Now, shut up, and take my blood because clearly you know nothing else about what goes on around here", instead I said, "Sure, I guess so". Pierce got the call around 3:00 that afternoon. No surprises, no miracles, no numbers to analyze. It's been over a week. I miss Hope. I feel some comfort in knowing that she made it home to me alive, but what was it about my body that couldn't sustain her? What bigger purpose did God have for her to fulfill? I knew going into this that this might not turn out well. Somehow that knowledge doesn't make it easier. Where does one turn when hope is gone?</div>
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<br /></div>Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-24570893282778843982012-02-27T22:21:00.000-06:002012-02-27T22:21:37.025-06:00FET consult..Take 2Today I found myself, once again, at the intersection of Hope and Fear. After dropping off Miller for more school adventures, I flew home to pick up Pierce for our RE appointment, all the while jamming out to Adele on the highway. Pierce doesn't get it, or maybe he does but he doesn't show it. I'm just not sure. Anyway, just going to the RE puts me in a tizzy. I don't remember feeling that way the first time around, which makes sense since I didn't know fear then. Everything has changed.<br />
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When we went to see the RE a month ago, I knew exactly why I was going. Plain and simple, we were there to discuss our FET. An FET consult turned into a four-option discussion with a whole lot of not-saying-but-knowing that our RE didn't want to do the FET. I analyzed that visit for three weeks, trying to figure out his angle. Was he afraid of getting a reputation for making babies with Downs? I was pissed. Pierce and I set up a phone consult with an RE at a clinic two states away who was willing to test Hope for chromosome anomalies. And by willing to I mean, he was willing to charge us nearly as much as our fresh IVF cycle, make us travel to Colorado twice and repeat lots of testing, all the while making no promises that Hope would be viable. Even our RE said that that option was ridiculous. <br />
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After major soul searching I called to schedule the appointment I had thought we were going to have a month earlier. Not willing to get side-tracked, I firmly said, "Let's do this!" Dr. B talked us through the process which, by the way, is easy-peasy compared to IVF. There are still lots of unknowns, but at least we have taken a step forward. No regrets. I have a mock transfer next week, and then we wait for AF.<br />
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One other project on my plate that nearly blindsided me is that Pierce and I have to go to the lab where Hope is cryopreserved with a liquid nitrogen tank and two notarized consent forms. We will pick her up and transport her to the new lab at the RE's office where he does all of his transfers now. This freaks me out. I am afraid that something I do will jeopardize her. What if we get in an accident? Somehow I feel like she should be transported more sophisticatedly, like by armored car or ambulance, by people who are trained to handle precious cargo. And then I remember that we are her parents, and therefore, we are precisely the ones who should take care of her. No one else will acknowledge the importance of that package, the dreams that are tucked inside. On my next day off, we will get the tank and drive to the lab. We will pick up Embryo C and drive her to the RE's office, and she will be one step closer to coming home.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-38894060465906546732012-02-19T23:21:00.000-06:002012-02-19T23:21:46.361-06:00Blissfully UnawareI never intended to abandon this project. I think of it often, and I feel guilty. Guilty that I am not documenting my son's life and that I have somehow lost my creative outlet. This isn't the first time. All of my life I have turned to journaling or writing short stories to get me through the tough stuff, and it works for me. However, it seems that when the fog has lifted all of my ability to express myself through writing goes right out the window. This is why my dream of being a writer was never a practical one. I only write when the spirit moves me, and usually the spirit is provoked by misery. One of my dear blogger friends was faced with the same sporadic to no-posting phenomenon when she came to the conclusion that infertility had been her muse. Her statement was a full-on Oprah AH- HA! Moment for me. Miller was living proof that I had slain the infertility dragon, and through time, patience and self-reflection I have learned that having a child with Down syndrome has brought me so much more joy than the sorrow I once feared.<br />
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So here I am. I have a beautiful two year-old. He has speech delays. Quite frankly, he jabbers on all of the time but doesn't actually say much of anything. He does say "Dada" to Pierce, but he also says it to me, the cat, and his vast collection of stuffed animals. He will say "Mama" if I force him to, but he still doesn't indicate that he knows that means me. What does amaze me is his ability to learn and understand sign language. My kid can't talk to me yet, but he understands what I say to him. I know this because he responds appropriately in sign. He knows at least 25 signs, and there are probably more that I don't realize he is doing. Needless to say, preschool has become an education for everyone in this house.<br />
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I am still trying to piece my life back together after losing my job. I am still bitter and wonder if that will ever go away. A dear friend of mine, who I met through my old job, has been wonderful in helping find other work. I am extremely grateful to him, despite that fact that a year and half after losing my good income I am making exactly half. In fact I am making what I made in 1999. I know that this will turn around. I know that things will not always look so bleak, but it is so hard when, once again, we are looking in to the evil eyes of the infertility dragon.<br />
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I have put this off. That is what I do when I fear failure: I refuse to proceed in order to not fail. It's not productive behavior by any means, but I am acutely aware of my own demons. We have not used any birth control since Miller was born, and....surprise, surprise, no baby. We are right back where we were in 2008, knowing that the creation of any future child of ours will involve a lot more people than just the two of us, but there is a difference. When we were going through this before, we were blissfully unaware. After two failed IUIs, we turned to IVF. I responded well to stims. We retrieved 11, 9 were mature, 7 fertilized normally, 3 were awesome on day 5. Two beautiful embies came home on May 6, 2009 and 1 became a snowbaby. I was told 39 year-olds never have embies make it to freeze. We had exceeded everyone's expectations. Then, it worked! Ultrasound revealed twins, and we celebrated. Within weeks we lost Baby B and shortly thereafter we were given 1:5 chances that Miller would have Downs. We were blissfully unaware that just because IVF had worked that didn't mean that we would be bringing home healthy babies. <br />
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I don't mean to sound stupid. I knew there were risks, but like so many others out there, I didn't believe it could happen to us. It can and did happen. And once I got through the hell that it was, I am now able to understand that it wasn't a bad thing at all. He is an amazing and magical gift. The scary thing is that if our RE had ever mentioned that maybe we should consider doing PGD on our embryos, we probably would have done the testing. If we had done the testing the results would have revealed Miller's Ds, and the transfer would have never happened. Our son's life would have been snuffed out in a hospital lab. I try to not think about that, but now were are faced with the future of our snowbaby. <br />
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We want a second child. Our frozen embryo seems like the best option, I mean, if 39 year-olds don't ever have frosties then tell me why this embryo made it to day 6. Why didn't he/she fizzle out in the lab like the other 4 embies? This baby is calling out to me, so much so that I no longer see her as a blastocyst, but rather as an entity named for infertility's more dangerous and sought after emotion: Hope. I have intense emotions when I think of her, but sadly, the strongest one has been fear. Fear was never something I felt when I was blissfully unaware. Fear is the product of my previous experience. Fear that the embryo will not survive the thaw. Fear that I will not get pregnant. Fear that I will get pregnant and miscarry. Fear that I will get pregnant, will not miscarry, and will find out via CVS that Hope has abnormalities. Fear what those decisions will do to me and my family. Fear that I will have wasted a whole lot of time worrying about this, putting it off 'cause that's what I do, and my embryo will take, I will be pregnant and deliver a completely healthy baby. A fucking crystal ball would be helpful now. Nothing about this is easy or straightforward. I know that this is where I am supposed to rely on faith. There is some comfort in that, but I would much prefer answers. We have our next consult in one week. The RE can offer no answers: His crystal ball is missing as well. <br />
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My son is sleeping. I can hear his muffled snore, the product of his sixth sinus infection this season. He is blissfully unaware of what Mommy and Daddy are planning. We have asked him if he wants a brother or sister, and he answers with a big smile. Somehow that smile gives me the strength to get through this. My son doesn't know what fear is. I wish I could return to the place where I didn't either.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-45945364205782498352011-06-29T00:16:00.002-05:002011-06-29T00:16:55.539-05:00Poor abandoned blog I miss you, My Friend. I do hope I can find the time to visit you and recount the many adventures of Sweet Miller's first year. The task seems so daunting, but I know I will be so grateful for doing so if I just get on it. I miss the comfort I have felt here in the past, the ability to express anything and everything without judgement. I need to get back on track. Miller, please tell Mommy to get it together before any more time gets away. I love you so much, Sweet Baby Bug, and the I need to keep your memories close. I want this for both of us, and I am so sorry that I have been such a slacker.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-14021846376792298842011-06-29T00:16:00.000-05:002011-06-29T00:16:38.434-05:00Poor abandoned blog I miss you, My Friend. I do hope I can find the time to visit you and recount the many adventures of Sweet Miller's first year. The task seems so daunting, but I know I will be so grateful for doing so if I just get on it. I miss the comfort I have felt here in the past, the ability to express anything and everything without judgement. I need to get back on track. Miller, please tell Mommy to get it together before any more time gets away. I love you so much, Sweet Baby Bug, and the I need to keep your memories close. I want this for both of us, and I am so sorry that I have been such a slacker.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-10060525257546463732010-07-11T22:52:00.001-05:002010-07-11T22:56:18.257-05:00180 days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TDqSQsmG3BI/AAAAAAAAAP4/VWhzgyMIuWA/s1600/100_0940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TDqSQsmG3BI/AAAAAAAAAP4/VWhzgyMIuWA/s400/100_0940.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Miller is 6 months old today. The time hasn't exactly flown by, so I don't find myself saying, "Where has the time gone?" But I do find it funny to consider that this time last year, I still had not gone public with my pregnancy. How is it possible that a year ago I was only 11 weeks pregnant, still had no idea that my baby had Down syndrome, and yet today, I have a 6 month old who will we will take to the pediatrician tomorrow, and I will beg her to allow us to start feeding him solids. This boggles my mind! <br />
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But if I just focus on the past 180 days, I must confess that I have learned so much. Not that I EVER claimed to know much about all of this baby business beforehand, but I never could have anticipated the lessons I would learn as a new mother to this sweet baby boy.<br />
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#1. Being induced sucks! I pray that if I am ever blessed again with a child that they will come out before we have to go in after them. In all fairness, I know it wasn't his choice, and the induction was due to my high blood pressure so it was unavoidable. However, pitocin is evil, but it definitely does the trick.<br />
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#2. Peeing on your L/D nurse when she tries to get you out of your bed is really no big deal. She's seen worse, and as she said to me, "this is a very messy process."<br />
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#3. I really didn't believe I was having a baby until I heard him cry. It sounds stupid, but the whole thing still wasn't real until they pulled him out. It really is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard, and I do wish it had been recorded.<br />
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#4. No one shows you how to breastfeed. I guess I should have taken a class, but I didn't even take a childbirth class. That one would have come in handy when they handed him to me, and everyone watched to see if he knew how to latch. Fortunately, he figured it out without much assistance from me.<br />
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#5. The first two months are brutal. I value my sleep and always have. Keeping up an every three hour change-breastfeed-bottlefeed-pump-routine was a beating. I love him, and I swear I never wanted to hurt him, but I was an uber-crabby new mommy.<br />
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#6. Jaundice is damn scary! I don't care how common it is. When it happened to our baby, and we had to spend two days in the pediatric ward with him in an incubator under the blue lights, I was terrified. Glad to be in the hospital where all of the professionals could help us care for him, but scared none the less.<br />
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#7. Bringing home a baby is the most humbling experience ever. We spent 4 days with medical professionals checking his vitals and giving us tons of advice. None it was very helpful when we got home, and he kept losing his body temperature and turning more yellow by the moment. In those moments I realized that we really didn't know anything, and instinct took over.<br />
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#8. Comparing my baby to anyone else's will only stress me out. Miller is a peanut. He is healthy, has a tremendous appetite, and is still small for his age. I know it's the Downs, but it's still a little rattling when strangers at the grocery store are smiling at him and saying, "He's adorable. How old is he?" And I say, "__ months" and they look at me like I must be starving him.<br />
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#9. When he smiles and coos at me I absolutely melt. I am completely in awe of this little person, and no matter how terrible other parts of my life have been, it all goes away with one little smile. It's like magic, and in those moments I truly can't believe he is mine. I will most certainly dissolve into a pile of mush the first time he says, "Mama".<br />
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#10. I know there are a million opinions about this out there, but I have not been in any hurry to make him sleep in his crib. He sleeps in his buggy next to our bed. When I lay in bed before I fall asleep, I can hear Pierce snoring on one side of me and Miller on the other. It is like heaven. Yes, I know he's going to outgrow the buggy soon, and he probably wouldn't mind his crib at all. But I am not ready!!!<br />
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I know I will think of more, and there will be more lists as he continues to grow. Six months really is the perfect age so far. He has his own personality. He's trying to crawl. He can almost sit up on his own. He is discovering the cat, and thankfully, the cat is becoming more tolerant. Being his mom is the greatest blessing I have ever been given, and I am so grateful to God for this perfect little life.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-83699641364000431412010-06-25T16:48:00.001-05:002010-06-26T21:56:59.994-05:00Here's what happens<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUiXkKEE0I/AAAAAAAAAPY/wWjh11jzCV8/s1600/100_0871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUiXkKEE0I/AAAAAAAAAPY/wWjh11jzCV8/s320/100_0871.JPG" /></a></div><br />
when four fun internet buddies decide it's time for their babies to meet. I love that we all had this opportunity, and I heart our message board for bringing us all together.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUXOBYmG_I/AAAAAAAAANo/1hA2VQMjDjQ/s1600/100_0853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUXOBYmG_I/AAAAAAAAANo/1hA2VQMjDjQ/s320/100_0853.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUXeZHWNJI/AAAAAAAAANw/r4dGxnX2zos/s1600/100_0854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUXeZHWNJI/AAAAAAAAANw/r4dGxnX2zos/s320/100_0854.JPG" width="209" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUfOUhRkfI/AAAAAAAAAN4/kQ64O0kznpA/s1600/100_0855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUfOUhRkfI/AAAAAAAAAN4/kQ64O0kznpA/s320/100_0855.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUiswfYm7I/AAAAAAAAAPo/890G47BJ2XU/s1600/100_0874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUiswfYm7I/AAAAAAAAAPo/890G47BJ2XU/s320/100_0874.JPG" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUiKClfCrI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/D5enK6WXWG0/s1600/100_0869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUiKClfCrI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/D5enK6WXWG0/s320/100_0869.JPG" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUhtRay5fI/AAAAAAAAAO4/1H-Dhi5vDgA/s1600/100_0864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUhtRay5fI/AAAAAAAAAO4/1H-Dhi5vDgA/s320/100_0864.JPG" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUh9pGCTkI/AAAAAAAAAPI/2xmhF4NGIDA/s1600/100_0867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUh9pGCTkI/AAAAAAAAAPI/2xmhF4NGIDA/s320/100_0867.JPG" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUh0wYYDjI/AAAAAAAAAPA/1pbDVy-0pcM/s1600/100_0866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUh0wYYDjI/AAAAAAAAAPA/1pbDVy-0pcM/s320/100_0866.JPG" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUfZxIygsI/AAAAAAAAAOA/_KPGAAJCemc/s1600/100_0856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUfZxIygsI/AAAAAAAAAOA/_KPGAAJCemc/s320/100_0856.JPG" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUgWicSV7I/AAAAAAAAAOI/yiwJqJsfYv8/s1600/100_0857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUgWicSV7I/AAAAAAAAAOI/yiwJqJsfYv8/s320/100_0857.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUg4emxdJI/AAAAAAAAAOY/krNjypCSB-0/s1600/100_0859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUg4emxdJI/AAAAAAAAAOY/krNjypCSB-0/s320/100_0859.JPG" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUhazZanCI/AAAAAAAAAOo/f9vQ51PAVOA/s1600/100_0862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUhazZanCI/AAAAAAAAAOo/f9vQ51PAVOA/s320/100_0862.JPG" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUhkRtJhsI/AAAAAAAAAOw/nXsRoWebA2s/s1600/100_0863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCUhkRtJhsI/AAAAAAAAAOw/nXsRoWebA2s/s320/100_0863.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Wish I could get these to lay out better, but the content is far more important than the format. Love you, Girlies and all your sweet little boys! Come back and visit soon!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-12975342453395667052010-06-20T21:43:00.001-05:002010-06-25T13:49:56.371-05:00A New Holiday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCT6N5cIWtI/AAAAAAAAANg/jqqkban8FTw/s1600/100_0830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TCT6N5cIWtI/AAAAAAAAANg/jqqkban8FTw/s320/100_0830.JPG" /></a></div>Of course Father's Day isn't new. It's been around forever...nearly as long as fathers have been, I suspect, but it's always been a day of sitting on the sidelines for me. My first Mother's Day this year was a big deal to me but not nearly as important to me as Pierce's first Father's Day. I never had a father to buy a card for. I never selected horrible ties or gallons of Old Spice for the man who helped bring about my existence. I simply looked at old photos, longingly, as my friends all gathered with their families and went out for nice dinners. I remember a silly little song we used to sing in elementary music where the teacher went around the room, and each kid called out their father's occupation and we sang about it....<br />
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"My old man's a <b>doctor</b>, whatta ya think of that? He wears a <b>doctor's </b>collar, he wears a <b>doctor's</b> hat. He wears a <b>doctor's</b> raincoat, he wears a <b>doctor's</b> shoes. And every Saturday evening, he reads the <b>doctor's</b> news! And someday, if I can, I want to be a <b>doctor</b>, just like my old man!'<br />
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And so this little ditty went around and around the room until it got to me. I would turn red and break out in hives, knowing that the teacher would get to me soon. 'My old man's a (pause)' waiting for me to shout it out.....uh, 'DEAD', I squeaked. And so was the song. Hindsight being twenty/twenty and all, I realize that I could have said 'teacher', as that is exactly what he was before he became the other, but I panicked. <br />
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Father's Day was never a happy time for me. I bought cards for my grandfathers, and I know I begrudgingly signed cards for the stepmonster. It was a day for other people to celebrate but not for me. That is until now.<br />
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We didn't have a fancy dinner. Pierce got a card from me and one that Miller picked out for him. By picked out I mean, we were at Target, and I held up two cards in front of my son. He grabbed the one with the two elephants on the front and promptly put it in his mouth. Decision made. I also found an outfit for Miller in a 9 month size (too big) that says, "I (big red heart) Dad". I told him to give it to Daddy, and he held the Target bag tight in his fist and wouldn't give it up. And then, you guessed it, put it in his mouth. There's a lot of that going on in our house right now.<br />
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Pierce received several texts and phone calls wishing him a very happy Father's Day. Even my best friend from high school, who has been reduced to a Facebook friend, sent him a shout out, and she's never even met the guy. All in all, it was the best Father's Day on record for me, and I am sure they will only get better. Next year maybe I will let Miller pick out a tie!Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-79628246063567154782010-06-09T23:20:00.000-05:002010-06-09T23:20:32.016-05:00The "Sconsin"While visiting with Miller's godparents on Memorial Day, we learned that their nephew called his grandparents "Gramsie" and "Grampsie". I about fell over in shock because, you see, those are the exact names I called my mother's parents when i was little. I thought that I had invented it and was a bit taken a back that another little person had adopted my names and had not cleared it through me.<br />
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A few days later I was having a conversation with my best friend, and we were trying to decide what Miller might call all of his grandparents. My grandma is, obviously, his great-grandma, but my mother takes offense to that because in her mind, "great" implies better. We decided that he should probably just call her "Grandma". Now, my mother signs all of her cards to Miller, Grandma Diane. She does not refer to herself as Grandma Miller because that was my dad's mom to all of us. There was only one Grandma Miller, and those are not shoes she is willing to fill. Anyway, he can't call her by her first name because that would be inappropriate, so if he were to think of her as Grandma Miller, which might be confusing, he may end up calling her "Grandma-me" or to make it easier, "Grammy".<br />
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Now that that is all sorted out, we turn to Pierce's parents. I called my dad's parents, "Grandma and Grandpa from Florida". So we decided that Miller will most likely refer to them as "Grandma and Grandpa from Wisconsin". My next comment was that Wisconsin was probably quite a mouthful for a little one, and I wondered what it might turn in to. When I asked Pierce if he knew, he thought that perhaps it would be "Consin". This sounded logical to me.<br />
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Tonight I was sharing the conversation with my mother, who can't remember what happened yesterday but is brilliant when it comes to the past. I told her that Miller would probably call Pierce's parents "Grandma and Grandpa from Wisconsin", and she said, "Oh, The Sconsin". "What is that?" I said. She repeated, " The Sconsin, that's what you called it when you were little. " And there you have it: A moment of clarity and his grandparents' names.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-55313041418731561272010-06-07T23:46:00.000-05:002010-06-07T23:46:55.137-05:00Savannah Rose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TA2twGHc08I/AAAAAAAAANY/su2td9gxYV4/s1600/img011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TA2twGHc08I/AAAAAAAAANY/su2td9gxYV4/s320/img011.jpg" /></a></div><br />
This post is a little earlier than I intended, but I have been thinking about it a lot lately. June 10th last year was the first time we saw Miller and his twin, Savannah. I remember going in for my egg transfer and taking the full bladder requirement, perhaps too literally. By the time I was shuttled into the room where the RE inserted the catheter to bring my babies home, I felt that perhaps I would burst and shoot them across the room. In recovery I was told to lie flat on my back for 30 minutes, and then the nurse would come get me for the restroom. I laid there, writhing in pain, thinking I can't pee...I can't ruin this. But then, I thought that was ridiculous because they were up high enough that certainly that couldn't happen.<br />
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After I unloaded my bladder and, of course, looked in the toilet, for I don't know what, we were headed home for four days of best rest. After 5 days I had some bleeding and assumed the worst. Two days later I was staring at the Holy Grail, a positive pregnancy test! The next day I went for beta #1, and it was very good. Beta #2 was even better, and the question was raised, 'Could they both have stuck?' <br />
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I would have to wait nearly a month to find out the answer. When I went for my ultrasound FINALLY, the nurse was able to zoom in on Miller immediately. He was the perfect size for just over 7 weeks and had a strong heartbeat, which we watched, heard, and then cried tears of joy! She then asked if we had put more than one in, to which I replied, "yes, there were two." She did some looking and quickly found a tiny little baby with a slower heartbeat. I want to say, and maybe I should look back to my old posts, that Miller's heartbeat was 150-something, and the other baby's was 54. She didn't say too much about the discrepancy but noted "twins" on my chart. In meeting with the RE shortly thereafter, we learned that the prognosis for Twin B was not good, but Twin A was doing great. All I could think was how happy I should be to finally be pregnant, but I was sad.<br />
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A week later I met with my OB, and her ultrasound tech was unable to find a heartbeat for Twin B. I expected it, but I was crushed. I also knew that I needed to be strong for our surviving baby and didn't really give myself the opportunity to grieve. Pierce and I decided, both without hesitation, that we needed to name our lost baby. We also realized that in naming the baby that we would have to assign gender. My grandmother's first reaction when we told her about the twins was that the big, healthy one was a boy, and the little helpless one was a girl. That has stuck in my head to this day. <br />
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We always thought we would have a girl. We thought Miller was a girl until the amnio told us otherwise, so we named his twin Savannah Rose. We will never know for sure if she was a girl, and IVF procedures by nature tend to produce more boys. I don't know this for a fact, but I have to assume that IVF with ICSI produces even more boys that traditional IVF. Regardless, she will always be our lost little girl. We miss her and love her and are glad she never suffered any pain. Although her life was short, she will always be remembered in our hearts. We hope that anyone who reads this, on June 10th, will light a candle and say a little prayer for our little one whose life was cut too short, our sweet Savannah Rose.Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-4484572937250890132010-06-05T21:13:00.000-05:002010-06-05T21:13:54.335-05:00One Year, One Dream, One Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TAsDc2rHL3I/AAAAAAAAANI/xrumy1sYFCk/s1600/img009_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/TAsDc2rHL3I/AAAAAAAAANI/xrumy1sYFCk/s320/img009_2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Miller Christian 5/6/09</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Miller Christian 5/10/10</span>Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-20265318148074698092010-05-30T00:18:00.000-05:002010-05-30T00:18:42.830-05:00Embracing My (Inner) ChildI know I wouldn't be the first mommy to rediscover all of my own insecurities about my childhood upon the birth of my son. We all want what's best for our children, but I have found that what I want most for my son are the things I often felt I was lacking. Big things that are so basic: love, acceptance and security.<br />
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<div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After a while you learn the subtle difference<br />
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning<br />
And company doesn't mean security,</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And you begin to understand that kisses aren't contracts<br />
And presents aren't promises.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And you begin to accept your defeats<br />
With your head held high and your eyes open,</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.<br />
You learn to build your roads</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">On today because tomorrow's ground<br />
Is too uncertain for plans, and futures have</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">A way of falling down in midflight.<br />
After a while you learn that even sunshine</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Burns if you get too much.<br />
So you plant your own garden and decorate</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Your own soul, instead of waiting<br />
For someone to bring you flowers.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And you learn that you can really endure,<br />
That you really are strong</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And you really do have worth<br />
And you learn and learn ... and you learn</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">With every goodbye you learn.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I discovered this poem by Veronica Shorffstall when I was in high school, when I had "real" problems. I bought a plaque from Hallmark with a paraphrased version and hung it in my bedroom next to my Steve Perry and Sting posters. It was my first clue that I was incredibly naive. </div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Back then I believed that when my high school boyfriend said he loved me that meant that we would be together forever. I had no problem with the fact that I would never be with another person, but apparently he did. Twenty-some-odd years later I still remember the day that I caught him with...wait for it...MY BEST FRIEND, and it feels like yesterday. One year ago I found him on Facebook, and, yes, friended him. We have reminisced about the 80's and all of the great concerts we went to together. He told me he really regrets what happened between us, and, as time always has a way of putting things in perspective, I have to chuckle a little but, honestly, could care less. He taught me a valuable lesson in a really shitty way.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I doubt that Ted ever realized the impact he had on my life, and I certainly never would admit it to him. I was the oddball in high school who took my relationship very seriously. Sure there were kids who get married right after graduation, and some even got pregnant and had babies right away. My previously mentioned "best friend" (also a FB friend) married a guy a year after high school, and now has a daughter in college, while I sit and wonder if my four month old will ever even get in to college. While I am sure that anyone would agree that a cheating douche bag is the antithesis to true love, I freely admit that I hold love to a very high standard.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It is a standard that came long before my birth: my parent's marriage. It was idyllic, according to anyone who witnessed it. It was that perfect meeting-at-a-church-function, going-to-prom, proposing-in-college, and supporting-each-other-through-master's-degrees kind of love. Their relationship was sweet and tender, yet sad and tragic in a Romeo and Juliet way minus the family feud and double suicide ending. At the ripe old age of 29, my mom was left with a bassett hound and a 3 1/2 year old when my father was called on by God to fill some bigger purpose in Heaven. I was forever changed before my fourth birthday. I had lost my first love. </div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">A couple of years later, in an act of sheer desperation I have to believe, my mom married a jackass. She was lonely and felt that her child needed a father figure. I will spare you the details of the sleepless nights and hospital visits my mother endured, but suffice it to say, he did not fit the bill. However, my mother, true to her faith, did not see divorce as an option, so we suffered through that absurd union for 12 years. When he left her for another woman, I could not help but dance around the house to George Michael's "Freedom". When my mom called me seven years ago to tell me that she had seen his obituary in the local paper, I remember telling her that I was a bit freaked out but definitely wasn't sad. She said, "Yeah, I know what you mean".</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I thought about having kids with Ted. He wanted them. In fact, he has two teenagers now. Although he claims to not be married to his (ex)wife, the girl he hooked up with right after me, he does seem to love his kids and that makes me smile. It does make me feel good that there may still be some good in the person that I mistakenly gave my heart to. Do I wish I had had his baby? Umm, NO. Because when a girl loses her "perfect" father and is raised by her abused mother and stepmonster, she is really forced to evaluate what constitutes good parenting. And somehow that image and finding someone to play that role becomes infinitely more important than simply finding love for one's self.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After Ted I went on to have my heart broken several more times, and I suspect I broke a few myself. After college and being on my own for awhile, I met my future ex-husband. I married Mike out of my own selfish need to love and be loved, knowing that he would never be parent material. He told me upfront that he never wanted kids, and I guess I thought that either A. his love for me would be enough or B. he would change. Yes, I cringe as I write option B because I know how ridiculous it sounds. Needless to say, he never changed. He tried to. When we moved to Texas seven years ago, he told me that he had bought me a copy of "What to Expect..." and thought maybe we could try. Of course he only told me this when my desire to have a child had reached a peak, and I had announced my intent to leave in search of my Baby Daddy. Yes, it was tempting to stay. We had been married for 8 1/2 years, and there wasn't the fear of the unknown. But when I could picture my child in mind, I never saw him there. I didn't know who I saw, but it definitely wasn't him. I feared that if I gave him that chance, he would prove as unworthy as my stepmonster. And I would not give him the satisfaction of damaging a little life, damage that I understood far too well.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">When Pierce and I started dating, I knew I had found the real deal. He adored me from the beginning and didn't run for the hills when I told him that I had no interest in wasting my time dating him if he didn't want kids...two, preferably one of each. I met Pierce when I was still married to Mike, scandalous you say, but no, he lived a thousand miles away, and our friendship was innocent, although I will admit, mildly flirtatious. When I met him at a work conference, I didn't know he would some day be my husband and the father of my son. I thought that maybe God had brought us together to simply show me that there are still good guys out there, and maybe just maybe, I could do better. I met another guy, who later proved himself completely unworthy, before I began dating Pierce and still, to this day, swear that he came into my life for the very same purpose.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Pierce accepted me from the very beginning, despite my divorce and heavy steamer chests full of baggage. He accepts my mother and is even more tolerant of her than I am when faced with her mind-crippling dementia. He is patient and kind with my family, qualities Mike never possessed, and sometimes I fear that my own grandmother loves him more than me. I truly never knew the depth of his ability to love and accept until we were faced with the trials of infertility. I have heard stories of couples divorcing over the senseless blaming and the stress of not being able to conceive. If you can make it through this process, it really does make you stronger as a couple, and we have found our way to the other side. When our high risk doctor informed us that it was likely that Miller had Down syndrome, Pierce was the first one to respond, "We are having this child", as I laid on the table like a deer in headlights. My son has the father he was meant to have, and I have the love and acceptance that I have craved since my father's death. Happy ending? Well, not yet.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Security. The love of a good man and the security that comes with that love, check! But the security blanket that I have been holding on to long before that is being yanked out from underneath me. Security blanket=my career. My ex husband, in every attempt to talk me out of wanting children, always told me that I couldn't have it all. His belief, and rightfully so, was that my job was my baby. It was something that I lived for, nurtured, watched grow, and was damn proud of. He told me that if I had a child that I would fail at work, and I am beginning to wonder if he wasn't right. </div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Long ago when my mother was married to the monster, we had very little income. The jackass was self-employed, which I am convinced was because no one would hire a drunk, belligerent asshole. Regardless, I had four grandparents who were hip to the nonsense going on in our household and often gave my mom money to help take care of me. This is pissed off the jackass who also often cashed my social security checks, that I received after my father's death, and spent them on alcohol and smokes. I learned early on that if I was going to keep my mom out of hot water that it was best that I find myself gainful employment. After countless babysitting jobs and a great paper route, I was finally old enough to earn minimum wage in the glamorous fast food industry. And guess what followed? Yes, of course money, but also, as I was and still am a ridiculously dedicated employee, love and acceptance. </div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Every boss I have ever had has sung my praises, thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. That was until recently, or more accurately, until I became pregnant. I had enjoyed ten years of blissful employment with my current company when my current boss was hired. We were not quick to hit it off, but I felt that we had found a common ground when I confessed to her my fertility troubles. I had not intended to share this information with anyone at work as I am in a high profile position, and I feared anyone finding weakness in me. However, the doctor appointments and time off for treatments became too many and too difficult to work around my schedule. When I told her I was having my first IUI, she seemed very supportive and confessed that she had gone through the same. Second IUI, still supportive. Moving on to IVF, still supportive. Pregnant, so happy for me. The next thing I know I am sitting in her office, receiving a bad review. I am told I will receive another review in 90 days. Fast forward to 90 days, and I am on bedrest and told I will deliver in the next two to three weeks.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I went on maternity leave, relieved that I had not lost my job and that I would have my insurance to cover delivery and my pay while I was out. But, the undelivered review was still looming, and while I struggled with sleepless nights and breastfeeding a newborn I worried about what the future would hold. Eleven weeks after I left, I found myself back on the job, sad to leave my son but exhilarated to be back to the baby I had known for so long. Sadly it seems, they didn't miss me. While I am still employed, I face the daily challenge of proving that I am still worthy and wondering why it all has to be so hard. Pierce works part time and cares for our son all day, and when I leave in the morning I find myself jealous that he can't do the full time thing and let me stay home. He is wonderful with Miller, and I often think he is a better parent than me.</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #330033; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Security from a financial standpoint is in a really scary place right now. I remember driving to work last fall and seeing a haunting billboard for the North Texas Food Bank. It said something to the effect of "March: Working Full Time, June: Working Part Time, July: Hungry" and pictured the face of the man in a suit. I am so scared of our little family winding up on that billboard. I lose a lot of sleep when I think of losing my first baby, but then when I get up in the morning, Baby Sunshine is cooing and smiling at me, just happy to see his mommy. He doesn't think I am a failure. He doesn't know the fear I face every day as I head out the door. He is blissfully unaware and naive, and with every little cuddle I hope he feels as much love and acceptance as I see in his eyes. Only then can I face the day with my head held high and my eyes wide open.</div>Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-6673254791876793322010-02-12T11:40:00.000-06:002010-02-12T11:40:06.208-06:00One month old.............<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wait for it.......................................... <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S3WRgb6krBI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/hq8ww8oJEO0/s1600-h/101_0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S3WRgb6krBI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/hq8ww8oJEO0/s320/101_0111.JPG" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">check this one out..............................<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S3WRvfKbcyI/AAAAAAAAAMY/R3sBNTKXlRY/s1600-h/101_0116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S3WRvfKbcyI/AAAAAAAAAMY/R3sBNTKXlRY/s320/101_0116.JPG" width="209" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and this one too...................<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S3WSUDf65CI/AAAAAAAAAMg/-q9mt45iv7c/s1600-h/101_0073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S3WSUDf65CI/AAAAAAAAAMg/-q9mt45iv7c/s320/101_0073.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-24958843081072023352010-02-04T17:14:00.000-06:002010-02-04T17:14:09.835-06:00In honor of our due date<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><i>This post has taken me forever to finish, but I have a good excuse, well maybe two excuses. 1. one adorable newborn and 2. Blogger crashed when I tried to compose this two weeks ago. Lack of sleep+lack of computer savvy nearly pushed me over the edge, and I am only now finding the strength to rescue the paragraphs that were saved and recreate those that were not so lucky.</i></span></span><br />
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</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today is the day I have been looking forward to since May 14, our BFP on the digital. The first thing I did after I collected myself and allowed myself to believe that it was true was to go online to the Bump and use the due date calculator. JANUARY 23, oh so far away. And then after our first ultrasound on June 10 and learning that we were having twins, I moved up the date to Christmas, and somehow, having the due date in the same calendar year made it less far away. Our dream of two holiday babies was short-lived when we learned the term "vanishing twin", and we lost the heartbeat of our little angel. So January 23 was our date again, and sometime in December I began to believe that I would go past my due date. Actually, I bounced back and forth between my doctor and several acquaintances telling me that babies with Down syndrome are very often premature and the knowledge that this was my first little one and often that meant an induction after 40 weeks. Never in my thinking did my story include 3 weeks of bedrest, followed by an induction at 38 weeks, 1 day due to pregnancy induced hypertension. It's a crazy story, and on my little boy's thirteenth day of life, it is time to tell it. CAUTION: **** LOTS OF PICTURES GOING FORWARD****</div><div><br />
</div><div>Two funny things I did before our induction: 1. I went for a mani and pedi. Everyone was asking me when I was due, and when I told them the baby was coming in 2 days I could see the fear in their eyes. I explained that I was being induced and that there was very little chance that I would be going in to labor in right then and there. When they agreed to do my nails, I had to decide what the appropriate toe color was for greeting my son. Of course I came to the obvious conclusion....blue.</div><div><div><br />
</div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S1tXIT5C2nI/AAAAAAAAAI4/czWmjIqwuUs/s1600-h/100_9992.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430029576015370866" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S1tXIT5C2nI/AAAAAAAAAI4/czWmjIqwuUs/s400/100_9992.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 263px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div><div>I was instructed that the night before the induction that I could not eat after midnight. Of course I probably had not seen midnight since the second tri, so there was little chance I would be scarfing down anything at that time anyway. However, the mere mention that I was not allowed to eat made me frantic. That coupled with the knowledge that the induction might very well last past dinner time the next day, and well, I was starving! We went out to dinner, and I proceeded to eat everything in sight. I ate the most wonderful bowl of jalapeno soup and could not possibly drink enough water afterward. When we got home I was contacted by the anesthesiologist who told me that since I was coming in at 5 am that I should stop eating/drinking immediately because midnight would be too late. Crap! Needless to say, I walked in to that hospital the next morning with the taste of jalapeno soup still radiating through my throat. I have already apologized to my son for that. But isn't a spicy meal supposed to help encourage labor?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So we arrived at the hospital at 4:45, and my dear Pierce informed me that he had left the camera at home. Anything else but the CAMERA, seriously? So I told him to turn around and go back. If we were a few minutes late, they would have to get over it. The reason we had forgotten the camera is that I had asked Pierce to take some final belly shots of us. After he took them, he left the camera on the counter.</div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S1taxYo_BmI/AAAAAAAAAJA/cmIFGJNScuQ/s1600-h/100_9978.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><br />
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</div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S1taxYo_BmI/AAAAAAAAAJA/cmIFGJNScuQ/s1600-h/100_9978.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430033580199708258" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S1taxYo_BmI/AAAAAAAAAJA/cmIFGJNScuQ/s400/100_9978.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a>So after a very speedy ride home and equally fast trip back, I wandered in to registration with my hospital bag and two pillows. Pierce parked and met me several minutes later. After completing the paperwork, we took the elevator to Labor and Delivery and found our nurse, Stacey. She showed us to an awesome suite that seemed to be able to fit an army. I would later understand that it takes an army to bring a child into this world. I put on my oh-so-glamorous hospital gown and hopped up on the bed. I gazed over at the baby warmer that looked oddly like the fry warmer at Wendy's and thought "OMG, my baby will be right there some time today." It was all too surreal. Stacey hooked up my IV and connected a fetal monitor and another monitor to follow my contractions. I also had a blood pressure cuff that routinely checked me every, I think, ten minutes. Needless to say, I had stuff hanging off of me everywhere, and it was an enormous challenge when I had to pee, which was often. Stacey checked my cervix, and I was still only a fingertip dilated, as I had been two weeks earlier at my OB appointment. Great. This is going to be a long day, and I am already hungry. Sigh.....</div><div><br />
</div><div>Stacey started the pitocin, and I was mesmerized by the two monitors. I watched the peaks and valleys of my contractions and kept an eye on my son's heart rate. At one point his heartbeat wasn't being detected consistently, and when it did register it was in the 80's. Stacey said that the monitor wasn't picking him up properly, and I shouldn't panic. All I knew was that I had spent $49.00 a month on a doppler at home, and I knew what his heartbeat should sound like. Something was not right. After only a half an hour of pitocin, the drip was turned off because our little guy was not tolerating the contractions. At this point I could see the writing on the wall...one must endure contractions to give birth unless they have a c-section. I began to mentally prepare for something I truly did not want to go through.<br />
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I was given oxygen, and my OB stopped in to check on me. The pitocin drip was restarted, and she asked if I was OK with a possible c-section. Well, yeah, he has to get out somehow. I can be brave. She said she would be back at noon to check on me and, possibly, break my water. Little one seemed to tolerate the pitocin better going forward. I was feeling miserable and being subjected to a game of being rolled from side to side to keep his heart rate up. After my third trip to the bathroom and feeling like I must be the world's biggest wimp for complaining, I surrendered to my greatest fear: THE EPIDURAL. According to Pierce's notes, the epi was administered at 9:20. I was in so much pain already but kept waiting for the painful and scary part. It never came. Instead I felt warm and fuzzy and fabulous! I rested comfortably for awhile, and the next thing I knew another nurse was injecting medicine in to my IV line and the oxygen mask was back. It turns out that this time the mask was for me. My crazy high BP had crashed to 75/45. I learned later that this led them to believe I was bleeding out.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S2tSt9eCauI/AAAAAAAAAJk/VYDQLtY1V5E/s1600-h/100_9989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S2tSt9eCauI/AAAAAAAAAJk/VYDQLtY1V5E/s320/100_9989.JPG" /></a></div>What happened next was beyond crazy. Once I was stable, Stacey decided to check my cervix again to see if we were beyond 1 cm., and OMG we were! She left to get another nurse to double check because she didn't think it was possible: My cervix was gone, and it was time to push. Barbara, who had been my nurse for my egg retrieval back in May, entered the room, checked me, and announced, "Oh, yeah, I can feel an ear". It was only 10:30. I was told NOT TO PUSH as everyone started frantically trying to contact my OB to no avail. Stacey and Barbara spent the next hour and a half distracting me by talking about egg/embryo donors, among other topics. At one point they asked Pierce if he wanted to see Baby Sunshine's head, and he was all game. Seriously, y'all can see his head, and all I can do is lay here and hope I don't accidentally shoot him out of my completely numb girly parts?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S2tSRkJ_HrI/AAAAAAAAAJc/XCBvVyviA6Q/s1600-h/101_0008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S2tSRkJ_HrI/AAAAAAAAAJc/XCBvVyviA6Q/s320/101_0008.JPG" /></a></div>True to her word, my OB returned at noon. She was shocked at my progress and prepared to deliver my patient baby. After three little pushes that I barely even felt, Miller Christian came into the world. When I heard his cry, I teared up and really wondered if it was a dream. All the positive tests and ultrasounds and carrying him and feeling his kicks and hiccups and listening to his heart beat every single day were not enough to convince me up to that point that I would actually give birth to a beautiful little person. Our beautiful little IVF miracle. I challenge anyone who questions whether or not God exists to experience the birth of their very own Sunshine. I am sure our infertility made his birth that much sweeter and nothing short of miraculous, and I know that I will never take his life for granted. Welcome to the world, Sweet Boy!<br />
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</div></div>Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-50934330896581809982010-01-18T17:09:00.002-06:002010-01-18T17:21:00.571-06:00Happy One Week Birthday!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S1Tqgf_dTNI/AAAAAAAAAIw/pY7JPM9K4qk/s1600-h/101_0044.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/S1Tqgf_dTNI/AAAAAAAAAIw/pY7JPM9K4qk/s400/101_0044.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428221294952664274" /></a>I hope to have a complete birth story in the next day or so. I am so crazy tired, and I want to make sure I do it right. It may not be possible to capture the sheer joy and exhilaration I have felt since I met this gentle, precious one in the outside world, but I must try because he deserves the very best. For now here are his stats: Miller Christian was born on January 11 at 12:09 pm...yes, that means no one guessed right, including me. He weighed 6 lbs. 4 oz. and is 18 1/2 inches long. We spent Monday through Thursday afternoon in the hospital and are now getting to know each other at home. He is so amazing!Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-82448277562577927122010-01-10T22:38:00.002-06:002010-01-10T22:46:39.343-06:00The next timeI update the blog, we will be parents! OMG!!! Almost everything is packed and sitting by the door. I had a huge dinner and just stopped chugging water about 45 minutes ago as the anesthesiologist has cut me off. I am so scared and nervous and excited all at once. I know I won't sleep tonight, and that may become a problem if labor is long and difficult. Pierce has been talking to Miller for about a week now, asking him to drop (which he has) and gain a little more weight. I can't wait to meet him, and just the thought that tomorrow, at this very time, I could likely be holding him in my arms, makes my heart beat faster and the tears start rolling down my face. Life will never be the same again....Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-6046000492554834642009-12-30T12:34:00.003-06:002009-12-30T12:52:45.060-06:00Eviction Notice....We have received Miller's eviction notice. If he does not decide to come out on his own (and why would he?), we are being induced on January 11 at 5:00am! I was trying to avoid this date as I know several people with the same birthday, but in the end, they are all wonderful friends and will be honored to have him share their birthday. I wasn't completely sold on the date until I wrote it down...01/11/10. How cool is that?!?! Numbers don't usually get me excited, but how often can you say the date forward or backward and have it be the same? Love it!<div><br /></div><div>Mom and Grams are flying in on the 7th and staying through the 16th. I know this will be wonderful and stressful all at once, but I really was having trouble with the idea of having our baby without my mom around. I think the worst part was the fact that I know most of our friends will receive pictures via modern technology within hours of his birth, and my poor mom would have to wait for us to get something printed and mailed to her or find a neighbor with internet access. The whole idea was making me sad. I am also glad that she will get to see me really big and maybe feel him move. She saw me at 19 weeks, and I was just starting to get a little belly. It was probably a month later before I felt movement, so she hasn't experienced any of this with me at all. It will be good...as long as I don't kill her. And I am only half kidding.</div><div><br /></div><div>So now we have an official deadline to work toward. Pierce is putting in the car seat today, and I am continuing to organize the nursery. Yesterday I felt horrible all day and didn't accomplish anything. Today, or at least at this minute, I feel good, so I need to seize the moment!</div>Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-63370839247572293422009-12-27T06:56:00.004-06:002009-12-27T11:11:31.951-06:00Good Enough<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/SzeUnQs50SI/AAAAAAAAAIo/zUf8Ycgf9Bg/s1600-h/img037.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/SzeUnQs50SI/AAAAAAAAAIo/zUf8Ycgf9Bg/s320/img037.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419964078782796066" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Baby Sunshine - 33 weeks<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><br />As usual here I am playing catch up and wondering why it is so difficult for me to stay current in documenting the most amazing, life-changing phase of my life. True, I have been ridiculously tired. Who knew that a five and a half pound uterine squatter could make my daily life feel like I am carrying a load of bricks in a backpack? Or that twenty-five overall pounds would result in fluid-filled cankles, toes that Pierce lovingly describes as sausages and an overall inability to find comfort in anything but Uggs? But truthfully, these have been my only real issues. My normal response to all who have asked has been, "I feel really good. No complaints," and I sincerely mean it. <div><br /></div><div>We have had three beautiful and incredibly generous showers. All of which deserved their own blog entries before now; however, have you seen them? Incredibly I have only just finished my thank-yous from said showers due to my other random, not previously mentioned pregnancy symptom, carpal tunnel. I don't know how many cute little jungle fold-over notes were wasted when my handwriting went askew, and I refused to mail them as is. I know that most recipients probably would not have given them a second glance, but I was mortified. They were not good enough.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our son's room is nearly complete, but I am not ready to post pictures just yet. I am always finding something to change. Just one question, is it really important to anchor the furniture to the walls? How likely is it that he going to make it topple over if it took two grown men to haul this stuff into our house? OK that's 2 questions, but feel free to comment. I need to know what I am missing regarding our little guy's superhuman strength. </div><div><br /></div><div>So when we found out that Baby Sunshine has a penis, my relationship with Pottery Barn Kids and the "G is for Giraffe" pattern fell by the wayside. Our first instinct was to give our little one a timeless Classic Pooh, not to be confused with the over-commercialized Disney Pooh, nursery. After a week or so of scoping out the looming plethora of Pooh-adorned bumper pads and comforters (mind you both of these items are not even safe to be used in cribs), I chucked the Pooh idea in search of something less cliche. Not willing to give up on previous giraffe concept I was thrilled to find the most adorable pattern and color palate from Cocalo. We set our sights on creating a room that would soothe our little one yet conjure up lyrics to the infamous Guns and Roses tune, yes...wait for it..."Welcome to the Jungle." </div><div><br /></div><div>As previously mentioned it is almost done. There is a positioning of wall letters issue to contend with, but then, I promise, it will be ready. Ready for who? Despite all of my neuroses I recognize that our little bundle could give a hoot what his room looks like. As long as he is warm, fed and dry he will be a content little man. When he is born the only way he will know if it is Mommy or Daddy holding him is from our voices and smells. He will not care, much less be able to read, if his name is hanging horizontally, vertically or upside down. Clearly I can delude myself into believing that it is for him, and nothing's too good for my little boy. But in reality, it is for us to enjoy and show our visitors as some kind of unwritten parenting scorecard. Today, at 36 weeks, it is still not good enough.</div><div><br /></div><div>Who decides what is good enough? Is it a deep internal nagging that sounds an awful lot like my mother when she disapproved of my first far-too-tight pair of Calvins in the seventh grade? Is it my friends and coworkers or the customers that I work so tirelessly to please every day in the this fragile balance to establish my own self-worth? I would like to say that I don't care about the opinions of others, but that statement deserves the inevitable eye roll that comes with working in the fashion industry. Of course I care what others think. Otherwise, why would I be so terrified for the rest of the world to learn that our son has Down syndrome. I am past the point where I feel like I have done something wrong, something that caused him to have this difference, but now I live in a place where I want him to be accepted as if the difference did not exist. I want to protect him, and I want to protect myself and Pierce from the criticisms and whisperings of the judgmental ones. I want the perceived difference to disappear. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/SzeUNGIxVYI/AAAAAAAAAIg/TTlyYas6Jto/s1600-h/PICT0008.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/SzeUNGIxVYI/AAAAAAAAAIg/TTlyYas6Jto/s320/PICT0008.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419963629270291842" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div>When we had our amnio in August and found out about the Down syndrome, one of my dear bloggy friends suggested I read <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">Expecting Adam</span> by Martha Beck. I bought the book the same day but did not read it until about a month ago. I have never felt such a connection to a character in all of my life. The book is a national bestseller, so I suspect it appeals to many on a completely different level, as I am quite certain that one does not achieve best seller status by marketing to the 7 percent of the population with T21 children. If you do not know the story, it is about a young couple who are studying at Harvard when they learn that they are pregnant with a child with Down syndrome. The book is a journey of courage and acceptance in a cruel world where not one doctor could understand why Martha would not terminate her pregnancy. Clearly the Harvard elite could not accept a member of their community who was not "good enough". In the end Martha showed her disdain by purchasing Adam his coming home outfit at the Harvard bookstore, a newborn sweatsuit with the Harvard crest on the shirt. She went through Hell to make sure that that baby made it to this world safely and faced all of the same fears that have been instilled in me since that fateful day in August. Martha is my hero, and our "Adam" will be arriving very soon.</div><div><br /></div><div>I find it ironic that the university I attended was nicknamed "Little Harvard of the Midwest", and I often wonder what the views of the elders there would be of my pregnancy. It's almost as if it is expected that these special children be born to the less educated or those without the capacity to make the "right" decision. I recently read a blurb on About.com in which Robin Elise Weiss questioned why the percentage of births of children with Down syndrome was on the rise despite all of the testing options available to women now. My blood was boiling by the time I had finished reading this insensitive editorial. I could not believe that a doula would have the nerve to put something so controversial out there, so caveman like, words so completely clueless spewing forth from an intelligent human being. I considered commenting but took the time to read the four earlier comments and decided that those four women were my soul sisters and sent them a virtual kiss for reading my mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>This may seem like an awkward transition, but I promise you I have a point if you stick with me, that is if I haven't lost you already, so high up on my soap box this morning such that I am. I have known our son's name for nearly five years now but have not gone public here for whatever reason...I can't say I truly have one. I have enjoyed the nickname Baby Sunshine for so long that it didn't seem necessary to give him a formal name just yet. However, here it is...<i>drumroll please</i>...his name is Miller Christian. Anyone who knows me in IRL knows that Miller is my maiden name. I spent months trying to decide if it worked as a first name and finally decided that it most certainly did. Shortly after making this decision I watched Matthew Mc Connaughey on Conan O'Brien reveal to the world that his new nephew's name was Miller Lyte. I have lived with the beer reference my entire life, so I was not surprised. But REALLY? In October I had the pleasure of having lunch with a very well known fashion designer whose last name also happens to be Miller. I laughed out loud when she asked me what we were naming the baby. When I told her, her response was, "Well, you know that is Stella Mc Cartney's sons name". So, unknowingly, I have joined the ranks of celebrities who give their kids crazy names like Dweezil and Fifi-Trixibelle. In doing so, do we move up the ranks of what is good enough? I would think so if the barometer for measuring "good enough" is public opinion. And does that opinion change when the public learns that Miller has Down syndrome? </div><div><br /></div><div>And then there is the question of my grandfather. My grandfather, who gave us all the Miller name, a second generation German immigrant and, as he reminded us every chance he had, valedictorian of his class. A self-made, Phoenix-rising from the ashes man (How far was it he said he walked to school in the snow, uphill, with no shoes?) with a very low tolerance for inadequacy. So low a tolerance in fact that he used to correct others' grammar outwardly as they chatted over playing cards, and his middle son, my uncle became the black sheep of the family by choosing the military over a college education. So what would this larger than life Miller think of our little Miller, with his yet to be seen challenges, carrying on the family name? Would he be able to embrace the beauty of this little one or would he look at me with pity and wonder why I chose to make a mockery of his family's name in this way? Fortunately I will never know, until perhaps one day when we meet again before God. Only then will I have the chance to ask him and I doubt that I will care, "Grandpa, are you proud of my life? Did I do good enough?"</div><div><br /></div><div>As I sit here at the computer, the lists of things still yet to be done rush through my head. I keep an ongoing shopping list of last minute items, throw more toiletries in a giant Ziploc for the hospital, and wonder what's on the mind of the little person who alternates between pushing on my bladder and rolling over and making a wave in my stretched belly. It is the opinion of our Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor that our son should be delivered some time next week. I stopped working last week after my blood pressure reached an all time high, and the fear of pre-eclampsia is on the rise. I know that we will be ready. I know that we may not know what the heck we are doing, but most of all I know that we will love him more than anything. And I know that will be good enough.</div>Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5745399739660998385.post-60001540254238738882009-11-13T18:23:00.009-06:002009-11-13T18:43:36.632-06:00Happy Anniversary...November 3, 2007<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/Sv38c21rb2I/AAAAAAAAAG0/8cQjmB9gD3A/s1600-h/am0091_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/Sv38c21rb2I/AAAAAAAAAG0/8cQjmB9gD3A/s400/am0091_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403752700601659234" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; ">Yes, I am 10 days late....but I can't believe it's been 2 years. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday, but a year and half of infertility can feel like a lifetime. Regardless, there is no one else I would have rather taken this crazy ride with. Here's to my wonderful husband and soon to be terrific father. I love you more than you will ever know.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/Sv37dfdGM-I/AAAAAAAAAGc/B2RLoxlc3ME/s1600-h/100_9718.JPG"><br /></a></span></span></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/Sv38MfY5NgI/AAAAAAAAAGs/YRIlag1IdEM/s1600-h/100_9718.JPG"><br /><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjPxhfWYPtE/Sv38MfY5NgI/AAAAAAAAAGs/YRIlag1IdEM/s400/100_9718.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403752419429004802" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><div><br /></div></div>Sunshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05732772329504071598noreply@blogger.com1