Not sure

Not me, but captures the general feeling. Oh and if  you do not
know who this is, you are too young to read my blog

I have been thinking a lot today about this blog; what it is that I want to do with it. I am so terribly confused most of the time. Not like confused due to Dementia or any deteriorating mental health condition; I am just not
one of those women who has anything in her life figured out. To top that off, I am very not feeling very happy in my marriage. Sometimes, the anger I feel toward him, creeps up and I want to puke all over him, but instead
is comes out in the form of ignoring him; tuning him out and when his annoying voice become too much to annoy, I am short with him.

This pales in comparison to the treatment I get from him on a regular basis. I have written about it before - the yelling! If I dare to be short with him, I get hit upside the head with so much anger, it is like a much like a dog in fight with a wolf, there is no match, so the dog just whimpers. Why is that an issue for a mommy blog? Well, because he just plain does not care if he is yelling at me in FRONT of our child!

I know from everything I have read that children need to feel loved, secure, safe and to feel as though they have opportunities to explore and try new things. Many parents worry if yelling at children can hurt them - but how often do they stop and think about the way in which yelling at your partner in front of your child affects them.

From an adult perspective if someone has a loud argument in front of me then it does not make me feel any less loved, but it makes me feel like I am not secure or safe. I believe children are intuitive little humans and can feel their parents' anger and it can make children fearful. If parents shout at each other, young children may not understand that they are safe and it can be terrifying, especially if one of the parents is the constant aggressor and the other parent (me) gets upset so the children no longer feel safe in the care of the people they trust to look after them. A deeper look might reveal if parents often criticize each other in front of the child it can endanger the child's security and damage their confidence in themselves - because each parent is part of them as well. Regardless, if a family member is yelling at the other parent, children may not learn to be good listeners and or give others a chance to talk.

Break it down to the individual children - children differ in their ability to cope with noise and shouting. I have a friend whose daughter covers her ears when there is loud noise or conversation around her. I have another friend whose overly aggressive toddler spent his childhood watching his mom get yelled at all of the time. I have seen some children seem not to notice it very much; others will wince when they hear loud voices and are obviously upset by them. These children can be made fearful if there is a lot of yelling. When we fight our son a normally boisterous child becomes withdrawn and quiet. This does not stop my husband, who has a natural tendency to not think about other people, or their time; or time in general; unless someone is infringing on HIS time.

It is this behavior of his that turns me off, I am repulsed by his touch, not because I am not attracted physically to him - but his constant nagging, critisism and self centeredness is like a sex repelant. My happiest moments are when he walks out the door and I am not with him.

Cannot really talk about my miscarriage...Going dark for a bit

I do not want to talk, I am shutting the shades on my the window to my mind for a bit...

Oh yeah - I also went back to work...

So where did I leave off?

...I left off at the last nightmare, going in for a follow up ultrasound on the 21st. I was nervous, paranoid that all of my pregnancy symptoms had left me. My breasts, once sore and tender with darker nipples, were not sore and nipples were pink again. I know my body, I knew I was not pregnant, but ever the opti-pessimist, I attempted to suppress the reality.

I went in for the appointment. They had moved to a new location, I remember thinking about how nice the new office is, then I went into the much larger ultrasound room.  I had an vaginal ultrasound. The tech, an woman in her late 50s, was kind. She took some measurements of my ovaries, the wait was driving me nuts, I did not care about my fucking ovaries - what of my pregnancy. Then she went to look for the baby, ahh, found it. She took some measurements, ever the concerned look on her face. She turned on the microphone. There was a dead, hollow sound that filled the room, she did not let it stay on for long, shook her head and ended the ultrasound. I can still hear that sound, the sound of the absence of sound.  She told nicely to get dressed, she was going to get my midwife.

I waited, I knew. I called my husband, told him there was not good news. He told me now was the time to freak out, be upset, now that we have scientific evidence that something was wrong. I gather he did not trust my womanly intuition. My midwife came in, knew I had been crying, put her hand on my shoulder and said she was sorry. I asked her to speak to my husband, she took the phone, told us that there was still no heartbeat, and just as concerning, the fetus did not grow from the previous week. We guess the baby died two weeks ago at 6 1/2 weeks. That my LMP date was probably correct. Regardless, the diagnosis was a missed miscarriage...

My options were to either wait, go in for a D&C or take Misoprostol to induce the "abortion" of the dead fetus. We opted for the drug, a D & C is too invasive (again) and waiting is not the best option when your interviewing for jobs and chasing a toddler around. Neat and tidy decision, she handed the phone back to me. I told my husband I would call him later.

I am filled with sadness, need a hug. I almost cannot process this. when my husband comes home and drones on about his day, with little acknowledgment of OUR loss. I want to throw something at his head. I hold it in. My agner at his indifference with come out some other way. I need to hold it together, I have a job interview tomorrow. Weekend plans: to have a miscarriage.

So my next post with be about my Misoprostol miscarriage.

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Reality sets in...

So last Wednesday, I had an ultrasound. I should have been 7 1/2 weeks along according to my last menstrual period (LMP). According to the ultrasound, I measured at 6 1/2. In and of itself, not a big deal, except combined with the fact that the tech was unable to find a heartbeat. I waiting for the radiologist. She came in and told me that it could just be that the baby is not far enough along to get a heartbeat. She felt it was best for me to come in for a follow up ultrasound a week later.  My heart was breaking inside. I am fairly in tune with my body, I knew that despite no cramping or bleeding something was wrong. My breasts had been tender and the nipples had turned dark. I noticed that they did not seem as tender and the nipples were getting lighter. My husband did not seem to want to talk about it until the follow up ultrasound. I really did not have anyone to share things with (still do not).

I carried on for a dreadfully slow week. Despite the midwife's orders not to do anything stress, my husband did nothing but unload stress upon me, not giving any room for my hormonal mistakes, or emotional responses. His needs were higher than mine and he needed to make sure I knew it (again, not talking about my child). The weekend before my follow up ultrasound was terrible, despite attempts to create a stress free environment, enjoy time with my toddler, my husband decided it was the weekend to call me out on my mistakes and beat them all to death in repetitive conversation.  I am having a hard time forgiving him for that. lucky for him, I love him.


The weekend is over, I know something is wrong, I try talking about it, but my husband tells me to be optimistic. He does not want to have the conversation until we know something.

Busy week, visited a couple daycares. I want to write a post about childcare, it feels like the hardest decision I have to make. I have a second job interview on Thursday (tomorrow). 

Finally Wednesday has arrived. My mom picks me up and we head to my appointment...

I will have to finish my post in a later post, getting to painful to write and my son is waking up from his nap.

All I (me, myself and I) need is love...

Scared...bad news..need hug. I need someone to tell me they are sorry this is happening to me. Scary news...no news. No moving forward, just waiting...no hugs, no love. Sadness.

Help Wanted: Tired Mom needs SLEEP!

It is true, so exhausted, I want to throw up, it is days like this if I had a job I would call in sick, still bring my child to daycare and crawl back into bed and stay there as long as possible. I went to sleep around 2:30am, only to be woken up by a screaming toddler, clearly having a nightmare, around 5am, calmly I went in to sing him back to lala land, stumbling back to my bed, waking up to the alarm clock (for my husband) at 6am.

My husband, who would prefer to oversleep, needed me to nag him to awake, then make coffee, since he slept 1/2 past the alarm clock. I wake up, dutifully make him coffee and lunch, then attempt to snooze on the couch. At that time, my husband, having to go up our creaky steps to get his work clothes, accidently wakes up our son, placed him next to me on the couch. I get up, get him some milk, as I watch him greedily suck it down, I begin the slow process of realizing that my day has begun, like it, or NOT!

I succumb to the coffee, let it in, and still nothing...little brain activity. Sleep will be the only thing to bring that back, sweet blissful sleep, only 4 hours to naptime...

I am stuck...

Okay, so what is a few months missing on a blog anyways - no one but my faithful friend "Makishka" reads me anyways. Maybe Mom, but that is it. Also, I have not really told anyone about my blog...crazy cyberstalkers freak me out.

The truth is, I am stuck. I cannot really move forward without coping with the loss of my 2nd pregnancy. I think about it - alot! Tonight I wll break down the different stages of grief, as it relates to this loss:

• Denial. I sort of skipped this one, I never denied it, when the doctor told me that my baby was incompatable with life, I believed it. When I sought a second opinion and heard the same thing, I believed it. At no point did I allow myself to gain hope in believing anything else.
• Anger. I was angry - I was mad at my partner for making me hunt mice with him all night long on Christmas, when we had some weird infestation of them. All, I could do in my mind was blame him for exposing me to mice dropping (not proven to be linked to Alobar Holoprosencephaly, but anger is rarely rational). I fel the did not care, becuase he never wanted to talk about it.
• Guilt. This was plentiful (I was raised Catholic). I felt there was so much I could have done different. I could have relaxed, taken my prenatal vitamins BEFORE concieving, etc.

• Depression. YES! YES! YES! I was very depressed. My pain made me feel such inadequacy and self-pity, that I hated me. I tried to take pleasure in spending time with my son, husband, whomever, but I really did not enjoy company. I clung to my son like he would disppear, I pushed my husband away (I blamed him). I was too depressed to get myself to go to the funeral service offered by the hospital for early pregnany loss.

Now, I move toward, the final stage:





Utrasound picture of our second child. Features of Alobar Holoprosencephaly were very pronounced.


• Acceptance. I am not there yet, I still have some residual anger and anxiety. I am certian, that I will accept it eventaully, but for now I am not there. I still want to look over the pictures from the utrasound again, I am still grieving, but moving closer to acceptance.

Now, I am pregnant again. I cannot really allow myself to think about it too much. I want to be excited, but then anxiety kicks in, All I can do is sit there and wait. Hope that nothing is wrong, not getting too attached, not even allowing myself the flicker of a fantasy that all is well. I hope it is, but I know all to well now not to make any plans.





Rededication

Consider this post a formal resolution that I am going to rededicate myself to blogging.  Really, the voices in my head are commanding me to to share with you all the random thoughts and useless information inside me.

The voices tell me to talk about my abnormally large breasts. Yes, that is what inspires me today. I found my stash of Palmers nipple cream, nursing pads and various other tools to assist me in nourishing my child. As I was organizing, I had a decision to make - toss it, donate it, or keep it. See, my breasts let me down, or my biology did. I failed miserably at breastfeeding. Before giving birth, I was an avid potential breastfeeder. I read everything - The Womaly Art of Breastfeeding, The Breastfeeding Book, and Breastfeeding Made Simple. The ultimate bonding experience! I was going to do this!

But then...

My labor and delivery was EASY! Granted, I was induced and had an epidural, but thing went fairly smoothly. I pushed for an hour and half...my husband and I marveled our 8 pound, 22 inches long little Oucha Bucha (nickname). I heard the midwife tell my husband our sum scored a 9 on his initial APGAR, then 8 five minutes later (great). A few minutes after the cord was cut, the midwife and nurse started working furiously to work out the rest of my placenta, they seemed to hurry to a worried pace - not panic, but close. I felt warm, gooey stiff ooze out of me. I apologized because, I thought I peed. The midwife smiled and said, that I was bleeding alot.

They ushered my husband out of the room, then brought out son to the nursery. I remember telling him to get me a Subway sandwich before the shop closed. He said, he would and was going to head home to pick up a few things I had forgotten.

I was still oblivious that something was wrong. The midwife gave me a shot of this god-awful stuff to stop the bleeding.  I cannot even get myself to write what this drug made my body do...a few hour later, I felt like I had been hit by a train. They almost gave me a blood transfusion because I had lost over a pint of blood.  Bedraggled and crazy looking they brought me to my hospital room. My stuff was there and a Subway sandwich was on the nightstand.  It was nearly midnight.

Naturally, minutes later, they brought my baby to me. Great, here is the moment - I was going to nourish my offspring. He latched beautifully, the nurse smiled and said that I had great nipples - they were meant for this! He drank for nearly 15 minutes, then switched to the other breast. He soon fell back to sleep, this routine carried on every two hours.

We brought him home, he seemed hungry and fussy all of the time. He lost a great deal of weight, turned yellow from jaundice. They has a bilibed delivered to our house because his bilirubin counts were high, he was not thriving. The doctor told me to pump, I did - producing a measly ounce of milk from both breasts. I called his pediatrician, she scheduled an appointment with the lactation consultant.  In the meantime, I supplemented, mixing what little breastmilk I had with formula. Oucha Bucha drank with a vengeance. His bilirubin numbers slowly declined, we returned the bilibed.

We spent the week working with the lactation consultant, she was puzzled as to my lack of breastmilk, despite his good latching and my "great" nipples. I took fenugreek like a madwoman, still nothing. A little over a week after giving birth, I was rushed to the hospital with a fever of 107.  I had retained placenta that caused a nasty infection. It was flushed out my giving me methergine. Great, now my body will realize that I am not pregnant anymore and my milk supply should go up - RIGHT?

No, weeks later, pumping 12 times a day for less than 2 ounces, it wasn't going up. One late night my husband woke to our son screaming, he found me asleep downstairs with the pump in my hand. He quietly prepared a bottle, fed and diapered little man and brought me to bed.

The next day we talked about what to do, both of us felt like we were going crazy. He smiled and told me I was doing a good job, but maybe we should just call my large breasts "false advertising" and move on to formula. Soon, our son was sleeping regularly and by three months, we were feeding him every 4 hours. By six months only twice a night.

Nearly two years later and I still obsess about this. My breast betrayed me. Next time will they, I hope not, that is why I decided to hang on to these lost nursing treasures.