 | Diary Navigation:
|
September 9, 2003
===========================
Pink Always Was My Favourite Colour...
Laying in bed Sunday morning for what felt like an entire lifetime, contemplating my very full bladder and that last unused home pregnancy test hidden away in the bathroom cupboard, my mind strained to put it all together, make the symptoms fit -- force them into place like pounding an awkward piece into a jigsaw puzzle. As I tossed and turned, drifting in and out of a stressful sleep, I thought back to the previous few days, and all of the end-of-cycle uncertainty that had come month after month for the past ten months or so. This pathetic desperation at wanting, no, needing! another baby right. this. very. second. had left me with the amazing ability at turning absolutely nothing into the certain signs of a new pregnancy, while deep down inside trusting the truth my body was really telling me, knowing but not wanting to understand the emptiness within. This year started off with the exciting promise of a new child to arrive in the fall, and after only a week of pure bliss and mad happiness, I was crushed to discover I was miscarrying. Paul and I dove into a box of Kleenex, and used all of the spiritual and scientific tools within our means to grasp at the truth of this heartbreaking event; after eight months of joyful pregnancy announcements from friends, the sorrow of sharing other's losses, and what felt like an unrelentless and heartless barrage of references to it being time to make Summer Lily a big sister, combined with monthly disappointment announcing its arrival into clean underwear despite our most valiant and rabbit-inspired efforts, I was ready to give up, emotionally at least. Summer Lily's second birthday came and went, marked by yet another bloody delivery of no good news, I suddenly remembered back most of a year to the perfect little schedule I had so carefully composed, promising myself at the time I would be pregnant by that second year celebration, I would be. I would be... It seemed fitting to finish with "or else" but logic and even desperate emotion prevented this most irrational reasoning. Or else what? Or else I'd give up -- I'm never having another baby again! no, that just didn't make sense. As it turned out, I finally gave in, gave up, handed Paul our digital thermometer and told him he just had to wake me up before he left for work, to take my temperature for me, after our previous attempts had halted after finally remembering to place the thermometer at the bedside. I had already abandoned out of self-preservation, my meticulous turned obsessive recording of cycle dates, love-making sessions and any obvious signs of fertility.
Despite my forced dedication to a carefree and relaxed attitude toward our baby-making goal, when I found myself falling asleep at the dinner table in what I suspected must be just after the half-way point of my cycle, what surely must have been mere days after ovulation when signs of conception usually start rearing their exhausting but exhilarating head, I couldn't force back down those stirring feelings of hope and... well, just beautiful, promising, inspiring hope. Two days later I woke, body full of aches and creepy-crawly sore skin and a high fever, and I laughed at myself for mistaking the building start of influenza and a fighting immune system for the signs raging hormones working to support my body building the start of new life. Soon enough my flu was gone and I was left with a temperature spike on this, my first attempt at charting, and a strangely peaceful acceptance at waiting for my next period, expected in the middle of our upcoming vacation.
Still carrying this acceptance we packed our clothes, cameras, toys, diapers, and I proudly remembered to toss my Keeper and a few liners into my bag before heading out the door to join my parents on a heavenly visit to my great aunt's beautiful old brick house situated beside a river bank, with an inspiring garden straight out of childhood memories and garden journal sketches. Distraction of being with close family made it easy to accept ordinary levels of fatigue due to being a mama to an energetic two year old and sleeping in a strange bed; small stomach upsets as a result of indulging in too much normally outlawed dairy; fuller breasts because Summer Lily had been too busy chasing peacocks and hyper ventilating into picturesque flowers to remember to nurse (and anyway, last pregnancy started out with a surprising drop in my milk supply); I didn't pretend, and I didn't imagine, and I didn't fantasize, I just accepted things as they were, and what peace there was. So peaceful, in fact, that I barely noticed that I was now past my average cycle length, but still within the normal variation.
Before we were truly ready, it was time to move on, home for a day and then off to Paul's parents' house for a short stint out of obligation. While visiting, it felt as if I spent the majority of the day napping; in truth, it was just a brief nap in the afternoon and an extra hour or two in the morning, and I blamed it all on the sluggish weather, poor diet, and being caught up in the vicious circle of more sleep leading to needing more sleep with not having had coffee in nearly a week to keep pushing me forward. Then, the queasiness. First, just a hint, barely noticeable, then it grew and grew, not to an incapacitating level, just enough to be present, be there, and make me uncomfortable. My vegan diet had suffered greatly at the expense of being a house guest, cheese products abounding and so very available; dairy at least three times a day after well over a year and a half of rare dairy consumption must have just been too much for my digestive system to handle. Stomach and intestines protesting, still I stuffed myself full of cheese, o! sinful(ly tasty) cheese; I couldn't resist, desire spoke louder than morals. By Saturday Paul and I were speaking openly about the possibility of a pregnancy when in private, I was still unconvinced it was probable, but Paul still suggested a pregnancy test the next morning, when we would be back at home. Reminding him that there had been cycles longer than this one thus far, he reminded me a cheese, relish, and mayo sandwich would not normally be something "I just thought sounded like something I had to eat"; we agreed we could wait longer still for the test. Because I was positive I wasn't pregnant. I was nauseous. I was hungry. I was tired, and cranky, and was making frequent trips to the bathroom. I felt fat and hideous but I most certainly did not feel pregnant.
While still visiting Paul's family, I couldn't resist finding out what Summer Lily's reaction would be to the idea of mama someday having a new baby. Sitting on the lawn in the comfortable shade of nearby trees, I leaned in close to my sweet girl and asked if she thought mama should have a new baby and she enthusiastically agreed "yeah!". So, would it be a good idea for mama to have a new baby -- would you like to be a big sister?! "YeeaaAAHH!", increasing enthusiasm. Smiling, what do you think we should name the new baby; pausing thoughtfully for a moment, tapping her finger across her slightly pursed lips, then bursting forth with the suggestion of "Hizzy Hizzy!". Hizzy Hizzy, I laugh! But that's your name, Summer Lily, if we give the baby your name (poking her just to tickle, in the tummy) what will we call you? "Haaaaaboo." Why, of course, of course darling, of course.
So, reviewing all of this (giving a little extra weight to that disgusting sandwich I craved so badly), and needing an answer to save me from this uncertain limbo of disbelief I was living in; not wanting to believe I was pregnant and to be faced with disappointment yet again, but not truly ready to ignore the possible signs that taunted and teased the one thing I'd been craving for so long, I dragged my queasy, tired bottom out of bed and headed for the loo. Rubbed the sleep out of my eyes (oooh, I feel cruddy); peering bleakly into the mirror (no glow this morning); shuffling around boxes of bandaids and lotions and creams (where is that darned test, I know it's in here). Carefully reading the instructions, might as well do this right if I'm going to do it (damn, that is a small font.. blurry too. Does pregnancy effect eyesight? No, I don't think so...). By now my bladder is just begging to burst and I'm a bundle of nerves; suddenly I'm not so sure I want to do this, if I'm ready for the answer, but I wasn't about to waste that precious first morning urine, so... I went. I watched the test strip dampen, urine slowly moving up towards the result window via capillary action, and suddenly I need some distraction (what does it matter, I so rarely get correct urine tests for pregnancy when I really am...). Again carefully noting that two pink lines means pregnant, I cover the test with the instruction pamphlet, knowing I can't trust my eyes not to look until it was time. (let's go double pink! let's go!) I launch into a vigorous teeth-brushing session, wondering if I'm just playing games with myself again or did I really just gag on my toothbrush? (mmm, that's some fine minty toothpaste!) I won't look yet... won't look... wash my face, scrubbing it clean, listening to the sound of Paul and Summer Lily playing outside... oh, Summer Lily! What was I thinking? (I needed to be pregnant again!) What were we thinking? (how I craved another homebirth!) We already had a baby (and what a great big sister she'd be!), what kind of rationale had made it seem OK -- no, not even OK, great! -- to have another baby. I can't do it (oooh, I want a baby!), I need to know, I toss the instructions aside and glance down at the test, sitting there on the window sill. I can't decide if I should laugh or cry or smile or scream or what to do other than stand there, just staring (crap, what have I done?). I quickly wrap the little plastic test up in the instructions, and head to the door to call for Summer Lily, I'm awake darling, come and see me! (oh, you are still so very much my little baby...) She comes over for a big hug and I hand her the small package and whisper for her to give it to dad. He's sitting at the top of the slide on the playground my parents built for her second birthday, and she drops my present. Paul looks confused and I ask SL to pick it up and give it to dad... he still looks slightly confused, then I mutters something about French and English, flips the paper around, studies the test, looks at the paper. His face is full of joy and I can't contain my smile any longer; he zooms down the slide, and I move out of the doorway and we meet on the porch in a big embrace. We're having a baby! we both exclaim, quietly, because there was no need for being loud.
Yes, pink always was my favourite colour, and this morning, two pink lines were much better than one.
Yes, I'm having a new baby.
Yes, I'm pregnant.
I am pregnant.
Emotionally, I'm almost completely neutral -- or perhaps just contained. I'm thrilled to bits to finally have a wee one on its way, but not really feeling much of the unbridled excitement I had anticipated. However, I am not concerned about this lack of total and encompassing excitement (just writing about this makes me feel fluttery and full of uncontrollable smiles) since I know it's very much cautionary; self-preservation in the event my 3/4-day queasiness passes and again Paul and I are faced with heartbreak, armed with Kleenex. It's still so early, and I'm familiar with the statistics, I just need another two weeks or so and then I'll permit myself to commit all of my attachment I can muster. Yeah, two weeks, that sounds safe... not a guarantee of any type, I fully realize, but it makes a difference to me. I had originally planned to wrap myself around my exciting news, keeping it safe and guarded much like the babe within, until I could announce with the utmost confidence there wouldn't be sad news later (does this point ever truly arrive? no, I suppose not.). But, I changed my mind. Why, other than needing an outlet, I think I need the validation that this will provide to myself. It's been three days now, and this is the first I've put into words; I really think I'm reluctant to celebrate too much.
As for the excited, happy, enthusiastic side of things, I'm looking forward to Summer Lily being a big sister. I am sure we will have our share of sibling rivalry issues, but she's so tender, and sweet, and caring, and considerate, I think we'll do just fine. And, then there's tandem nursing! I've always hoped to be able to someday tandem nurse, should child spacing and my children's choice of weaning time allow, and now it looks like this will definitely be a possibility. Summer Lily is one dedicated little nurser, so I can't see her weaning in the next eight or so months, right now. Of course, before nursing starts there has to be birth, and what a wonderful, peaceful homebirth I'm looking forward to; I've already been accepted back into the midwifery practice under the care of one of the midwives who attended Summer Lily's birth.
Physically, I'm OK. An almost constant, mild to moderate queasiness in my stomach that doesn't seem to suppress my appetite (am still madly craving cheese, cheese, cheese) but certainly makes me feel uncomfortable for most of the day. It seems to be with me upon waking, hangs around for most of the day, leaves me in the afternoon, and then re-appears in the evening and retires to bed with me. I didn't ever have serious morning sickness with Summer Lily, not even as bad as this, if I can be trusted to recall those days properly, so I'm hoping this stuff hits the road soon. I'm tired, so frickin' tired; I spend most of the day peeling my eyelids from my eyeballs, where they've stuck to involuntarily, and then by Summer Lily's bedtime I'm wired and ready to finally face the day. As when I was pregnant with Summer Lily, I seem to have already lost all ability to cook; Little Miss Efficient decided yesterday what dinner today would be, and then started it all in a much too small pot (what was I thinking?) and then proceeded to burn the bottom, not ruining our curry any, just giving myself yet another dish to scrub. I'm sick, and I'm tired, and I burn food -- but I couldn't be happier; if my symptoms are sticking around, so's my baby!
I suppose this is more than enough for now; I could spend the until birth (anticipated sometime from mid-April to the end of May) waxing and waning emotional rhetoric, but I think even I'd find that a tad boring. Or at least excessive.
in lovingkindness,
Ashley.
 |  |
|
want to keep a diary on iParenting?
Authoring a diary on the iParenting network allows you to chronicle your family's story, preserving it for years to come. It's also a great way to get the most out of the iParenting community. Click here to start...
|
The iParenting Media Awards program helps parents find the best products for their families. 
