Yep, there's still a baby in there

Friday was my OB appointment and my first ultrasound scan since I was 21 weeks.  This is going to sound weird, but periodically, I would wonder if there was really still a baby in there, even though I felt him moving around.  Maybe it had turned into a cat?  I made a joke about this to Jeeves awhile ago and he said, "Look, I'm going to be honest.  If you gave birth to Abbott, I wouldn't be disappointed."  Yeah, we both still really miss Abbott.  
Anyway, even though my OB's office is pretty good about taking you in quickly for your regular appointments, that is not the case for ultrasounds.  We waited about 40 minutes before we finally got called back, and we were both really nervous.  It wasn't even really about whether it was a cat or a baby in there.  I've mentioned before that I'm in a small private pregnancy group on Facebook with a bunch of other infertiles that I met on a forum when I was doing IF treatment.  Almost all of them are pregnant through IVF.  In the group (approximately 30 women, but only about 20 or so regularly post and comment), there were several sets of twins - three of them have been delivered now (2 due to preterm labor, and 1 due to pre-eclampsia).  One of the singletons was also just born following induction due to pre-eclampsia.  And another woman in the group also has pre-e and she's delivering tonight due to skyrocketing blood pressure.  So, pre-e is definitely on my brain and Jeeves and I get tense every time they take my blood pressure (which has been totally normal from the start).   But aside from the pre-e, I've heard plenty of stories about how there's low fluid at an ultrasound scan, etc., and they send you off to the hospital.  So, yeah, nervous.

In the end, there was nothing to worry about, although I have to take their word for it that it's still a baby in there - things are crowded and you can't really see anything.  Manuji is head down.  My fluid level was fine, and he was measuring well in terms of growth (estimate was 6lbs 2oz).  Then we saw the OB.  I'm in a group practice, so right now I've been cycling through the other doctors to make sure I meet everyone who could be on call the day of delivery.  Friday's doctor, Dr. D, was great - we both liked her a lot.  I felt a little bad for her because we had just had our hospital tour and we had a lot of questions.  But she handled it very well and didn't rush us.  I also had my first vag exam since forever!  She couldn't feel my cervix at all, but said that's normal for the stage I'm at.  Let's hope at some point in the not too distant future Manuji drops down.

So now I'm going in every week, and I'll get an ultrasound each time to check fluid levels and movement.  Hopefully every scan will go as well as this one did.  

On to the shitty news, because this can't just be a nice little post about our OB appointment.  I've noted lately that Dad is very fatigued (probably due to the chemo-induced anemia) and that he seems to have some mental confusion.  It's not like when he was dehydrated where I would ask him a question and he would trail off mid-sentence and struggle to understand simple concepts.  Our conversations are perfectly normal, but he has been mixing up days (it'll be a Thursday, but he'll be so convinced it's Friday that he gets in the car and drives to a doctor's appointment he has on Friday).  There have been a couple of other things too.  My sister freaked out about yesterday and I spent a good chunk of time texting with her about it.  

Anyway, Dad went to his chemo appointment today.  I had wanted to go with him, but physically I just couldn't do it.  To put it in perspective, I went for a one mile walk (roundtrip) with Jeeves on Saturday and I had to lie down for an hour afterwards.  A drive to Jersey followed by the running around I would do out there for Dad would probably wreck me.  So, I talked to Dad a little while ago and his chemo was cancelled - his hemoglobin has dropped even lower.  Tomorrow he's getting a blood transfusion.  I'm glad that his doctor is dealing with the problem appropriately, but I wish I were there.  I know logically I can't, but I still feel shitty about it.  I wish my sister would go with him, but I know that a) Dad wouldn't see the point in that because she's basically clueless on the medical stuff; and b) she wouldn't offer to go anyway.  I texted her to tell her what was going on, and her super compassionate response was that she thinks Dad should stop doing chemo altogether, but that she "guesses" he has to come to that decision on his own.  Ugh.  Yes, it's so annoying how people get to make their own decisions about their medical care.  Look, I feel that the chemo has been making Dad quite sick for the last 8 months or so, and I realize that he may have reached a point where he just can't tolerate any chemo anymore.  But I also know that he keeps at it because he's not ready to call it quits yet and he wants to be around his family for as long as he can - that's why he keeps doing this.  And I love that about him.  When my sister says stuff like this, whether she means to or not, it sounds like, "Ugh, Dad's cancer is an inconvenience to me and I wish he would just give up already so we can sell his house."  When Dad told Sissy about Dr. T's prognosis back in March, my sister gave him some schpiel about how he shouldn't worry about us, that we'd be fine.  "I think he was really glad I said that," she told me, proudly.  "Sissy, it's not really that he worries about leaving us.  It's that he doesn't want to leave us.  He doesn't want to die and he's scared and sad about it."  I don't know if she got it.

We lost our mom suddenly and while that was awful, in some ways it was a blessing because our mom was our mom up until she died.  With Dad, he's been sick and he's needed help and it's been stressful and a source of worry and in some ways he's very different from who my dad was a couple of years ago.  There's more a parent/child reversal when you're dealing with sick, elderly parents.  It's been tough.  I wish Sissy were more willing to help.  I wish she would at least call him up and say, "Hey, I'll take you for that blood transfusion tomorrow."  

Baby CPR this week!  And hopefully I'll waddle my way to the nursing bra store so they can help me figure out what size I'm supposed to buy.  37 weeks today.  Unbelievable.  One year ago this week we started our two week ultrasound roller coaster hell where we found out the bean was not viable.  And now we're here.  37 weeks.  

Hot Dog Fingers

I wanted to post earlier this week, but time got away from me.  Last week I started experiencing a new pregnancy symptom.  It's a super fun one.  I've noticed lately that my fingers have been swelling and I can't wear any of my rings anymore.  That was fine, I know that swelling, especially in the warmer weather, is normal at this stage of pregnancy.  My fingers were starting to look like sausages - it's a good thing we don't have a dog, it would probably try to eat them.

But what I did not anticipate is that this prolonged swelling causes pain in the joints of my fingers.  So, bottles became tough to open, and in the middle of the night, when I haven't moved my hands for awhile and I get up to pee, just removing toilet paper from the roll is painful.  It's not my favorite.  Some days are worse than others.  

Tuesday I got up very early and was in a ZipCar by 7:30 a.m. to drive from Brooklyn to Jersey so I could take Dad to chemo.  It's kind of a big week where Dad is concerned - 5 years ago yesterday (May 21) he was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer.  To put it in perspective, the 5 year survival rate for people whose colon cancer has spread to distant sites is currently 12%.  This means that all those people who got diagnosed with the same type and stage of cancer as Dad back in May 2009 - 88% of those people are dead.  My dad is in this very small minority of people who are still here 5 years later, even if they aren't cured.  As shitty as the situation with Dad has been, especially for the last 6 months or so, I can't get over the fact that we got 5 years.  It is so far beyond what we thought we would get, and I am grateful.  So grateful that he was here for the birth of my youngest nephew, here for my wedding, and that, barring a catastrophe, he will meet my son.  

Anyway, I went out to Jersey because I've been worried about him, and we went to chemo.  Chemo was fine in the end, and it looks like he's developing anemia, which explains his fatigue (his weight is holding steady and he's not dehydrated).  It's not severe enough to do anything about the anemia at this point, so we'll just wait and see.  I left mid-afternoon so I could get back to the City for our hospital tour.  The driving was tense and I ached by the time I got home.  Then I spent about an hour on the subway (where I do not always get a seat - yeah, New Yorkers are a really lovely bunch - me and my painful hot dog fingers had to cling to the subway pole since no one would give me a seat on the 6 train) and then walking to get to the hospital.  The tour was good, very informative, and made all this "holy shit, we're really having a baby" thing even more real.  

THEN we got on a train to Westchester to go pick up Jeeves' parents' second car, which we are borrowing.  We got home around 10:30 p.m.  Such a long day.  And I got all pleased with how much I was able to do even though I'm 36 weeks pregnant.  Like, oh ho, look at me and how productive I am and I didn't collapse!  Ha.  The next day I was so fucking banged up from the day before that I basically couldn't get out of bed.  I felt awful.  My fingers went from hot dogs to bratwurst links.  

So, I guess the moral of the story is that I cannot, in fact, do all that stuff and have a normal day the next day.  Even today, two days later, I'm still not back to myself.  Or my normal pregnancy self, which is definitely different from normal non-pregnant me.

In other news, our crib and the dresser came for the baby's room, and I've been having fun putting his stuff away.  I am, at once, so excited to meet him I can hardly stand it, and terrified that he will come early and we won't be ready at all (because we still have a lot of shit on the "To Do" list).  I am also terrified that he will come very late or not at all and I will have to be induced.  So, a lot of terror up in here, basically.

Tomorrow is a big day - we have our last biweekly OB appointment before we move on to weekly appointments, and it's our first ultrasound since I was 21 weeks.  I'm very anxious about it because I'm scared they will see something bad (like low amniotic fluid) and send me off to the hospital or something.  So, wish me luck that tomorrow goes smoothly.  I will update.  And in the meantime, have a fantastic three day weekend.  

Lesson learned

For my birthday, Jeeves got me a gift certificate for a prenatal massage.  He did a lot of research into it and picked a place that specializes in that sort of thing because he knew what I really wanted out of a prenatal massage was the opportunity to lie face down.  Some places just have you lie on your side, so he found a place that has all the special pillows and what not so I could lie on my tum.  I was really excited about this massage.  Since it's just down the street from my OB's office, I decided to schedule it for post-OB appointment.  A small voice in the back of my head asked if that was such a good idea.  A few women in my pregnancy group have gone for "routine" OB appointments only to be sent to triage because of skyrocketing blood pressure or something in their urine.  I ignored this little (wise) voice.  I should note that the massage place has a very strict policy that you must cancel 24 hours ahead of time or you will be charged the full amount.

Anyhoo, the day before my appointment, it was raining pretty hard here in NYC and I put on my rain boots to go to work.  I noticed a pretty sharp pain in my right inner ankle/calf.  It was enough that I took off the boots because it hurt to wear them, but I noted that I didn't have any pain unless I applied pressure to the area.  There was no bruise, but I'm up about 3 times a night now and it's possible I could have sleepily banged my leg and not remembered it.  Anyway, I mentioned it to Jeeves and he thought we should mention it to the OB, just to be safe.

So, anyway, we met a new OB (I am in a group practice and I'm at the point now where I have meet all the doctors who could potentially deliver Manuji).  She was fine, everything seemed normal (fundal height, Manuji's heartrate, my blood pressure), and then I mentioned the ankle pain.  She was immediately concerned and started examining the leg.  It was actually hurting less that day than it had the day before.  But she was still concerned that it could be a deep vein thrombosis (loud sigh) and felt I should go get a Doppler ultrasound study of the leg.  Today.  Oh joy.  She stepped out of the exam room so she could see about getting me in for the Doppler, and I just looked at Jeeves.  "Sorry, baby.  I shouldn't have told you to say anything."  Honestly, though, he was right - it's the sort of thing you should mention to your doctor.  I was just pissed because a) I feel like most of my doctors in NYC tend to err on the side of over-testing (Cover Your Ass (CYA) Medicine, as Jeeves calls it); and b) I fucking knew I should not have scheduled my massage for the same day as my OB appointment.

I know some people would have just cancelled the massage and given up the gift certificate.  But I'm kind of an asshole and I just fucking refused.  I kept thinking back to the bean and that shitty day where my RE's office made me run all over the city for high res scans to make 100% sure I wasn't having an ectopic pregnancy when we all knew I wasn't having an ectopic pregnancy.  I knew I did not have a deep vein thrombosis.  So, I told my OB I would go for a scan, but I could not go before a certain time, as I had another appointment.  

And of course, here's where Jeeves is the best husband ever.  He sent me off for my prenatal massage while he dealt with the doctor and the hospital about getting my stupid Doppler study scheduled.  Apparently at one point the OB told him if I couldn't get in for an appointment today then I needed to go to the ER.  Ummm, hell no, I'm not sitting in an ER for 7 hours where I will be the absolute lowest priority.

So I went for the massage, which was pretty damn great, and when it was done, there was a text from Jeeves exhorting me to hustle on up to midtown for a Doppler study.  Subway and lots of running later, I got to the place, panting and clutching my belly because walking fast gives me cramps.  A half hour later, I got a 15 minute ultrasound done of my leg, which was, as expected, completely fine.  Do you want to know what the ticket price of this test is?  $2750.  We have insurance, so we'll be paying 10% of whatever the negotiated fee is, but geez.  

So, that was the excitement in my day, and now I have learned my lesson that I should stop making plans for after OB appointments.  

How did everyone do with Mother's Day?  Most years, no one says anything to me about it.  Last year was an especially tough Mother's Day for me - I really missed my mom, all the Facebook messages people were posting made me sad sad sad, and I was in the two week wait of what I was sure was another failed IUI (turned out I was pregnant with the bean, but I didn't know it on that day).  On that day last year, Liana texted me to tell me she loved me and she knew it was a hard day for me.  I promptly started crying on the Metro North train back from my in-laws' house.  Being pregnant on Mother's Day is nice and all, but it doesn't make me miss my mom any less.  Luckily we were at a wedding all day Sunday for Rajeev's uncle.  Listen, I'm generally not a huge fan of weddings on holidays, but if Mother's Day (or Father's Day for that matter) is tough for you, I highly recommend getting yourself invited to a wedding on that day.  It's a great distraction.  Sure, there are still people wishing some of the people at the wedding a happy Mother's Day, but the primary focus is on the couple getting married (and in this case, it's an older couple, so there was no talk of them having children).

Because I am visibly pregnant, a lot of people wished me a happy Mother's Day.  This made me feel weird, and like it was a jinx, even though I am not a superstitious person.  In my heart, am I Manuji's mother?  Of course.  But it just makes me nervous.  Lots of things can go wrong between now and when he's born.  Let's not get ahead of ourselves, people.

Perhaps the nicest thing, though, was that several of my friends texted me to let me know they were thinking of me, knowing it can be a hard day.  I was really touched.  And when I got home, there was a card from Liana.  It meant so much to me that she thought of me - as I mentioned in this post, she has MS and has been going through a really bad time.  But she still remembered me.  The card:

   

It reads "May the gift of her memory turn your Mother's Day into a time of appreciation and love."  Inside, Liana had written a really lovely message about my mom and how she knew that because of my mom, I would be a great mom.  Yes, I cried.

I know for some of you, it was an especially shitty Mother's Day.  I know having a child doesn't necessarily cure the rough feelings many of us have for Mother's Day, but I hope next year, the day will be gentler for you.  And if you made it through relatively unscathed like I did, I'm grateful for that too.  And if you're a mom, I hope you had a beautiful day.

35 weeks pregnant today.  People continue to tell me how small I look.  I continue to not appreciate that comment.  Baby's room is still a mess, but crib and dresser come this week, so it's gonna have to get fixed up by Friday.  I can't believe how time is flying by.

Stuff about Dad, my baby shower, and missing my mom

It's been a little while since I've written.  Honestly, nothing really happened last week.  This week and the weekend were more eventful, so I'll just give a recap of the following: my dad, my baby shower, and pregnancy/spazzing out a little.

Dad

Yesterday I went out to see Dad - rented a Zip Car because public transportation is really tough for me right now (I can manage the subway, but subway + bus is hard).  I hadn't seen Dad in just over two weeks and I figured I'd take him to chemo and see how he was doing.  I picked a good one to go to.  A few days ago, Dad started experiencing pain in his upper right abdomen (roughly where the liver is), and that's sort of worrisome because Dad has a lot of metastasis in his liver.  The pain wasn't terrible, but it's uncomfortable.  He also sounded and admitted to me that he's been quite tired and fatigued.  I'll skip to the chase - his nurse practitioner was able to palpate the spot where the pain is originating and based on his scan from March and what she felt, she's pretty sure it is a node on the liver that is pressing on a nerve.  Which sucks, cause obviously it means stuff is growing.  But she said he's only had a little chemo since the scan in March, so hopefully with a few more treatments, it will shrink.  Hopefully she's right, though who knows.  In the mean time, she prescribed Dad some pain meds and a sleep aid (since he wakes up a lot at night, we're hoping a deeper sleep might help a little with the fatigue).  As for the fatigue, it's probably from the chemo.  He's been doing chemo for 5 years - it gets harder to bounce back the longer you've been on it.

On top of that crap, they had some problems with Dad's power port (the implanted device that allows them to infuse his chemo without putting in an IV every time), but they were able to fix it.  The house wasn't a disaster when I was there, but he didn't have much food in the fridge and he's lost some weight.  I got him some food and went to the pharmacy to pick up his meds.  You know what would be sweet right now?  A home health aide.  Oh, that's right.  He got rid of the home health aide.  Eye roll.  Basically I feel like things are reverting to how they were a few months ago.  So that was a nice feeling.  Obviously I'm being sarcastic.  My sister is being a little weird these days, I think she's having some family issues of her own, so although she's been visiting Dad, I sort of doubt she'll step up as much as I'd like her to.

I have 6 more weeks to go in this pregnancy and a little part of me is scared Dad won't make it to meet Manuji.  He probably will, but what if he doesn't?  Yesterday after I showed him pictures of a friend's baby he said "That baby is very beautiful, but it's not as beautiful as our baby is going to be."  He was talking about Manuji.  I was really touched, it's the first time he's really taken any sort of ownership of his new grandkid.

I was talking to my sister-in-law about what's been going on with Dad.  Her father died years ago from a chronic blood disease.  She said that when he was really sick, he'd still insist on driving himself everywhere even though just a minor accident could have been completely disastrous for him.  As she put it, when you are very sick and/or dying, you have no control.  And so you need to feel like you have control over something, and what you can control are things like driving or who is in your house/taking care of you, etc.  When she put it that way, I understood a little more about why my dad has been so resistant to having an aide.  Though I still wish he would have one.

Baby Shower

This past weekend was my baby shower!  It was hands down the best baby shower I have ever been to, and I say this as someone who has thrown a number of showers myself.  I understand if you think your baby shower was the best.  But you're wrong.  Mine was!  I cannot believe the amount of time, effort, and money Wendy put into it.  I'd like to say I'll someday repay her for her generosity by throwing her a great bridal shower or baby shower, but she doesn't plan to ever have children and who knows about marriage.  So I think instead I will have to throw her a kickass surprise 40th birthday party in a few years.

It was so great to see my friends, and everyone was so kind and loving.  The food was great, the cake was amazing, and it was just all around really fun.  The only sad part was that I really didn't get to talk to anyone as much as I would have liked to, but I think that's always the case at parties where you're the guest of honor.

And I got to meet Kate's daughter Ella!  She is adorable.  Kate's mom was invited to the shower as well, and spent most of the time holding and taking care of Ella.  My sister turned to me and said "I'm jealous of Kate because she has her mom to help her out."  I nodded - I know how she feels.

Pregnancy thoughts and stuff

I am 34 weeks and 1 day pregnant.  Six more weeks till I'm due, kind of like the ground hog.  I've been feeling okay.  My digestive system has finally, finally adjusted to the iron supplement (hey, only took 6 weeks!) so that's pretty cool.  I still have acid reflux but it's pretty well controlled with the Pepcid.  I still hate staircases.  I feel like a furnace.  This is a weird experience for me because I'm usually cold unless it's over 70 degrees outside.  I actually have Raynaud's phenomenon - I've had it since I was a teenager.  Dad has it too.  Anyway, I haven't had a single instance of losing feeling in my fingers since I've been pregnant, and now that it's warmer out, my hands are constantly hot, sweaty, veiny, and a little swollen.  I usually walk around the apartment in a tank top and capri yoga pants, and even then I complain about how hot it is [Note: It is not actually hot, I am just feeling hot].  I'm pretty sure I made Ella cry the other day because I was so freaking hot that I made her uncomfortable while holding her.

I really can't complain.  Yes, I'm uncomfortable and roly-poly and and my back hurts and I don't sleep great and I can't do a lot of stuff like go for a nice walk without panting and having cramps.  But it's not bad right now, really.  Ask me again in another 4 weeks and I will probably be singing a different tune.

We had our breastfeeding and parenting class this weekend, and it went well (except for the annoying younger couple who kept giggling during the breastfeeding video - ugh, get over it!).  And then when we came home that evening, I freaked out a little about the apartment, but mostly Manuji's room.  Our crib and dresser (generously bought for us by my in-laws) are coming next week, and the room still needs a lot of work and unpacking.  I may have cried a little about it, and about whether I'm going to be any good at breastfeeding, and a number of other things.  I say this just so people will know - just because you're infertile and you had to work like hell to get pregnant and having a baby is your heart's biggest desire does not mean you're only allowed to feel 100% awesome and happy when you are pregnant.  You're allowed to feel apprehensive and nervous, and you probably will feel that way at some point.  Anyway, the feeling passed.  I still can't look in his room too much because it makes me anxious.   We have a lot of work to do, and I'm not entirely sure when/how it will get done.  

Since we moved, we've mostly been subsisting on take-out, and I've gotten really, really tired of it.  I've also been feeling like a bad mom-to-be about it.  Here I was, harping last week about how parents should try to take care of themselves by exercising and eating healthy and I eat way more pizza and Chinese take out than is good for me.  Part of the problem has been that I don't have a lot of energy, so cooking something generally means I won't feel up to doing any work around the apartment afterwards.  But mostly I've just been lazy about cooking.  It's silly because there are a lot of really easy, healthy things I could make that won't wipe me out.  So this week I resolved to do a better job, and I have been.  I've also started having a green smoothie every day so that I at least get more veggies into Manuji (and me, for that matter).  The smoothie recipe I've been making is delicious!  It's from the NY Times, and I don't bother with the Chia seeds, and I threw in a little fresh coconut because I had some in the fridge.  Anyway, give it a try (it's also vegan, if that matters to you).  The Times had a whole set of smoothies with greens in them, so tomorrow I'm going to try this recipe which has blueberries and kefir in it.  

I've been missing Mom a lot.  I know that's not surprising given what's been going on with my dad and that I'm hopefully going to have a baby in a few weeks.  But it hits me at random moments and I start tearing up in the middle of the grocery store.  When I was little, I didn't know my mom's mom and dad at all - they had both died long before I was born.  And Dad's mom had also died before I was born.  But my grandpa (Dad's dad) lived next door to us.  He died when I was 5.  I have fond memories of him and I was really sad when he died, but mostly I was worried about my dad.  I remember asking him how he felt and if he was really sad about his dad dying.  Mostly, in typical 5 year old fashion, I was worried about myself - I was scared about what life would be like for me if my parents died and I was trying to figure out if Dad was okay because maybe that would mean something about whether I would be okay if my mom and dad died.

I remember Dad told me that yes, he was sad, and yes, he missed his parents.  But that he also had his own family - his wife and me and my sister - and that made it easier to bear and less lonely.  He assured me that someday I would have a family of my own, so I shouldn't worry.  It comforted me.  Having Jeeves and Manuji comforts me now, but I still would rather that my kid (and any possible future kids) could know my mom and dad.  I still wish my mom were here to give me advice.  But I also know it's made a difference in my life to hear my dad's stories about his mother, and how even though I never met her I really feel like I know her because he talked (and still talks) about her all the time.  So I guess that's the best I can do for Manuji, so that in some small way he will know my mom.

The Fertile Coconut

This post might be all over the place because I'm kind of all over the place.  I think I'll start with the sad stuff first (which is not pregnancy related) and then go into my Indian baby shower.

Over the weekend, I was out at my in-laws' place and Saturday was so busy I wound up not getting to check in with Dad, but my sister talks to him most days too, so I knew she'd let me know if there was an issue.  On Sunday I found out that Dad has been having some trouble with urination (as in, feels like he has to go, not much happens).  It was very bad Friday night into Saturday morning, to the point where he thought about going to the ER, but then it resolved and he felt better.  Today when I talked to him, he sounded pretty down.  He's going for chemo tomorrow, and he'll talk to the doctor about what happened and about getting it checked out.  We're both concerned that it's his pelvic tumor, perhaps applying pressure to his bladder or urethra.  It's hard, knowing that you're dying, and I know that it makes Dad sad, especially when he thinks about his family.  Yesterday I felt terribly sad thinking about the reality of losing Dad in the near future.  I kept thinking "I'll be all alone, I won't have a family anymore."  I know this isn't true - that I have my husband and (hopefully in 7 weeks) my son, loving friends, and despite how different we are, my sister.  And I realize it's kind of whiny to be talking about "what about meeeee????" when someone else is dealing with the reality of his or her death, but I think it's probably normal when it's your parents.  I just wish we had more time.  I wish it weren't happening now.  I guess that would always be the case, but now feels like just the worst.  For so many reasons.

After I got off the phone with Dad, I found out that a good friend of my mom's from where she used to work died yesterday.  He was a really nice man.  I'm sad for him and his family, but I also just feel sad in general because it's one more person who knew and loved my mom who's gone.  I hate that.  My parents had me kind of late - Mom was almost 40 and Dad was nearly 43.  If you're having your kids later, or you know what, just in general - take care of yourself.  Try to eat healthy and get your colonoscopies and exercise and quit smoking.  Try to be around for a long time for your kids.  They want you around.

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So, it was my Indian baby shower on Saturday.  I kept calling it that because I didn't know the actual name for it, and neither did Jeeves.  I think it's actually referred to as Godh Bharai, though different parts of India have different names for it.  Unfortunately, early last week I came down with a nasty cold (thank you, co-worker, who is always sick and never ever stays home when he's sick and coughs and snots all over the place.... I really appreciate the gift).  I took it really easy at the end of last week so I'd feel okay on Saturday, but Saturday rolled around and I still felt like turds.  My doctor warned me that in pregnancy, colds tend to last longer.  Fun.  Adding to the fun on Saturday - Jeeves had a fender bender (not while I was in the car, and no one got hurt) and our nephew A (age 5) discovered an engorged tick in his head.  Despite all this, the Godh Bharai was really, really fun and everyone had a good time.

My mother-in-law did not give me a hard time at all about what I wanted to wear, probably because she was so busy with other party preparations.  I decided to wear one of my own dresses, but paired it with a very pretty scarf she brought back for me from Calcutta, a necklace she got me, and then I borrowed some bangles from her (very large) collection.  She seemed really happy with the final look.  The next day I tried on the one Indian top I have that she thought would still fit - she was right, it does still fit me.  But it's a lot more casual than what I wore for the baby shower, so I think it worked out for the best (and I promised to wear the Indian top to the rehearsal dinner for Jeeves' uncle's wedding in two weeks).

As for the ceremony itself, it went the way most other ceremonies go and I felt pretty chill about the whole thing even though I don't love being the center of attention.  Here's the basket I had to hold on my lap - a little blurry.  Ammie told me that the coconut in the center represents my fertility and my womb.

Jeeves asked me what it represented and I told him and we had a good snicker about that and whether the coconut was defective.  It reminded me of a bib Wendy gave me that says "Home Grown" on it.  I remarked to her, "Home Grown.... and with the assistance of the lab technician who washed my husband's sperm, and the doctor who injected it through the catheter into my uterus."  Anyway, Ammie did her part of the ceremony and she cried, because she always cries at these things.  Then the other women present bestowed blessings on me and Manuji.  It was nice.  Then we ate!

The only downside to the evening was that I felt pretty crummy from this cold.  By Sunday, I felt even worse because I just can't sleep in strange beds anymore - I have to sleep in my bed, with my memory foam mattress pad, and my pillow fort.  My in-laws sent me home with a jar of crushed ginger and strict instructions to steep the ginger in hot water and drink three cups a day.  I have to add a lot of honey to it, but it does seem to help loosen my cough.

And now a funny story about my nephew, A, who is very excited about his new cousin.  You may recall that A is the one who came up with the name "Manuji" in the first place (and I should add that he's kind of sad that we're not actually naming the baby Manuji).  He really wanted to see Manuji moving, and when the little fetus finally did move a bunch for A, he shrieked and ran to tell his mother.  Later on, I mentioned that Manuji was head down, A poked my boob and said, "Are these his feet?"  I wish, kid.

Resolve to know more.... about the risks we take

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW) and last year during NIAW, I read a lot about infertility (I was in the middle of IUI#3) but I wasn't blogging at that point.  So it felt important to me to blog about it this year.  Resolve, the organization that educates and advocates regarding infertility, set the topic this year as "resolve to know more...."  So here's my stab at it.

I'm a big fan of the sitcom Parks & Recreation.  I'm going to give away a couple of big plot points from this season, so consider yourself warned if you don't want to know.  The protagonist, Leslie (Amy Poehler), is married to Ben.  They make a sweet couple.  Anyway, Leslie is 39 years old and a few weeks ago she found out she's pregnant.  They weren't really trying, but they're very excited.  Whatever, I was fine with that.  I always feel like it might be nice to see a semi-realistic portrayal of infertility on a TV show, but I realize not every show has to address every issue.  And yeah, yeah - Sex & the City covered it, and How I Met Your Mother glossed over it, and Friends took a stab at it too.  But two of those shows addressed the issue over 10 years ago, and the other one (HIMYM) spent one episode on it.

So, Leslie and Ben go for an ultrasound and discover much to their shock that Leslie is pregnant with triplets.  Sigh.  Okay, show, I get it.  This is funny!  Ha ha!  Except I just basically got enraged.  Yes, triplets do happen naturally.  But the vast majority of triplets happen thanks to assisted reproductive technology (ART).  In fact, 77% of triplets or higher order multiples are due to ART (New England Journal of Medicine).  On the show, the characters freak out about the amount of money having three kids at once is going to cost, but not once does anyone mention that Leslie is only 5'2" and carrying triplets comes with a lot of risks - for both her and the babies.  No one mentions that 91% of triplets are born preterm, no one mentions the health issues those kids will probably face at birth, no one mentions that there is a decent likelihood that she won't have three live children at the end of this pregnancy.

I realize it's a sitcom and no one wants to talk about the scary stuff.  So why am I all bent out of shape about this?  Why does it bother me?  Because Parks & Rec's portrayal is just another squandered opportunity to have a conversation about the risks we take to have children, and how in this country, I feel like our risks are heightened because we don't provide coverage or support for infertility.  And I think part of that is just based on general ignorance.  What do we know, as a society, about ART?  We know crazy Octomom and we know John and Kate Plus 8.  [Seriously guys, I realized how little most people know about ART when explaining to my dad and sister, two well-educated people, the difference between IUI and IVF].  And a few sitcoms.  Terrible, and not representative.  

When I was in college, I got to see the late great Ann Richards give a speech about women in politics.  She made what was, for me, the best argument you can make as to why we should all want more women (and for that matter, more people of color and other minorities) at the political table.  She told a story about how, in Texas, for a long time women could not open a bank account or get a credit card without having their husband or father co-sign.  The law didn't get repealed until a woman was elected and pointed out the existence of this old, stupid law to her male colleagues.  The point is that we all bring different experiences to the table and the only way we can learn is if we have a diverse table.  I feel the same way about infertility - most people are going to know bupkis about infertility and how it gets resolved.  The only way they are going to know about it is we keep telling them about it.

So here's what I think non-infertiles should know about the risks we take:

• Many of us risk all our savings (this is true for people pursuing ART and adoption, because no, neither of those things are free or cheap) for a shot at having a child.  And this is one of those things that drive me crazy about "just adopt" - okay, sure, I'll swing by the orphanage or a Walmart and pick up a kid on my way home.  Adoption is not free, even if you decide to go through the state foster care system.  If you decide to do private adoption, it's very expensive.  In many cases, more expensive than paying out-of-pocket for ART.

• We have to endure a lot of tests to try to get to the bottom of our infertility.  Some of those tests are painful.  And they all seem to take forever.  Some states require that insurance pay for those tests, but most states do not.  So if you've been trying for over a year to have a baby and it hasn't worked and your general practitioner or gynecologist suggests you get some tests done?  There's a good chance you'll have to pay for that.

• Once we get to the point where we're in treatment, we are usually taking scary meds that give us shitty side effects.  The ultimate physical toll of those meds is still not entirely known.  

• The majority of twins are born to fertiles, and are not a result of ART.  That being said, the reason a lot of women will decide to put in 2 embryos (or 3 in some cases) is because this shit is expensive and the success rate, even for younger women, is kind of low.  Like, a third of women under the age of 34 will have success on the first try.  LOW.  So if you've just sunk your savings into this, you want to make sure you have the best odds of it working and that might mean more than one embryo being transferred.  Don't get me wrong, I think twins are awesome.  But we all tend to think about how hard twins will be after they are born without thinking about how hard it is to actually carry and deliver healthy twins.  Never mind triplets (you won't frequently hear crazy stories like Octomom because that shit is a total anomaly with a quack doctor who put in so many embryos that he lost his license to practice medicine - it makes me crazy that this is what so many people think all of ART is.).

I realize that we're probably never going to be like most of Europe where a lot of ART is covered.  But it bothers me.  It bothers me that we support women once they get pregnant (and woohoo - my Obamacare mandated insurance-covered breast pump arrived yesterday!), but we don't support them when they can't get pregnant.  And we don't support them when they can get pregnant, but they suffer from recurrent pregnancy loss.  Those women are scary and make us sad and we wish they'd all just go away or just be okay with the fact that they can't have kids.  Or just adopt!  Just adopt already!  Adoption is a great way to resolve infertility, true, but anyone who has known someone who has adopted would know you can never put the word "just" in front of adoption.  

You want to know what would be an even better way to resolve infertility?  For all of us to have choices.  We get to make a lot of choices when we're sick.  But when we're infertile, our choices are limited, not because there aren't a lot of options for us out there.  We're limited because it will depend on our financial situation, what state we live in, the job we work in.  It won't just be based on our diagnosis and our own deeply held beliefs about if and how we want to grow our family.  It will be based on the risks we are willing and able to take.

The last birthday, Easter, and pregnancy update

Yesterday was my 36th birthday.  Hard to believe I am 36, I don't feel that old.  But there it is.  Normally, turning 36 would make me really sad.  I got really sad when I turned 26 (which, God, Meg, so stupid.  Being 26 is young and awesome).  I was like that quote from High Fidelity (the movie, not the book) - "Only people of a certain disposition are sure they're going to be alone for the rest of their lives at age 26, and we were of that disposition."  But really, what had bummed me out about turning 26 was the idea that I was closer to 30 than 20, and that seemed sad to me.  So I sort of assumed I would feel the same about 36 (closer to 40 than 30).  I think, maybe, if I weren't pregnant, I would have been sad.  And look, there are still a lot of things that I wish I had accomplished by this age that I have not accomplished.  But I'm feeling pretty chill about all of it.  Sort of like, "eh, I'll get there, who cares if it takes a little more time to own my own home or have a career as a librarian?"

For my birthday last year, we had just wrapped up a failed 2nd IUI cycle, and I was taking Clomid for my 3rd cycle.  I hoped against hope that it would be my last birthday without our baby.  It wasn't, this one is.  As my cousin, who after years of recurrent pregnancy loss, infertility, and IVF, is full term with her rainbow twins and could pop any day now, said, "I love all the 'lasts.'"  Last birthday before Manuji is born.  It feels pretty great.  I still have fear that something is going to go terribly wrong and we'll lose him, but I've gotten pretty good and pushing that aside and just appreciating these final weeks.

So, my birthday fell on Easter and we went to visit Dad out in Jersey.  He's doing much better than he was a month ago, and that made me very happy, although I don't think he's ever going to be as physically able as he was a year ago.  He wound up getting rid of the home health aide.  What can I say, I tried my best.  He's an adult and he gets to make his own decisions.  But at least for now he seems to be tolerating his treatment well and he's doing his physical therapy and eating.  Jeeves and I had a really nice day with him, and on our way back to the City, we stopped at Dairy Queen and I got to have a blizzard.  Happy.

Next weekend is my Indian baby shower.  That's what I'm calling it, but it's not actually a baby shower. There's some sort of ceremony, the details of which I am hazy on (Ammie, my MIL, is not the best at describing these things ahead of time).  There will be food, and a bunch of people, and stuff like that.  When Ammie started talking about doing this, I told Jeeves that I absolutely refuse to wear Indian clothes for it.  When Jeeves and I got engaged years ago, Ammie was heading to India for a visit and she wanted to know if I would maybe be interesting in having her pick up some Indian clothing for me for some pre-wedding events, and to wear at other Indian occasions.  That sounded awesome - Indian clothes are so pretty!  My sister-in-law, who never ever lets my MIL buy her clothing, pulled me aside and told me that I should be careful because I needed to set boundaries.  I was like, "What are you talking about?"  Oh, I learned.  The thing is, Ammie does not have any daughters or granddaughters.  She has only one niece in the United States, and that niece hates Indian clothing.  Over the years, I have basically turned into a life-size dress up doll for my MIL.  It's kind of sweet.  But it can also be annoying because you know what?  Indian clothing can be really uncomfortable!  Also, I'm an adult and being a dress up doll can become tiresome.  I now have more Indian outfits than occasions to wear them.  Also, absolutely none of them could possibly fit me at this point.  So I told Jeeves, "I am absolutely not wearing Indian clothes for this thing."  Then I was talking to Ammie on Friday and she said, "So you'll get dressed up for this party in Indian clothes."  [Notice it's a statement, not a question.]  I explained that I didn't think they would fit, but I have lots of comfortable and cute maternity dresses.  "Oh, at least a couple of them will fit.  It'll be fine.  You'll wear one of the Indian outfits."  Sigh.  There are things that I really dig my heels in on with her (the whole setting boundaries thing) but usually I let her have her way with the clothing stuff because it seems like such a small thing and it makes her so happy.  But I just can't this time.  I want to wear my own, comfortable clothes.  Wish me luck.

Pregnancy stuff ahead, so feel free to skip it if you're not up for this sort of stuff.

Tomorrow I am 32 weeks.  Time is flying.  OB appointment this week, and we're meeting our prospective pediatrician.  I decided to do that thing today where you list stuff about your pregnancy.  

How far along: 31 weeks, 6 days

EDD: June 17th

How big is baby?: According to The Bump, he's a squash.  I have a hard time with this because what kind of squash?  Butternut?  Pumpkin?  Spaghetti?  Kabocha?  The picture of the squash looks like a weird gourd.  Anyway, they say he's 15.2 to 16.7 inches, and weighs around 2.5 to 3.8 lbs.

Total weight gain: Around 23 pounds.  I gained nothing my first trimester thanks to all my issues.  I've made up for it since then.  

Maternity clothes: Obvi.  That's pretty much all I wear.  My PJs are still normal PJs, but that's only because they were already elastic waist.

Belly button: On the verge of becoming an outie.  Like, it could be any day now.

Rings: I can still wear them, but when the weather is warmer, my hands definitely are swelling.  So we'll see how much longer I can keep the rings on.

Sleep: Continues to suck.  I haven't slept on my stomach since January, and I have to have a pillow fort to keep my hips from killing me when I wake up.  I get up to pee 2 to 3 times per night, and I'm usually up every couple of hours to flip over onto my other side because I start aching if I don't.  It's good practice for when Manuji is here, I know, and I've gotten pretty used to the routine, so it's not so bad.

Symptoms: Acid reflux (it's not so bad right now) and heart palpitations (also not so bad).  Can't get up off the floor without assistance.  I have to change positions, whether sitting, lying down, whatever, every few minutes because I quickly become uncomfortable.  Frequently tired.  I pee a lot, of course.  Sciatica pain if I bend over too frequently.  And the biggy - shortness of breath.

Cravings/Aversions: Aversions ended with the first trimester.  Cravings.... ice cream, all the time.  Macaroni and cheese.  Citrus fruit and citrusy flavored things.  Watermelon.  Chocolate/peanut butter as a combo.  Peanut butter, period.  Kale salads (that's pretty much the only really healthy thing that I get excited about now).  Cheese.  I'm also starting to really, really miss certain things, like sushi, smoked salmon, prosciutto, etc.  And giant iced coffees.  Oh yeah, sure, I miss wine too.  But not as much as I miss smoked salmon.  On a bagel with cream cheese and onions.

Movement: Oh, all the time.  I've been feeling Manuji since about week 17.  I learned later that he has a posterior placenta, so it makes sense that I could feel him so early and that his movements have been pretty strong from early on.  I'm not sure yet if he's head down, but he likes to poke around in my ribs and other organs which feels weird.  And he makes my whole belly move.  He's not crazy active when I'm sleeping, but the moment I'm up in the morning, he thinks it's party time.  Honestly, it's an enormous relief, to always have that reassurance that he's okay.  He gets the hiccups a lot too.

Coming Attractions: I'm on biweekly OB visits now, doing the rounds and meeting all of the OBs in the practice since you never know who will be on call the day you go into labor.  At my week 36 appointment I will have my first ultrasound in a long time to make sure that Manuji is head down and check his growth.  I'm nervous about it, but it's still a ways off.

The dirt patch

This weekend was a good reminder for me of a) how far we've come; and b) that I'm still an infertile in my heart and mind.  It was a big weekend!  We took our birthing class!  It was very helpful, and also pretty scary.  I guess I haven't spent a lot of time thinking about the actual physical pain of childbirth.  This is pretty lame, but I think I spent more time obsessing over how painful the HSG would be (and in the end, it was not so bad) back when I was having my infertility tests than I did over how painful labor would be.  Anyway, we watched several videos in this class showing women in labor.  Obviously pain is a subjective experience, but it's very different for a friend to tell you "it really hurt" than it is to watch a woman in the midst of labor and think "that looks really painful."

So, one of the things that happened in birthing class was that we all went around the room and introduced ourselves, talked about pregnancies, where we were delivering, etc.  There were 8 couples, including us.  I feel fairly confident that Jeeves and I were the only infertile couple in the room.  Not entirely sure why I'm so convinced, some of the couples said things that an infertile would not say, some of them seemed very young (not like I don't know plenty of young people struggling with infertility, but they seemed like such reproductive novices by certain things that they said).  Oh, and one of the couples didn't know she was pregnant till she was 14 weeks.  So yeah, definitely not an infertile.  I guess that makes sense that we would be the only infertiles - after all, it's 1 in 8, right?  But I still felt a bit weird, hanging around these fertile couples like I was one of them.  I mean, I am having a baby.  But gosh, getting to this class was a very different experience for us than it probably was for them.  I've stopped telling everyone I meet that we had to do ART to have a baby - most people don't seem to know what to say or seem not to care or seem uncomfortable.  But I also feel like a little bit of a fraud, pretending I'm some sort of normal pregnant person.

Adding to this experience - we found out this weekend that friends of ours are expecting at the end of September.  In January, the husband in the couple told Jeeves that he and the wife were going to start trying and hoped to have a baby in 2014.  Jeeves and I sort of snorted at the hubris.  When we started trying back in 2012, we didn't tell anyone, because what if it took a long time?  Well, apparently at the point that the husband told Jeeves that they had started trying, they were already pregnant (they just didn't know yet).  That's right, first month out of the gate.  

We had dinner with them this weekend, and they are definitely a little out of their depth.  I felt badly for her.  She has so much fear.  She has as much fear as I did, she has as much fear as women who have had multiple miscarriages, but none of that has happened to her.  She told me about her mother (she's an only child) who had multiple miscarriages and a stillbirth before she was finally able to have my friend.  She told me about other people she knows who have experienced pregnancy loss, and about how she hears horrible stories through her work (she works at a hospital).  I said to her, "And you think that if such terrible things happened to those people, why shouldn't they happen to you?  Because you're not any better than they are?"  She nodded.  I pointed out that at the point she is at (16 weeks), yes, bad things can still happen, but the likelihood is very low, and that hopefully once she starts feeling the baby move, she will start to relax a little.  And hey, we all know fairness has nothing to do with this.  Sometimes people get pregnant right away and never have a miscarriage.  Sometimes it takes someone years and years and hundreds of thousands of dollars and they will never have a living child.  

I admitted to Jeeves last night that while I did not wish infertility on these friends, and I think it's great that they are having a baby, I still feel bitterness when people I know become pregnant right away without any struggle.  He understood.  I'm not sure if that feeling will ever really go away.  Oh, don't get me wrong, I still enjoy talking to fertiles about their kids and what not, and it was pleasant to swap stories and anxieties with my fertile friend, but I still felt that twinge of "Well, isn't that just lovely for them!  It's not fair it's not fair it's not fair!" when I first heard they were expecting.  Getting pregnant has healed a lot, but it will probably never heal that.

After our birthing class (which was located in our old neighborhood), we had some time to kill before meeting our friends for dinner.  We walked over to the park in our old neighborhood.  This is the park where I used to pick up our CSA veggies last summer.  As you may or may not recall, last summer, in June, I had a D&C for my missed miscarriage, and then took the summer off from treatment while we awaited the results of karyotyping and blood clotting disorders.  There were a lot of fun things last summer that go along with not doing treatment (all the iced coffee and wine I could drink!), but it was also a summer that was sad and painful.  One of the things that made it hard was that every week when I would go to the park to pick up our veggie and fruit share, there would be hundreds of adorable screaming children running around on the playground right by the pick up stand.  And so many of the other share members were women with babies.  Or pregnant women.  It was rough.  But it really was a beautiful park.

So, we went to the park, and the huge grassy expanse is currently a giant dirt patch.  I guess the polar vortex got to it.  It was a beautiful day, and Jeeves and I sat on a bench and watched the little kids run around, screaming and playing.  Something that a year ago caused me a lot of pain was just a really happy, joyful sight.  It made me feel excited for the life inside me, and for once it didn't make me feel like The Other, the person who does not belong.  I'm sure I will have moments after Manuji is born where I will not relate to other parents, either because I have a different philosophy, or because I'm infertile.  I'm sure it will sting when people ask if we're going to have more kids.  But it's also amazing to see how much he has already healed me, and he's not even here yet.

So, in theory there will be a baby here in 10 weeks

We moved!  The move itself generally went quite well.  We  had to be in our new place by 5pm.  The movers arrived at 7:30am, packed up the entire contents of our apartment by 1:30pm, and had everything into the new apartment by 4:30pm.  The problem started after the movers left.  "Where are the glasses?" I wondered.  They took over a day to find.  "Any idea where our pillows are?"  Basically, everything got labeled with a generic "Kitchen" or "Master Bedroom" label.  Makes it tough to find specifically what you're looking for. This was especially a problem for our flatware, to the point where on Friday Jeeves had to bring plastic cutlery home from work because we had nothing to eat with. In the end, the flatware was in a box labeled "food."  So, my advice to you would be that if you ever hire movers to also do the packing, follow them around and maybe label the boxes with some specifics.

Anyway, this is the first move I've made in my adult life where I am moving between equivalent spaces as opposed to moving into something bigger.  Yes, we have the second bedroom, but the master bedroom is much smaller than our old bedroom, and we have a lot less closet space.  In the end, we've definitely gained square footage, and we got rid of some old furniture, but we still have a lot of stuff and the end result is that as we unpack, we have to really think about where things are going.  

That, combined with the fact that I am 30 weeks pregnant, means that unpacking is going slowly.  I would highly recommend that if you need to move when pregnant, do it in the second trimester, if you can.  We didn't really have a choice here, but oh man.  I just feel like the biggest dummy.  I am so easily exhausted, bending over boxes makes my sciatica hurt, I huff and puff for air.  Basically I unpack a box, and then I have to rest for half an hour.  It's very frustrating.  I just want to get it all done!  Now!  But I can't.  I went to work today and was like, "Oh wow, work is much more relaxing than being home."

Last night as I was drifting off to sleep, I was thinking of all the stuff we have to do before Manuji comes.  I still have to pre-register at the hospital and take a hospital tour. Our birthing class is this weekend.  We have to choose a pediatrician and meet him or her.  The baby's room is currently filled with boxes of our crap - how's it going to be ready in time?  What about the infant CPR class, when are we taking that?  Are we getting a car?  When will we have time to get one?  I want to put wall decals up in the baby's room - which ones should I get and when will we put them up?  Am I going to be a huge failure at breast feeding?  How am I going to make it to 40 weeks when I'm already having trouble doing much of anything at 30 weeks?  Did I mention that the only things we actually own for the baby right now are a couple of outfits (gifts from friends) and a copy of the book Corduroy from Wendy?  So, our baby will not be naked for at least 2 days and will have a book to read.... and that's it.

I know, I know.  It will all somehow get done.  But it's getting very real - Manuji is going to be here very soon (I don't want to jinx it, I know things can still go horribly wrong, but I'm hopeful that we will actually have a baby to bring home in the end).

Dad is okay.  He started chemo again today.  I did not go with him.  While we were talking this afternoon, a few things came up regarding how he is feeling physically and some issues with colostomy supplies that made me wish for the umpteenth time that he were in assisted living, and that also made me feel badly about not being there to take care of him.  Part of me wanted to rush out there and start making phone calls for him. But physically, I just can't do it.  And I know some of my feelings are very co-dependenty and I need to remind myself that Dad is an adult and if things go wrong he may have to go into a nursing home or what have you, but it's not my job to fix everything for everyone.  Still.  It's hard to feel like Dad is coming to the end of the line.

Sorry if this post is moany groany.  Not my intention.  I really do love our new apartment.  My commute to work is a piece of cake.  I ate some really great pancakes this weekend.  And some good ice cream too.  Deep breaths.  Deep breaths. 

   

The Hoarder and the Purger

So, this Thursday is the big move!  To Brooklyn!  I'm sad to leave the apartment we lived in for four years, where we lived when we got engaged, married, infertile, etc.  I can't say it's the apartment where Manuji was conceived, because that probably happened on the subway ride home from my RE's office, or maybe even while I was at the dentist getting my teeth cleaned following insemination.  Romantic!  But still, this was the apartment where we lived when I found out I was pregnant, and then had a miscarriage.  And the apartment where we lived when we found out I was pregnant again, and where we felt him kick for the first time.  So, a lot of memories, and I'm sad to leave our home.  But I'm also really happy to leave it because I'm excited for our new place.

We are hiring packers/movers, thank goodness.  But even when someone else is going to pack and move your shit for you, you do need to go through and purge.  I consider Jeeves to be a bit of a hoarder.  He gets really upset when I call him that.  But come on - he found credit card bills from 1998.  How is that not kind of hoard-y?  Under our bed, we have two storage boxes.  One is mine, and one is his.  In "my" storage box is all of our wrapping paper, gift bags, ribbon, Christmas cards - in other words, shared stuff that we both use when we need to wrap a gift or send a Christmas card to someone.  What do you think was in Jeeves' box?  Your guess would be as good as mine because all I can tell you about it is that it is very, very heavy and when I asked him what was in it, he looked around innocently and admitted he did not know. 

For a long time, I have teased him about this, but never really been a huge bitch about it.  But then something happened.  When I moved in with my dad, I put almost the entire contents of my apartment into a storage unit, and then I promptly ignored it for several years.  I did manage to unearth a few important things when I moved in with Jeeves, but mostly the stuff just sat there.  In December, we finally cleaned out the storage space and sent almost the whole thing to Junk Luggers.  I left the storage facility with some books, a couple of collapsible wood bookshelves, and a few things from my kitchen and a box of photos.  Everything else - there was just no room in our home, so I had to let it go.  In some ways it was liberating, but it also made me sad, because that stuff had made up my home and my life for 8 years.  Most of the things in our home now are Jeeves', not mine.  We've been trying slowly to get more furniture that is "ours" and let's be honest - the kitchen stuff is mine, all mine, but still.  After having to purge all my stuff, I've become extremely unsympathetic to any hoarding tendency in my husband.  

To that end, we picked out a few problem spots for him to work on (one of which was that mystery underbed storage box), and likewise, I had stuff I had to work on too.  So, the weekend was spent sorting and purging, and Jeeves did an amazing job of getting rid of stuff.  I suspect there will be more to toss when we reach our new home, but at least we've made some headway.  Oh, and the mystery storage box?  Pretty much every piece of travel ephemera he has collected dating back to his backpacking trip 14 years ago.  

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I'm 29 weeks today.  I only have 76 days to go.  We're taking our birthing class next weekend.  A lot of the girls in my pregnancy group were commenting about the return of fatigue.  I wasn't really having an issue with that at all, and then the second I hit 28 weeks, I was exhausted again - can't keep my eyes open at work, quickly tire from small tasks.  I also find it's getting harder to breathe deeply.  Oh, and the iron supplement I'm taking for my anemia is wreaking havoc on my digestive system.  But honestly, all those things are pretty tolerable - the things I hate most, the reflux and palpitations, are currently on hiatus.  We'll see how long that lasts.

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My dad has continued to improve at home, to the point where he is now talking about getting rid of his home health aide.  He's a stubborn old man who refuses to let anyone help him (except, apparently, me) and so he makes no use of the aide.  He's an adult and he can make his own decisions, although I obviously don't approve of him just going back to the way things were before he went into the hospital.  And yet that's exactly what's happening.  I have more thoughts on this, and how I've reacted to it, but I'll save that for another post.  My sister on the subject: Fine, he doesn't want the aide, let him get rid of the aide.  But when he gets sick again, he's going into assisted living.  The end.  At this point, that will fall on her shoulders, probably, and I'm not inclined to disagree with whatever she decides to do given the fact that Dad is so stubborn about having help in his own home.  My conclusion is this - after talking about it with Wendy yesterday, all I can say is that I have done the very best I could.  I tried to set things up so that Dad could stay in his home for as long as possible.  If he wants to undo those things, I can't stop that.  And now it's time to focus on my new home, my husband, my job, and the birth of my son.

Then and now and also a short pregnancy update

Last week, Jeeves was reading through old e-mails.  Before we lived together, for about a year and a half I lived at my dad's.  And during most of that time, Jeeves was living up in New Haven, CT.  When he finished his clerkship, he went on a trip with his mom to India for six weeks (he had a lot of lag time between jobs, and it seemed like the best time to go on a long adventure).  That was in August-September 2009.  The only way for us to communicate was through daily e-mails.  My friends, we wrote LONG e-mails, filled with details about our days, and it now serves as an interesting snapshot of my life in August 2009.

Dad had been diagnosed in May, and had started chemo in June.  My memories of that summer are that the chemo made Dad sick, and that working full time plus making sure he ate every day and taking him to chemo too was tiring and stressful for me.  I also remember some minor stuff, like going down the shore (that's what we call it in Jersey) with Phil, Emily, and Reefy on a sunny August day.  But I forgot a lot of other stuff too.  I forgot just how sick Dad felt.  How tired and lonely I was.  And how I couldn't seem to catch a break (to wit, I sent my car through the car wash and the bumper fell off; the bike chain came off my brand new bike while I was riding it; and I had low grade paranoia that my boss was going to yell at me for something).  I was kind of like Charlie Brown, I think.  Poor summer 2009 Megs.

Hearing my own voice in those old e-mails made me feel better in a weird way because it was a tough, tough time, but I made it through, and there were a lot of good happy things that came after that.

Dad is home from rehab.  I stayed for 3 days.  It felt like weeks.  It was a mixed bag.  He's much better than he was, but I don't think he's ever going to go back to how he was (physically, I mean.  Mentally he's pretty much back to normal).  He has a visiting nurse and a home health aide.  But for most of the time, he's still on his own.  What would be most comforting for me and my sister is if he were in assisted living.  But he is very opposed to this, and we can't make him.  When I left yesterday, I thought, well, I've really done the best I can.  I was exhausted, I had forgotten to take my Pepcid so I had heart palpitations,  hadn't really eaten much all day, and I was experiencing shortness of breath (thanks to lack of room since Manuji is taking up soooo much space now and running up and down my dad's staircase a bajillion times).  When I made it home, I pulled on yoga pants, climbed into bed, and did not get out other than to eat the dinner Jeeves ordered for us.  Then I got back into bed.  It may sound silly, but yesterday evening was the first time I really realized that physically I cannot do this anymore.

A couple of weeks ago, Anh gave me a speech about how all a parent wants is for their child to be happy and have his/her own life.  She was saying this as a way of encouraging me to step back from Dad Care a bit and focus on my own life/impending child.  Nothing she said is wrong.  And I think logically my dad would agree with her.  But the experience is different.  Anh is a healthy, young parent to two little kids.  My dad is 78 years old, has metastatic colon cancer, and has managed to take care of himself alone for a long time.  And now he can't anymore, and he knows this.  But it's a lot easier to become reliant on the assistance of a willing daughter than a stranger, even a paid stranger.  And so while I know my dad wants me to be happy, I also believe that he is more comfortable asking me to drop everything and rearrange my life than he is with paying people to help him with some of the embarrassing or mundane tasks of his life. 

I know that in some cultures, it's expected that you will take care of your parents as they age, and I think this is fine and good.  I would be happy to do this for my dad.  The problem is that my dad (despite offers from both me and my sister) rejected the idea of moving in with one of us.  So, he wants me to take care of him, but in his own home in NJ, which is just not possible.  Oh, my dad would never explicitly say to me, "Come home and take care of me," but I also know from various things that he has said that this appeals to him.  So you see, I don't think it's as simple as saying "parents just want their children to be happy and live their own lives."

I was venting/opining on this topic to Wendy today.  Wendy has a lot of experience with this stuff - her father has been ill her whole life, at time deathly ill, and her 92 year old grandmother (who is in assisted living) is still extremely reliant on Wendy's mother for all sort of things.  Wendy put it thusly:

Old people are funny.  There's this brain cycle where in many ways the older people get, the more they perceive the world the way they did as children.  There's a general self-centering that takes place, even in people who never put themselves first.  I've seen it in many of my relatives, and my grandmother and father like to talk about it.  Ten years ago, your dad would have been horrified at the thought that you were doing so much for him and putting your own life on hold to do so.  Today he probably doesn't even consider it.  It's not that he's being selfish, it's just that it truly doesn't occur to him that you might be paying a price for doing all this for him.  In some ways I am glad about the timing of your pregnancy because it means you will have to step away from this and let [Sissy] step up or force your dad to accept help from others -- whether you want to or not.  I bet if Hot Pocket [Wendy's nickname for Manuji] weren't a factor, you would just be giving 100% to your dad and have tunnel vision about ever getting out of this cycle.

Dad says some of this is related to fear of dying.  As you know, it drives me crazy when Grandma makes Mom drive her to doctors or checks herself into the hospital at 3 am for crazy reasons and lets the shitstorm fall on everyone else.  I rant and rave to Dad about how inconsiderate it is of her to be so demanding of Mom and never to think of what might be going on in her life.  Even though Dad agrees with me, he says that at that age (granted, my grandmother is 92, so I'm not directly comparing her to your dad) people are so afraid of dying that they can't see anything else.

In many ways, what Wendy says makes a lot of sense to me because I have seen this self-centeredness arise in my dad, a man who has never had a self-centered bone in his body (especially when it comes to his kids), and because I know he is scared of dying. 

For awhile, I felt guilty about Manuji - that somehow it had been selfish of me to want a family of my own when what I should have been doing was just taking care of my dad, or that if Manuji weren't in the picture I would be better able to manage my dad's situation.  But it passed because Manuji's kicks and thumps and sticking his butt out on one side of my belly are what makes me feel happy and optimistic right now.  Because I love him so much already and making his baby registry a few weeks ago was such a wonderful distraction.  And because I'm just so excited to see him and I can't imagine not having him in our lives.

Anyway, that's it.  Dad is home.  It's time for me to step back a bit.  I'll still take him to his oncology appointments while I can, but I'm not going back out there for a week.  Today my sister filled in for me at his house and actually did a pretty good job (although it was really good that the home health aide was there too, and had remembered one of the 5000 things I said was "really important" because she repeated it to the visiting nurse who was able to set up an appointment with an ostomy nurse to visit Dad at home).  I wasn't there and somehow the world kept spinning.  I'm not convinced that Dad is going to be able to stay in his house long-term, but for now, he seems to be okay.

As for me and my pregnancy: last OB appointment a few days ago included the super fun glucose tolerance test.  I do not have gestational diabetes.  But they tested my iron and I am anemic.  So I have to take an iron supplement.  Lately a lot of people have been telling me that I look "small" or I don't look 6 months pregnant, or I don't look like I'm going to have a baby in June.  So I developed a bit of complex that maybe Manuji was going to measure behind, etc.  But Dr. C measured my fundal height and declared it "perfect" so all those "you're so small" people can suck it.  Jeeves said he thinks that those people think they are giving me a compliment.  I will remember this, and will always remember that the only appropriate commentary to a pregnant woman is that her bump looks "perfect" or "adorable" or something like that, and not "huge" or "small." 

We also bought a memory foam topper for our bed which has done amazing things for my hip pain.  I am back to loving my bed again.

Today I am 28 weeks pregnant.  Third trimester.  Already.

And behold, my most important purchase of the week.  Boy did I earn these:

The Wave

This photograph is of big wave surfer Greg Noll in 1964 at Pipeline in Hawaii, taken by John Severson.  I don't surf.  I think surfing is really cool and I've always wanted to learn, but I'm also a total chicken and not the world's greatest swimmer, so I've never learned.  But I like the idea of surfing, and I've loved Greg Noll since I saw Riding Giants back in 2005 (I even blogged about it back then!). This picture appeals to me, though, not just because it's a surfing picture or because it's Greg Noll.  I love it because over the years I've come to impart meaning to it that it was probably never meant to have (but isn't that what art is for anyway?).

 

The ocean and waves, huge waves like the kind that Greg Noll used to surf, can be crushing and unpredictable.  They can be enormous.  But obviously people surf them because it's a challenge and because it can be fun and it's an adrenaline rush, and I'm sure there are other reasons too.  Over the years, this photo has come to represent, to me, massive, potentially crushing challenges and my desire to face them with grace and aplomb.  When I think of scary things I have to face, when I think of The Wave, I think of Greg Noll, a big guy but small before the wall of water, surveying the task with his board on his shoulder and his hand on his hip.  Sometimes The Wave represents something terrible that I never wanted to face: infertility or my dad's cancer.  Other times, it's an exciting but nonetheless daunting challenge, like my career or impending motherhood.

Last week, once I finally came home and got to sleep in my own bed again, I had a couple of bad dreams.  In one of them, Jeeves abandoned me to hang out with other people and left me to find my own way in a large arena.  When I woke up, I was mad at him.  Don't you love when that happens?  When you're mad at someone you love for something they did in a dream?  Jeeves's work has been really crazy this month.  In many ways he has been there for me during this whole debacle with my dad, but for the big stuff - taking Dad to the hospital, taking him home from the hospital, getting him into rehab, Jeeves couldn't be there, he had to work.  Jeeves's job is what allows me to work in my cushy, flexible job that in turn let's me drop everything and take care of Dad.  So I can't hate on it, even when I hate having to handle this stuff alone.

Still, I guess a small part of me was mad that he wasn't physically there with me even though I knew he was there, supporting me in spirit.  Those few days taking care of Dad and getting him into rehab were incredibly lonely.  But no one can ride on The Wave with you or for you.  You have to do it yourself.  In some of the biggest challenges we have to face, we have to face them alone.  It's nice to know that the people we love support us, have our back, but we're all going to deal with things in life that we ultimately have to tackle on our own.

Dad has been doing incredibly well in rehab and he's going to be released this Saturday.  I am both happy for him and terrified.  I have always struggled with uncertainty and so much of life right now is uncertain.  Will Dad be able to handle living independently?  What would happen if Dad got sick and needed to go to the hospital while I'm in labor?  How much time will we have left?  Can I be both a good daughter and a good mother?  Can I let go a little and accept that I have almost no control over any of this?  Can I just enjoy this pregnancy?

This is my wave right now.  And I'll do my best to ride it, not to let it crush me under.