But my baby girl is alive, I’m alive, Husband survived the drama, we are all home now, and figuring out the next steps. Happily, for that matter! We are blessed.

Since I am no longer pregnant, I am shifting the blog back to its original site over on ditchlily. Last year was Year of the Baby. I’m looking forward to what the new year will bring.

So. I’m laying out here in my usual weekend bedrest state, cuddled in a sleeping bag. Sunshine today, yay, it might hit 50.

He has to head into town. He comes out and says honey, if you need help to get up to go to the bathroom, now is the time. (cant get upright at all easily by myself anymore)

And he adds: “Speak now or forever hold your pee.”

Then he giggled.

Ok, let’s reflect on his morning. He got up, made pancakes and bacon, cleaned kitchen twice, did a couple loads of laundry, stripped sheets off bed, vacuumed, called his grandma, sorted recycling, fixed something mechanical I don’t know how to explain, figured out what to defrost for dinner, got my lunch ready, and is now headed into town to do errands. On top of that he fed me, watched over me, helped me move when I needed to, and got me settled outside. Oh yeah and he took care of all the animals, too. He’s still sick from a sinus infection, mind you. And right now he’s also missing football.

And his day yesterday wasn’t all that much different. And when he’s at work, he works full 24 hour shifts, and he comes home exhausted.

I think I’m lucky that where he’s breaking, is with the puns. He came out with another hilarious one the other day, forgot to write it down.

My girlfriends with kids aren’t too impressed. Well, they are impressed a guy is doing all this. But they don’t seem too impressed that he’s worn out.

“No kidding,” seems to be the response. “that’s my day everyday.”

Well, sure. But he didn’t just take on my stuff, he kept all of his, too. And he’s now a caretaker. So he’s doing the superman thing, and it’s his first time really ever grocery shopping or cooking, so he has a lot to learn on top of it – and it is kinda tough.

On the other hand – sometimes the only way to learn something is when you get tossed in the deep end. And when would I ever have let him figure all this out for himself, and when would he have ever taken the initiative? Not a lot of guys are going to fight their wives for the privilege of running the house, especially if their fledgling efforts are likely to get them corrected/ criticized.

At least hopefully now when the baby comes, he’ll – and we’ll! – be further ahead of the game.

I have only two shots left, but I have five more weeks of cerclage (fingers crossed). Not sure if this is how it is supposed to be calculated, must ask dr at next visit. At any rate, if I’m not allowed any further shots and there’s lag time for real, I don’t anticipate that gap being much fun. Oof.

When highly religious family members find you a birth mom with a criminal background and hide that background from you, because God told them to, then that birth mom starts pulling some truly crazy shit, this is not a surprising result.

By no means are all adoptions like that. Ours was exceptional. The good news is that the child ended up in a safe home, in a closed adoption. Since the birth mom knew where we lived and knew members of the family, our home was not safe.

The bad news was, we lost a child. It devastated us.

Then the crazy news – we found out we were six weeks pregnant.

Um. That was not supposed to be possible! So the drs had said. Then I wasn’t supposed to be able to make it out of the first trimester, and we faced the very real probability of another lost child. Then the gall bladder went haywire. Then there was a bit of a halcyon period, then the cervix went pop, then the surgery and now the bedrest, and we wait. 31 weeks today.

All this is a way of saying there hasn’t been much time to stop and process. And also, much as I love my unborn daughter, I am still grieving the brother that she lost and will never know. His name was going to be Caleb.

So far, weekends are by far the worst part of bedrest. During the week I am still crazy busy with work (although I am now strictly capped at forty hours). The weekend, tho… Argh. You realize just how helpless and immobile u r. This is not fun.

But getting outside really, really helps. Baby loves it out here too. Kick kick kick. What a funny darling she is. I adore feeling her little hands push and explore when she’s awake. I push or tap back. Sometimes I can lead her to one side or the other. Sometimes I wonder if she’s doing that to me, too.

We’ve had quite a spell of cloudy weather, but I haven’t found it dreary at all. There’s still so much fall color, even greens left, that brightness still burns through the grey.

But some things, there’s no point sending him out for, and one of those is make-up.

Yes, I still wear make-up (and perfume) while on bedrest. Not a lot, but a helpful, flattering amount. The Murphy’s Law of Make Up very clearly states: The day you do NOT wear make-up will inevitably turn out to be the day that you will damn sure wish you had – ie, your boss/ coworkers/ colleagues/ in-laws decide on a surprise bedside visit.This law does not take a break for piddly little things like bedrest. So I have noted.

And, whether it is fair or not, the right amount of make-up also signifies a competent, put-together individual. If you unexpectedly have to turn up at a hospital (damn this early labor crap) it’s preferable to start out by making the best impression possible UP FRONT, because it ain’t gonna get any better when you start moaning or screaming.

Anyway, that’s a long way of justifying why I ordered make-up online the other day. And I’m so glad I did, because the Make-Up Fairy must have packed my shipment… and the Fairy put all sorts of free samples in there! Yay Fairy!! Perfume, make-up, most of which I never in a million years would have experimented with…

… but hey, I’m on bedrest. Why not play with it? I spent a few hours like a delighted eight year old set loose in Mommy’s make- up case. It was awesome. I looked like a hooker at the end of it (from the neck up, anyway) and that was entertaining too. Plus which I’m trying all the perfume samples, even the men’s cologne, and I made an incredible discovery – men’s scents smell AMAZING on me. They have much deeper, earthier notes, and those are way sexy with pregnant lady pheromones.

My poor husband. He sniffed, said, “Wow, what is THAT…” and, I made a tiny tactical error in telling him.

He said, “Oh no you’re kidding me.”

However, I am definitely getting a sense of how far it is from a so-called “typical” pregnancy, by filling out a birth plan provided by the hospital. It’s a required part of preregistration.

Let’s start by saying – we have no idea which hospital we will end up at. It all depends how early the baby comes. This means my care could be transferred between two (even three) hospitals and at least four different drs (that I know of).

Not a big deal. I’ve been in and out of these hospitals plenty of times, I’m very comfortable with the staff, and I’m not at all shy or uncomfortable in getting the care I need from drs. And I know how to work with a patient advocate if I have to.

But is there a place on the birth plan to help sort thru the logistics of all this? Hell no. I figured out myself to confirm my pre-registration at the two main places, and to sort thru the insurance complications. And to figure out the hospital privileges of the various pediatricians.

Next, the official birth plan does not in the least help you figure out alternatives for potential emergency deliveries. I have at least a couple of possible scenarios, and just let me say, when faced with these situations, I could care less about whether or not there is music in the room or if I have access to a jacuzzi. All I want to know is – if A or B happens, what is the best set of options for the baby at X weeks, Y weeks, etc.?

Nothing about that on the birth plan.

In other respects, I’m lucky. My criteria for a successful birth is pretty much focused on the baby. I don’t care at all about cesarean v. vaginal birth for myself, for example – I have no preconceived ideas or expectations about how this should go. A pregnancy like mine very early on destroys any illusion you have about the “right” way to get thru it – you just damn well get thru it.

I noticed this – because more than once, other mothers have sounded a little wistful. Ie, “at least you know you might have to have an emergency cesarean. It never occurred to me and I felt like such a failure.” or, “I felt so embarassed that I had to be induced.”

! Ok. Everyone’s different. But if you ended up with a living, breathing baby, be sure to appreciate what you’ve done.

Um.

Oh, and when it arrived today, the cover model looks to be easily twenty years younger than me and, of course she did. Most mothers ARE twenty years younger than me.

We will give the cosmos the benefit of the doubt, that it didn’t intend this as a double whammy.

1. Don’t engage crazy people. When someone makes a confrontational, accusatory, or sneering statement, smile and move on. Let them find someone else to argue mothering techniques with. (Or just say, wow, do you have any idea how bitchy you just sounded?) (deliver that line right and they will Stfu.)

2. Motherhood is not a competition. Don’t try to one up other people’s experiences or discount them. This does not make for a conversation where two people can truly connect and share.

3. If someone says something out of line, a well placed, neutrally expressed “hmm, is that really what you think? Interesting.” can pull them up short, and give them a chance to jump out of whatever hole they just dug. Ie, when yesterday another mother told me, “you’ve been on bedrest, that’s so easy, you have no idea how hard pregnancy really is.” when someone screws up that bad, you have to give them a chance to recover. (she did)

4. Beware the bitchfest. I noticed this when I got married – the women who only seem to be able to connect with each other by complaining about their husbands. I am now noticing women whose only conversation involves bitching about their kids (and husbands). I don’t need these women in my life. They don’t need me, either, they need a therapist. There is a difference between venting and wallowing. One must always doublecheck to make sure one has not crossed any crucial lines.

5. Listen. That may well be the most important communication skill there is. Don’t try to fill up every space in a conversation. Just listen, don’t jump to conclusions, keep an open mind. People can always surprise you, and if u let them, they will also surprise themselves.