"Ok, so what's the plan? Just tell me the plan and I'll let you know if I'm in." This what Dave asked me over and over again when I told him I wanted to have a baby. And I have to admit... there was no plan. Instead of hitting him with an impressive power point presentation or even a meticulously executed spreadsheet, I would just beg, "Pleeeeeeeease...". Eventually (against his better judgment, I think), he gave in and, well, we never looked back.
I'm the kind of gal who likes to circle something for a ridiculous amount time (this is how I ended up trying for my first child at 39-40ish!), and then close my eyes, hold my nose and jump in with both feet. As I have discovered, over time, my particular "style" does not lend itself well to the "grand plan." It's definitely more spontaneous. More of a sink or swim thing. Once I'm in the deep end, I just tread water like crazy until the current eventually pushes me back to the peaceful calm of the water's edge. And such was the case with Dashell. There was no real plan, or strategy, or even research. Just basically one foot in front of the other, head down, dealing with the obstacles and challenges as they came (and continue to come.)
I usually prefer to get my advice first hand (directly from the horse's mouth, as they say) or at the very least, kind of spitball ideas with others as to how to handle certain situations (like diapering: change it the minute it's the least bit wet, or let it fill up a bit so as not to waste too many diapers or over exert yourself too much?) But during my pregnancy, as far as I could tell, neither horse's mouth nor spitballing were in my immediate future. I had no friends who were pregnant, nor anyone nearby who had been pregnant recently enough to remember the important things about surviving the first year (or at the very least, the first three months!) I was alone. Without a plan.
So after we got Dashell home, and we had a kind of routine going, an intense feeling of isolation definitely began to set in. Like here I am with this wonderful baby, and he's fantastic, but I have so many questions and no one to ask (or even just commiserate with after 3 sleepless night in a row!) It wasn't that I couldn't do it alone, but more like I realized how much more fun it might be if I could just meet a couple of other people in the same boat.
This is when, after lurking on Diana's blog for, oh, about nine months, I finally reached out to her by commenting about bottles or nipples or something ridiculous like that... and my world changed.
Diana invited me to come to a mommy support group that she was part of. It was so great to meet these other people who were experiencing all the same things and had many of the same questions I did. But the best part wasn't the group that was organized by one our local hospitals, it was the group that Diana and Alex organized around some of the mommies attending that support group.
Initially they just coordinated casual group lunches, and then Diana made a contact list, and then Alex started a Google Group. And now there is this large group of mommies that gets together for playdates, and asks each other for advice, and (best of all) supports each other as we all wade through these often eventful and sometimes uncertain waters of motherhood.
I'm not even sure everyone in the group knows exactly how the group came to be or who they should really thank when they attend a playdate, or get some much needed time with other mommies, or when that answer they've been seeking, turns up in their email. But, even so, I think we are all thankful to be included in this fantastic, and very special, group.
I feel so fortunate that I was invited to be part of this. I have made so many wonderful friends. Friends that I hope I will have for years to come. And I know that Dashell's life has been enriched by so many of their suggestions: Mommy (or Daddy!) and Me classes, swim classes, playdates, etc.
When my brother and I were born, my mother had a group like this (but on a much smaller scale) and when I got pregnant, I never imagined I would find something similar. I also never imagined, with my full-time job, that I would be able to continue to feel such a part of something.
Thank you Diana and Alex for including me in this wonderful community you built. And thank you to all the wonderful friends I have met for continuing to reach out to me (even though periodically I have had to disappear for long periods of time) and for being there for me recently and helping me through a very difficult time. It has all meant more to me than you can ever imagine.
Sorry to get all sappy on you. Just scroll down a little bit further for the fun stuff...
-------------------- Today I had off from work, so Dashy and I were able to host the Friday playdate! Yipee!!
At 12 o'clock we were out in the yard playing, waiting for people to arrive. In the distance, Dash hears something... What could it be??
It's Taline!!
...and Lauren!!
...and Kevin!!
...and Andrew!!
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!
Everyone showed up and much fun was had by all...
Here's a little montage of our hot (98 degrees!!) but wonderful day...
"I pity the fool that gets between me and my daddy!" Dave's been workin' an awful, awful lot lately. We usually only see him leaving or sleeping these days. (Doing two jobs, simultaneously, will suck your time and kick your ass like that.)
This is just a little shout out...
"We're lonely! We miss you."
(But we know, we honestly have no right to complain.) "Please come back to us before we forget who you are!"
Just kidding! But, it hasn't been the same around here without you.
We can't wait to have your smiling face all to ourselves again soon!
I have often thought that Dashell was born with internal clock that is perfectly aligned with the Universal Average Baby Scheduler. Either that or he definitely his mother's child. (My whole career revolves around schedules and making sure that my productions hit the dates they are supposed to hit.)
If there is an average date to hit a milestone, my boy is there. Look out!
I think Dashell's check list reads something this...
I can't wait to see if he'll also get married at 27 1/2 years old and have 2.5 kids and a dog!
Here he is in action...
Dave's been working crazy hours for the last month and a half so unfortunately he's not been around much on the weekends. Dashy and I are typically left to our own devices. Not all bad.
This weekend Dave took swim class with Dash and afterwards (since it was way too hot here to do anything outside) Dashy and I went to the aquarium together.
When we got there I parked our stroller, put him down and while I was getting his smoothie out of the backpack, I heard a quiet, awe inspired, "Wow..." I turned just in time to see Dash toddling, like a drunk after last call, across the aquarium floor toward the giant fish tank! People were turning to look and step out of his way. As he got closer to the tank, the crowd was too tightly knit for him to continue to walk forward so he got down on all fours and scampered toward the tank for a front row seat. He was mesmerized. Needless to say we had a great time!
Look at that. I'm communicating. I'm saying "Howdy" to you. Hmmm... Pretty neat trick, huh?
Bet you never thought of it as neat trick. We just do it over and over everyday.
"Good morning."
"Want some coffee?"
"Does my breath smell? What about my armpits? Tell me the truth, should I take a shower?"
We can communicate in simple ways, like waving "hi", and in more complex ways.
In fact life really would be pretty lonely if this interaction didn't exist. Think about it. We would all just be islands. Standing there separately. Alone. In our bedrooms. Sniffing our own armpits.
How horrible.
No wonder Dashy has been making every effort lately to reach out and touch someone. (As the old AT&T slogan used to say.)
Dash knows about 4 or 5 signs and he has been starting to multi-purpose them like crazy to keep the conversation going. He does "hi" (and says it too) which is a vertical palm and left to right wrist movement. And he does "bye bye". (Verticle palm, up and down wrist.) Bye bye has now also morphed into him being done with something or wanting something stop. Like he's done playing outdoors or in the pool or it's time to close up the sandbox.
Dash also knows "all done". As in "all done with dinner." Which is good because it has stopped the tantrums to get out of the highchair. (Although many times now meals end much, much sooner that I would like.) And "all done" can also mean all done with a toy or a book or bathtime. Or it can mean his bottle is empty, as in "all gone". (Yes, the weaning is going veeeery slowly.)
And he knows "sleep" which he uses to indicate he's tired. But it has also morphed into "soft". Instead putting his hand to his head and leaning his head to the side, he puts his head to the object to indicate that it is "soft". As in the stuffed bunny is soft or the blanket is soft or the touch and feel book is soft. And he also uses it for something that he likes. But in this case, to show affection, he brings the object to his shoulder and leans his head on it and smiles. (Unless it's our dog or cat, in which case he just puts his head on them and smiles.) He uses it to show he likes his new bath toy or a stuffed animal or his sandbox shovel.
Dashy definitely has very defined opinions and he will point to what he wants and if you don't guess right he will shake his head violently and then point again and grunt and then repeat the process until you guess correctly. You know you have succeeded because he does a little fake laugh when you pick up the desired object. (Oh, how somedays I am dying to hear that fake laugh after striking out way too many times!)
Every night (unless he's too tired) we have storytime before he goes to sleep. (I have read I Am A Bunny and The Mitten waaaay too many times. Gotta say..."Amazon I'm comin'. Look out!") We've been reading books to him since he was itty, bitty but it has recently become a lot more fun. Now in all of his favorite books, he has things he likes to point out and "talk" about. Like one day I told him about how frogs jump and now when he sees a frog in an illustration he points to it and bounces up and down to show me that it is a frog. Or in one book when all the animals fly through the air (don't ask... the big bear sneezes) you can see the tongues on a couple of them. So he points to the tongues and darts his own tongue in and out of his mouth going "la, ler, la, ler, la, ler." And of course there's the "go, go, go" that's always an integral part of Go, Dog, Go.
It's fun, I have to say. I'm definely digging this new phase. I love that he really, really wants to "talk". To have a back and forth conversation. Everyday it's something new. In the last couple days we've been comparing real objects (the banana he's having for breakfast or our cat) to objects in a book or a magazine that we happen to be looking at at the same time. Sure I did it first, but he's beginning to make it his own. I guess this is one of the rewarding parts of motherhood. (It definely helps to off set the shellshock of the 15 minute inconsolable screaming, thrashing, crying while standing upside down on his head tantrums that have starting happening with somewhat alarming frequency! Teething much?!)
So for tonight, I'll just put those nasty incidences out of my mind and drift off to sleep happily dreaming of the delightful conversations we had today and the ones that are to come.
Scene 1 INT. SURGICAL ROOM AT CLINIC - EARLY MORNING
DR. BABYMAKER (sitting in front of an ultrasound machine): I got your email. I wasn't sure that you would want to know.
PATIENT (lying on table): Thank you for understanding. Part of me just really needs to find out.
DR. BABYMAKER: Well, let's take a look.
DR. BABYMAKER lubes up the magic ultrasound wand, positions it carefully, and begins to search the screen.
PATIENT (looking intently at the screen): It looks like it stopped.
DR. BABYMAKER (leaning closer to the screen): Yes. I think so.
PATIENT breathes a sigh of relief.
PATIENT (to no one in particular): Thank you.
DR. BABYMAKER: It's strange, usually people at this moment are praying to see a beating heart and stop the procedure. And I'm desperately searching to find one for them. But this time is so different.
PATIENT: I know. But I'm happy it stopped before today.
DR. BABYMAKER (gently): I understand.
The lights go out.
Scene 2 INT. SURGICAL ROOM AT CLINIC - MOMENTS LATER
PATIENT (lying on a table): Did you find what you are looking for?
DR. KNOCKOUT: You have beautiful veins.
PATIENT: Yes, I've been told. (Rolling her eyes.) You've been hunting around that arm for quite a while now.
DR. KNOCKOUT (staring intently at PATIENT's arm): I think I've finally narrowed it down to the perfect one!
PATIENT: Oh? That's usually a pretty quick process...
DR. KNOCKOUT: This one. right. here.
Jabs PATIENT in arm with giant needle. PATIENT winces and flinches.
PATIENT: ARRRRGG!
DR. KNOCKOUT continues to twist the needle in around in her arm. PATIENT grits teeth while holding breath.
DR. KNOCKOUT: You flinched. I think the needle went through your vein and I won't be able to save it. (cheerfully) Have to try the other side.
PATIENT (to self): Oh? Great.
DR. KNOCKOUT examines PATIENT's other arm.
DR. KNOCKOUT: You really do have beautiful veins. I wish all my patients had veins like yours.
PATIENT (beginning to get a little weirded out): Yeah, yeah that's wonderful. Really special. I guess?
PATIENT: HOOOOLY CRAAAP!!!! (tries hard not to flinch.)
DR. KNOCKOUT: Ha! Got one. That is one beau-ti-ful vein!
DR. KNOCKOUT threads the IV into her arm.
PATIENT (to self, or not, as the IV starts to take hold): Oh, boy.
DR. BABYMAKER enters the room.
DR. BABYMAKER (speaking gently): Ok. All ready?
The lights go out.
DR. KNOCKOUT's voice in the distance: Beautiful, beautiful veins...
Scene 3 INT. PATIENT'S BEDROOM - LATER SAME MORNING
PATIENT slowly enters room. Shuts door. Sits down gently on bed.
She carefully peels the bandage off her arm and reveals a red and purple bruise larger than a silver dollar. She shakes her head. PATIENT (to self): I look like a freakin' junky. Beautiful veins, my ass.
She opens her laptop as reads her email. Nods. Picks up her cell phone, listens to her messages and checks her texts. Softly smiles to herself. Tears start forming in the corners of her eyes. She places the phone her bedside table and curls up on the bed.
PATIENT (in voice over): I know I am lucky. I have so many wonderful friends and a fantastic, loving family. A beautiful little boy that many people, who have struggled with infertility, would give absolutely anything for. And with this pregnancy, I knew pretty early on how it was going to turn out.
Many people go weeks longer, months longer, and have no idea. Until one day when they expect to see their beautiful baby waving at them on the ultrasound, or get their perfect test results, and they are met instead with the solemn, almost frightened, face of their doctor and then, the same bad news. But their dreams were bigger. More real. Almost touchable.
And there are the people who make it to very end. Who endure the pain of childbirth, only to be sadly met by the same solemn face and the same horrible news. Or the people who actually are able to touch and feel and laugh with their child, only to have it all end tragically with that one prematurely, final beat of their child's heart.
In the scheme of things, my story is not that sad.
Do I really have the right to mourn a child who was the size of a sprinkle on a cupcake when his heart stopped beating? Is my sorrow completely self-indulgent?
Am I even mourning the actual child... or just the dream?
Both. I am mourning both. The child that struggled so hard to live and... the dream.
The idea of the family I wanted.
Of the tinkling sounds, of children laughing together, coming from the other room while I made dinner.
Of being tackled by my children, and happily crushed by their hugs, while they giggled conspiratorially together.
But also of a life that has been left unlived...
...and of a chapter that is being closed in my own life.
It might be small, in the scheme of things, but it is mine. And I will mourn this loss in my own time, and in my own way, until I feel healed.
She hugs a pillow and lets the tears flow, for what she hopes will be, one last time.
Dave and I met 17 years ago. At the time, the chances that we would meet were 1 in 24 million.
We just celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary last weekend. We now have 60% chance that we will stay married. (Which means a 40% chance we'll get divorced. That sucks, huh?! Just over 50/50 odds.)
Dashell had a 1% chance of being diagnosed with Femoral Focal Hypoplasia with Unusual Facies Syndrome. Pre-natally he was given a 70% chance of having it. And after birth, we were told that the chances that he had it were zero.
My chances of conceiving a child with IVF at 40, 23%.
My chances of giving birth to a live IVF child at 41, 16%.
My chances of conceiving a child with IVF at 42, 15%.
My chances of giving birth to a live child at 43, now... 0%.
The chances that my baby would have the particular chromosomal abnormality that it does, 0.5%. (It was deemed veeeery unusual by our specialist.)
The chances my baby's heart would still be beating at 8 weeks 2 days, 0.2%.
The chances I'm slowly going crazy, hanging in this emotional prugatory, 100%.
We have been waiting (and this sounds so cold, but it is the horrible, horrible truth) for this limbo to end. We have been waiting for this heart to stop beating. Yet, it won't. It's the freakin' energizer bunny of abnormal hearts. (You would think this is a good sign, but it's not. So don't get your hopes up.)
When I found out yesterday that it was still beating, I asked if there was any way we could get a conclusive diagnosis (so we could emotionally move on) without having to wait for the results of a CVS test in a month (if this pregnancy continued to progress.)
Yesterday I saw several doctors. The conclusion was that this heart has an unheard of will to continue beating. I was wrong in my last post when I said that this baby's heart was weak. It's not. In fact, it was explained to me that this child is basically all heart. (Sounds kind of sweet, right?)
Normal 8 week fetus...
Our baby...
See what I mean? All heart.
No head.
No arms.
No legs.
Just all heart. Obviously, a lover (and a fighter!)
The doctors were sweet. I did my standard, professional I'm-talking-with-doctor-who's-giving-me-bad-news thing. Which means I made terrible jokes and tried to put them at ease while, at the same time, trying to seem like an emotionally stable person.
But I was crying on the inside. And when I made it to my car, I wept. (Then I went home and ate a half a pint of chocolate ice cream and curled up in bed.)
We are expecting the heart to stop beating this weekend and I'm scheduled for a D&C on Tuesday.
We usually like to pride ourselves on beating the odds. Unfortunately this time we won't.
Chances I'm going to have a drink this weekend to try to forget about all this, 100%.
Chances I'll be distracting myself by visiting with some good friends, 100%.
Chances Dash will do something today that will make me laugh out loud, 100%.
