Three years ago

Three years ago I was already in hospital, BORED out of my mind. I'd been admitted a day earlier and was already just wishing it would all be over. I knew the induction lay ahead, and wasn't relishing the thought of being woken at midnight to start the process.

I was also terrified.

2 years before that I'd been this close to birth and then Zoe had died in utero, after labour had started.

I'd spent the entire pregnancy with Nathan trying so hard NOT to bond with my child, NOT to get attached to him, just in case I lost him too. I didn't think I could survive losing a second child. Yet, against my better judgement, in the third trimester, I'd realised that I couldn't help myself. I was already attached, both literally and figuratively. As my "dead baby thoughts" intensified, I fell more deeply in love with my baby.

So there I was, sitting in a hospital bed, bored, and desperate.

When I was finally woken at midnight, I knew the induction wasn't going to work - I don't respond to the gels; I only respond (and HOW!) to the injections/ drip. Eventually, at 5am, I was moved across, and given more drugs. By 10am, there was still nothing to report. I was tired (only having got to sleep around 10pm the night before! Hospitals are really noisy.) I was also starting to get worried. I slipped into the bath, to try and speed things up, and that's when these big clots (bigger than a R5 coin) starting pouring out.

TERROR!!!!

I jumped straight out again, the gynae was called, and we went into emergency mode.

After a further hour or so of hard labour (and it now being around noon), I was too tired to push any further. I was at the end of my strength, both physically and emotionally. I was terrified my child wasn't going to make it, and I just wanted to go to surgery and have a caesar.

At that point, I lifted my head, to tell my gynae that enough was enough and to just cut him out, when she grinned and said, "There's his head!" I looked down, and could see the crown of his head appearing. I knew then that the only way he was coming out was if I pushed - it was too late for surgery. So from somewhere deep inside (I still don't know how I did it), I pushed and pushed and pushed some more.

And then there he was - in all his nearly 4kg glory!

The relief at knowing he was safe, and alive, was so much, I basically just passed out on the bed. My job was done. I didn't care if he lacked fingers or toes, or if he was in any other way impaired. He was alive.

I then made Graeme swear to stay with him ALL the time - there'd been a recent spate of baby abductions from maternity wards and the last thing I needed was for my baby to be taken! - and then I really did fall asleep.

When it came to dedicate him to the Lord, my only prayer was that he would continue to bring joy into people's lives, and with that, healing, in the same way that his birth brought joy and healing into my life.

Bringing him into this world alive vindicated me in some way as a mother. I'd failed to do my job properly with Zoe - it's because of me that she died. I know that nothing I could have done could have saved her, because I didn't know about my APS then. Never the less, she's dead because of me. Yet, here I was, giving birth to another child, a living child. I'd overcome my disorder. I'd completed the circle.

And what joy! He was (and still is) a bruiser of a child. And given the amount of adrenaline floating in my blood while I was pregnant, how he turned out so joyful and calm (most of the time) is beyond me! He is a miracle.

As much as I love Janel (and how I love her!) Nathan is special to me in a way that she's not. I know that she is just as much a miracle, even more, because I wasn't on drugs through my pregnancy with her. Because I had to fight for Nathan though, he's got a special place in my heart.

Every day, as I was injecting myself, I would have to talk myself into it. It didn't get easier every day, as the gynae said it would. If anything, it got harder every day. Every day, I would have to tell myself that if I wanted Nathan to live, I had to do this. I had to stab that needle into my own flesh, and grit my teeth through the searing pain (I'm told an insulin injection is relatively painless). And every day I did. Every day I made the choice for him, in spite of what it meant for me. Every day I chose to do what was necessary so that he would live. It doesn't surprise me then, that he has such a special place in my heart.

Seeing him alive, every day, brings such joy into my heart. I thank God for him. Here's to the last 3 years with this very special little boy, who has brought me such love, and joy, and healing, and life. Happy 3rd birthday my precious baby! And here's to many more! May you grow to be all that God has planned for you to be, and to do.

Dairy cow on two legs

Of late I've felt that I really have nothing worth blogging about, nothing worth saying. Why? Because my entire life seems to revolve around milk and poo, and, really, since you're not the parent or grandparent, I doubt you want to hear about that stuff.

I've been thinking about it a lot just recently. I hate feeling like I have nothing to say, nothing useful to contribute. I hate it that my conversations all seem to revolve around breastfeeding and the state of Nathan's nappies. Surely I am more than just a dairy cow on two legs or a poop scooper? Surely there is more to life than worrying about Nathan all day long - when his last feed was, whether there's anything I can do to relieve his pain, when next he will sleep (and for how long), when last he had a nappy change, etc.

Don't get me wrong - I love him dearly. I am grateful for every moment of worry he gives me simply because it means he's here & alive. I wouldn't trade my life in for any other if it meant losing him.

But...

I hate that right now (& I do recognise that it's just a phase) I have lost myself in the role of mother to a newborn. I have been trying to watch the news, so that I can at least talk about that, but Nellie has put paid to that in the last 2 weeks as she has insisted that I bath her. Of course, because I feel guilty about not being able to spend as much quality time with her as I used to, I oblige her; but that means no news. I try listening to the news on the radio, but somehow something else always prevents it.

I had such grand plans for an exercise routine & getting back into playing my piano. Neither has happened because Nate hasn't yet settled into a routine, & because I've just been too tired (& lazy) to make the most of the time when he has actually slept in his cot. (Because of his reflux & colic he generally sleeps in my arms or on my chest.) I am constantly aware of time ticking by, and of November drawing inexorably nearer. I've already had nearly 2 months of maternity leave... only 3 months left. "There never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them." (Jim Croce, 'Time in a bottle')

What I am also aware of is that this is not how I want to stay. Everyone knows that mothers of newborns only seem to talk about poo. But does everyone also realise that maybe we don't want to, yet are caught in this inevitable pattern of conversation? Certainly in my case, I feel forced into this against my will. I feel brain dead (I'm sure with some sleep I will recover!!) and downright boring. As someone who is capable, & anti gender stereotyping, this rather feels like a slap in the face.

So the next time you run into a mother of a newborn, ask how the baby is, and get a reply about poo, don't think to yourself how boring/ typical she is, or that she really needs to get a life. Pity her. Her hormones and the lack of sleep are conspiring against her. Smile encouragingly & let her know she's still someone worth talking to, even if she sounds like a stuck record. After all, if you're nice to her now, when she becomes 'herself' again, she'll think of you more fondly, and that may be a bonus for you.

Slowing down

Know the feeling where you have so much to do but can't get up the energy to do any of it?

I have a host of things that require attention

1. My pot plants need watering and/or potting out into the garden.
2. The back garden needs a landscaping plan.
3. The garden refuse needs shredding & composting (need to create a site for the compost first).
4. The few items of furniture that we're getting rid of need to photographed & listed online so we can actually sell them, to clear the driveway properly.
   
5. The garage needs shelving so we can clear the stuff off the floor so that it becomes a usable space.
6. The tiling in the kitchen needs finishing.
7. We need 2 more bookcases for the last of our books to be unpacked into.
8. We need to put up all our pictures & ornaments.
9. The dog needs to start being properly trained.
10. I need to get some daily exercise.
11. I need to organize the revision cd-rom for the matrics in the next 3 weeks.
    

But of course, I'm just too exhausted during office hours to contemplate any of it. My energy levels start to approach something resembling an ability to focus & "work" around 4pm, but by 8pm I'm falling asleep sitting up again, which is incredibly frustrating. Of course, it's probably a good thing too, as I'm still trying to figure out the new morning routine with Nellie, & getting used to how long it takes to get Nate & his bag ready to go out, and just generally getting used to having a newborn again. Plus, we're all sick at the moment, so I'm feeling tired from that too.

So, today, after dropping Nellie at nursery, I snuggled back in bed with my son for the rest of the day. There's no denying that my lungs feel better as a result, but I still feel guilty about not getting 'stuff' done - especially getting some exercise. Ridiculous, I know. You'd think I could cut myself some slack, but apparently not.

Learning to slow down is something I struggle with. One of the things that I worry about is becoming a recluse. It's so easy, with a newborn, to just stay at home all the time, never go out, never see anyone, watch rubbish day-time TV all day long. I hate getting to the end of the day and having nothing to show for it. (Being on holiday is the exception to the rule - when you're on holiday, the whole POINT is to do as little as possible. Having a baby is NOT a holiday, so I can't just apply holiday rules to my current situation - that feels fraudulent. Yes, I can be anal about these things. No surprises there.)

Since we have a full-time maid (the idea is that she will become Nate's nanny when I go back to work), my guilt feelings are compounded. Here I am, lying around all day, in the lap of leisure (as it were) and she's working hard. It just feels so wrong. So very wrong.

Not having had a full-time maid/ nanny with Nellie, I'm still trying to figure out how our relationship works, particularly when I'm at home. On the one hand, being early days, I want to do everything for Nate and have him sleep on my chest all day. On the other hand, I want to start handing over some responsibility to her, so that I can make sure she's doing things the way I want them done before I go back to work. I know, I know, I still have 4 months to do that, but that's not very long. So this afternoon I forced myself to leave Nate in her care for an hour while I went out to the library and to collect Nellie.

Of course, Nate was fine when I got back - not that I thought he would be otherwise (I wouldn't have hired her if I'd had any doubts in that department). Never the less, it felt VERY weird, almost wrong, to leave him behind. Part of me felt like a bad mother - he's only 11 days old and already I'm gadding about without him, seemingly without a care in the world. I know that's not true, but emotions never respond to logic.

However, the upshot of all this is that I've decided to try to give myself another week (this week) to rest. I will do my best not to stress about the things that 'need' to be done. (If the plants die, well, then they die.) I will try to give myself permission to stay in bed all day. I will try to cut myself some slack. Having some books to read will help - I can quite happily lie in bed all day and read. Being sick will help too (oddly enough) - I tend to be better about letting myself rest when there's a 'real' reason to.

So if you don't hear from me for a while, don't worry. All is well - I'm just getting to grips with this idea of slowing down a bit.

Bath time, food time, sleep time

On Friday I took Nathan to be weighed at the local state clinic. As happened with Nellie, I was very disappointed by the attitude of the staff nurses present. They were offhand, unhelpful, unfriendly, uncaring, brusque - almost bordering on rude. Although it costs R120 per session, I think I might just stick with a private clinic from now on and pay for the privilege of being treated like a human being, rather than a nuisance and an annoyance. Anyway, the good news is that Nathan weighed 3.3kg, so he's putting on weight just fine.

Although I gave Nathan his first bath last weekend, it was rather a disaster, so soonest forgotten would be best. I bathed him again this evening. This time though, I bathed him in the bath with Nellie. Nathan hated it just as much as the last time, but at least this time (because G was around to help) I managed to keep him warm while still getting him clean.

We had a difficult night recently. The poor boy really seems to have a problem digesting milk and every now and again has incredible spasms that leave him screaming. (Nellie had the same problem when she was born - her prematurity being the main reason.) Of course, he's not considered prem, but it may well be that he has a less developed digestive system. Still, the fact that he's put on weight in the first week would seem to negate that, so I really don't know what to think.

I've realised (remembered?) that I'm going to have to be very careful with what I eat for the next little while to try to minimise his discomfort. I don't think I've eaten anything that could cause hassles - I've avoided tomatoes and other acidic foods (but mainly because I don't like acidic foods), but it may be that I need to watch my intake of dairy. Sigh! I love my dairy.

Nate has also had his first attempt at using a dummy - which was entirely successful. Last night, after he was awake & crying for 3 hrs straight, I resorted to it because I had no milk left and I'd given him so much formula I was convinced that if I gave him any more his tummy would burst. He was very happy comfort sucking. While I'm not sure I want to go down this road again, it's good to know he will take one if we really need it.

And now, as he is sleeping, I think I'm going to catch up on some zzzz's too.

Things are easier the second time around

Having a baby the 2nd time around is SO much easier than the first time around. I'm not talking about pregnancy or labour, mind you. That was so much worse in many respects. Given that Nathan is alive, I have absolutely NO intention of EVER falling pregnant again, and if I do, I think I just might sign up for an elective caesar... either that or have myself committed for insanity.

But actually HAVING another one - well, that's proving easier (at this stage, at any rate). I still have to get the hang of this multi-directional pee thing, but otherwise it's actually OK. Since arriving home on Friday we've managed supper out at Oupa & Ouma's house, a family shopping trip, and I've taken both kids to Granny's house on my own. Apart from Friday night, I'm actually managing OK on the amount of sleep I'm getting. I know, I know, it's early days yet and things may change. What amazes me though is what a difference it makes when you know what to expect.

Like engorgement... (guys, you can skip this bit if it's too much information). With Nellie, I was expressing because she couldn't suck. I was using an industrial strength hospital pump. A word to the wise? Never use an industrial strength hospital pump if you've never breast fed before. Not good for your boobs, and not good for your sanity. With Zoe I was given tablets to prevent my milk coming in, which didn't work. I got cystitis, although I caught it early so it wasn't too sore. So this time around, I was ready. They say that preparing yourself mentally for any ordeal is the most important bit, that you can cope with anything if you know what you're up against. I was so ready though, I nearly missed it - the all four minutes of "hmm... my boobs feel really swollen, sore and hot". I kid you not - no pain, no nothing. I didn't get a chance to even put the cabbage leaves into the fridge!

And the feeding thing... this time around, although Nathan is definitely getting breast first, I'm not hassling about making sure he gets enough from the boob. If he's screaming hungry, and my nipples are too sore to bear another bout, he gets formula. (Of course, the real bonus of formula is that he sleeps for longer, so I get to sleep for longer too. Secrets of the trade, eh?) And sterilising??? As long as the stuff is clean I'm not too fussed. If I have time, I'll sterilise, but honestly - I was far too paranoid last time around. Of course, there's nothing I can do about the sore nipples this time around... just more Lansinoh than last time I guess, and knowing how important it is to get a good latch...

And the sleeping thing... First time around we were scolded for putting Nellie to sleep on her tummy because of the fear of SIDS - this despite the fact that she simply would not fall asleep on her back. Now we've been scolded for putting Nathan to sleep on his back because of the fear that if he were to vomit in his sleep he might choke. (Apparently, the wisdom of the moment says side sleeping is the best.) But whereas I fell apart last time for being a 'bad' mother, this time around I just smiled, nodded and then ignored everyone else's wisdom. Nathan can sleep on his tummy, back or side, I really don't mind - whatever is most appropriate for the moment and the situation. If he's sleeping, I'm happy. (This evening, for example, I got another 3 hours sleep in a row, and when I'm done here, I'm off back to bed. I think that's pretty good going for a preemie newborn.)

And the dressing thing... this time around (OK, yes, Nathan is about double Nellie's size, and that certainly helps!) I'm not overwhelmed by his small size. I don't feel like he's going to fall apart if I just touch him. Having dressed a child for the past 3.5 years, dressing another one is all the same old, same old.

And the nappy thing... I don't have this insatiable urge to change his nappy every time he has a feed (unless he's had a poo). Although I have an interest in the contents of his nappy, I'm not overly concerned. Colour and consistency of his poo, while very important to gauge his general health, are not the B-all and end-all of my conversations. (I recognise that may change.) And I'm not insistent on using a barrier cream. Not using one with Nellie in the later stages of nappyhood made no difference whatsoever to her, so I'm not fussed. If I remember, great. If not, fine.

And the crying thing... I already have a good idea of what might be wrong, because certain facial expressions are familiar to me. Knowing what might be wrong saves a lot of time and angst trying to figure it out! (And not just for me!)

And doing stuff with one hand... like letting him feed/ burp on one side while I express on the other side, or type blog posts, or eat my own food, or make tea, or do something else useful. It's amazing what you can do when you put your mind to it. I wouldn't have considered it last time around, but this time around there isn't time to hang around, and even if there were, Nellie would find a way to get rid of it.

We're about to make the swap back to cloth nappies though (been using disposable while he's been doing the merconium tar stuff), and that will be interesting. Never did cloth with Nellie at this age. We basically only started on cloth when she was about to start with solid poos, so I'll be interested to see how it works with a newborn.

But overall, having a second is a lot easier than having the first - at this point in time anyway.

Generations

Meeting family is always special - particularly that first meeting. This cousin has been one of Nathan's most enthusiastic fans - she was thrilled to get the chance to have him pretty much all to herself for an evening, before her sisters got in on the act.

The oldest and youngest member of my family... a proud Oupa with his ONLY (blood related) boy grandchild.

This moment is the culmination of one of my life-long dreams. When my dad was close to death on 2 separate occasions, one of my prayers was that he would live long enough to hold his grandson in his arms. (Another was that he would live long enough to see Janel matriculate, graduate, and married.) Thanks to God for making this moment a reality.

The gory details

Graeme has already told the basic story of Nathan's birth on FB here. I will spare you a repetition of them. However, what is missing is the description of my feelings & thoughts during the process.

While my only priority was to get him out alive, I was very tired to begin with. I hadn't slept well on Mon night, and then being woken at midnight on Tues eve didn't help. Unfortunately, with the contractions taking place I couldn't really get back to sleep. I was really looking forward to a quick labour, so became very frustrated as the morning dragged on with very little progress.

By lunchtime, I was in a lot of pain, and already exhausted. I chose not to have pain relief, because I realised fairly quickly on that we were in for a long haul, so wanted to save something for later on. Apart from which, I wasn't sure I could sit still long enough to put an epidural in.

When Steffi then told us my cervix wasn't co-operating & I should get in the bath, I started to think we were heading for a caesar. I was quickly running out of steam. With the contractions being so irregular, some of their effect was being undone in the quieter patches.

Anyway, when I got in the bath & the clots started showing up, I started to panic. However, being in the water triggered something. Having said that, I was in such pain by then I barely had the strength to voice my fears. I came very close to asking for a caesar - I honestly didn't feel I had the energy to push Nathan out. By the time I had decided that was what I wanted though, h had started crowning. While pushing though, I could feel I was out of strength. After several ineffective pushes, Steffi had me turn around. Then we started to get results, but even so I became convinced she was going to have to pull him out, because I couldn't push. As I finally reached the point of giving up, and looked up to tell her I couldn't do any more, I saw his head was already out. Amazing how seeing the object of your actions can be such an inspiring thing! From somewhere (and I really couldn't say where, because I was FINISHED by then) I managed to find the strength for another one or two pushes, and out he came.

I was so relieved he was out, I'm afraid to say I couldn't really consider anything else. Steffi put him on my chest, and I basically passed out. As Graeme said, he was very blue in the face, with his cord around his neck. Graeme then helped cut the cord, and shortly thereafter he & the midwife took Nathan to ICU.

My goal was always just to get Nathan into this world alive. Nothing more. With him out, and alive, I was suddenly faced with the future of raising him. It's taking me a while to bond with him, I think because I didn't allow myself to really contemplate a future with him, just in case. It's happening, but slowly.

After being returned to me in the ward, and his first feed, things regressed again. We couldn't wake him, and thus he wasn't feeding. He spent the night in ICU again, with both nurses and the paediatrician a bit worried about him. However, after 2 bottle feeds (I tried expressing, but that didn't work) he has been much better.

I think the thing I have to remember is that he's prem, even though he isn't technically termed prem anymore (babies have be younger than 36 weeks to be termed prem). As a result, he's feeding every 2 hours, which is exceedingly exhausting. I'm being sensible though and after breastfeeding I've started giving him formula 'top ups' so that he sleeps a bit longer so I can sleep a bit longer too - otherwise I only just get him fed, burped and changed and it's time to start all over again!

He does have a bit of jaundice, so feeding him is vitally important if we want to keep him out of ICU. Other than that though, he's dong really well.

Thanks to everyone for their tweets, FB comments, sms's, emails, phonecalls and visits. Thank you even more for your prayers. It's incredible to think that Nathan is alive and well! Thank you for the part you played in making his birth take place. (By the by, Nathan means 'Gift of God', which he is!)

Nathan 10 June 2009

Sunrise from the labour ward & several taken from NICU shortly after his birth.

Mommy's boy!

The new family - check his face!!

A sense of humour loss

I think I've lost my sense of humour. Browsing through my recent posts, they all seem so serious. I know I've laughed a lot recently, both long and hard, but always at stuff other people have said. Somehow I seem to have lost my sense of humour when it comes to reflecting on my own life (which I tend to do in blogging). I'm not sure how that happened, or why, but I'm hoping it returns soon.

Actually, thinking about it, I think I can probably guess why. It's called panic. While I'm very excited about going into hospital tomorrow, a large part of me (that I'm trying very hard to ignore) is quietly panicking that this baby is going to die. Thus far, he's been active and healthy, but because all that can change in the blink of an eye (he could go from alive & healthy to dead in less than 20 minutes), I'm too scared to believe he's going to be okay until I can see his eyes open and hear him take a breath.

Is that a lack of faith? I'm not sure. I know that God understands, though. He understands my frailty. He's seen my tears, heard my pleas, felt my fears. He also knows that I know that this process is in his hands alone. There is nothing I can do to change the outcome. What will be, will be. Choosing to hang onto my fear is more about trying to protect my heart than anything else.

Unless someone has lost a child, I don't think they can understand my mind-set. I believe that God can save this child. I believe that God wants to save this child. However, those two facts together do not mean that God WILL save this child. That's the lesson I learnt with Zoe.

I feel like the sword of Damocles is hanging over my head, and that with each passing hour it drops closer to me. Only when my child is born, and alive, will I feel we are free and will I be able to fully experience the excitement of his birth. I just know I'm going to sob a LOT in the next few days and hours - either from sheer relief and joy, or from extreme heartbreak.

Oh dear God, let him be born alive. Please. Please.

I have no fear of the labour, although I'm not looking forward to the pain and although I keep wondering how I got through the last two. My only fear is that I'm going to go through this only to lose him. I guess contemplating the death of a child is enough to make anyone lose their sense of humour.

So I'm praying I recover mine, because that will mean he's born alive. I don't care if he has to be in ICU for weeks. I just want him alive. Please God.

Baby 3 photos

He was fast asleep and not interested in having his photo taken at ALL. But, we can confirm that he already has hair. Nellie had no hair for a long time, then got this white bum fluff; Zoe was ginger and curly. I wonder what colour his is?

One week to go

Yes, indeed. This time next week will be my first evening in hospital. On the one hand, I simply can't wait. On the other, I'm getting seriously nervous. All the "what-if" scenarios are starting to do more than just play through my mind. Crazy, I know.

I'm already sleep deprived (keep waking up between about 3.3am and 4.30am and then can't get back to sleep), but I can't wait to get my body back to myself (to some degree). Specifically, I can't wait to have my hips put back together. Today, shopping for some of the last few house things we need, I walked from one end of Canal Walk to the other. By the time I'd walked one way, I was nearly in tears and wanted to ask someone to call centre management to get me a wheelchair. Fortunately, there was a Mugg & Bean (thank God for Mugg & Bean) right there, so instead of humiliating myself, I took myself out for lunch. I was amazed by the number of diners out on their own. It almost made me want to go over to some of them and say, "Hi, let's not eat alone, let's have lunch together", but looking at some of their faces, I don't think it would have gone down too well.

Anyway, I managed to get just about everything on my list for today, which is great. Of course, I still have what feels like a gazillion things on my list for the week. Most of them I can't do by myself because I'm physically compromised. I'm looking forward to getting some independence back too. Of course, I recognise that it won't be instantaneous - it's taken months to get to this glorious state of unmaking, so I'm sure it will take at least two months to be remade, but I'm comforted by the fact that it can't get any worse.

Graeme has been an absolute star through all this. In the past week he has really stepped up to the plate. Despite having a really sore back, he has diligently drilled holes and put stuff up for me, lifted and carried and moved stuff for me, and all without complaint. I know this stuff doesn't bug him the way it bugs me, and of course I have the added complication of going through the nesting thing in a big way at the moment, so it must be very frustrating for him to be presented with lists of things that "absolutely have to be done right this minute otherwise I'm going to explode". He is such a hero!!

So, tomorrow's task? Get the garden sorted. Thank God I have a gardener. He doesn't know how hard I'm going to make him work tomorrow. Poor man. Also, get the kitchen sorted. (Thank God I have Priscilla to do that.) Also, get the books and bookcases sorted. (Thank God I can do that sitting down.) After that? Well, the things still on the list after that aren't urgent, so I think I might just take Wed off.... maybe.

Are we there yet?

HEALTH WARNING: this is going to be a venting post.

I feel like the kid who, sitting in the back seat, constantly asks" "Are we there yet?" when you're on a long car journey. I just want to BE THERE already.

I'm fed up of all the boxes everywhere. I'm fed up of having to live out of them and around them, and not being able to find my stuff. I'm fed up of the chaos. I'm fed up of having contractors in my house. I'm fed up of the noise and dust and mess. I'm fed up of not having enough shelves and space to put all our stuff (and no, I don't want to get rid of it all...). I'm fed up of Alyssa being on the verge of panic that we're about to abandon her every time we move a box or a piece of furniture. I'm fed up of Baggins charging out the door (and into the road) every time we open it. I'm fed up of not having blinds up in our room, or proper light fittings in some of the rooms. I'm fed up of the new stuff in the house still having teething problems. I'm fed up of things not just being the way I want them. I'm fed up of the garden being such a tip.

As far as being pregnant goes, I'm also feeling hugely fed up about that. I'm fed up of being unable to bend over, lift things, push things, pull things. I'm fed up of getting severe heartburn the moment I even vaguely bend at the waist. I'm fed up of these blasted contractions that do NOTHING (if they were at least proper ones, and achieving something, that would be different... all these Braxton-Hicks ones do is cause me severe discomfort or pain). I'm fed up of having a bladder the size of a pea. I'm fed up of getting leg/ foot cramps in the middle of the night. I'm fed up of being unable to turn over in bed at night without pain/ severe discomfort. I'm fed up of not sleeping well. I'm fed up of having pelvic pain (my body has been producing relaxin since the beginning of the 2nd trimester, instead of only starting to produce it now' so as a result, my ligaments have all relaxed FAR too much and my pelvis has come apart - and yes, it's as sore as it sounds) and being unable to walk far or easily. I'm fed up of having to inject myself every day and take other medication every day. I'm fed up of not being able to get comfortable in any position (standing/ sitting/ lying down) for any length of time. I'm also fed up of the worrying that this baby is going to die and the frequent dead baby thoughts.

As far as work goes, I'm fed up of marking. I'm fed up of being fed up about marking. I'm fed up of having to deal with stupid kids and their discipline issues. I'm fed up of having to deal with parents of kids I have to discipline. I'm fed up of having to be there at 7.45am. I'm fed up of getting no marking done because of the rubbish I have to deal with & loose ends I have to tie up.

Please? Please can we just GET THERE already?

(And yes, I know it will all be worth it in the end - the house will be lovely & the baby will be fine. Knowing what the end or future result will be - in the case of the house at least - does not make it any easier to go through all this stuff in the present.)

Baby 3

I've had the last gynae appointment before baby boy is due to arrive. I never thought I would get here, but here we are.

At present, baby boy is slightly bigger than he should be. His measurements sit around week 35, but I'm only at week 34. He's currently about 2.5kg, so he should be around 3kg when he's born, which is a good weight. It'll also be the biggest baby I've given birth to. Hmm... Nellie was 2.2kg and Zoe was 2.8kg. It's both good and bad news: Good news because it means he should be a bit stronger and more able to cope; bad news because oversized baby boys often experience complications during or post birth.

At the moment, the other good news is that my cervix is very closed. Despite all the contractions I've been having there has been no effect on the cervix, so he's still sitting very securely. This is good, but if it's still the case in 2 weeks time, then we may have a problem. If my cervix doesn't "ripen" somewhat, then I may not respond to the induction, in which case we will have to have a caesar. I'm not looking forward to that option, but as I said to the gynae: I'd rather have him out and alive than leave him in there and lose him in a few weeks' time!

We've also talked about starting the induction a day early, to give it more time to work properly, in the hopes that we then won't have to go the route of a caesar.

The number of contractions I'm having though has brought home the fact that he will be here VERY soon, and I'm getting more and more excited about that. I'm also getting more and more stressed about the things that still need to be done in the house so that when I come home from hospital I can come home to an ordered home.

But before then, I have piles of work to finish up, so let me go and do that...

Antici........PAtion

One way or the other, this weekend is going to be interesting.

When we move house, we always seem to pick the worst time. A few years back, we picked the single hottest, record-breaking weekend in London. Now it seems we have picked the single worst, record-breaking one in Cape Town. Yup, the air pressure is set to drop to 940mb. Given that Hurricane Katrina was at 920mb when it made land in the US, that's pretty scary. Winds are predicted to get up to 100km/h.

Hmm.... could be interesting trying to move house in that sort of weather...

But there's something else I'm more interested in. I think I had a contraction today. A proper one. Not just a Braxton-Hicks.

With both previous pregnancies, I had contractions in week 33 (which is where I'm currently at). With Nellie, my waters broke after about 3 contractions (!!), and then labour had to be induced after 10 hours of not much else happening. With Zoe, I had contractions for about 8 hours, after which the pregnancy continued as normal until she died. I've been expecting something to happen this week, so wasn't surprised. I was, however, alarmed.

Thus far, nothing further. Baby boy seems healthy (although I can't find his heartbeat). He's kicking strongly, and the placental blood-flow sounds healthy, so I'm not too worried about him.

I'm not at all worried about him arriving this early, in fact. I am, however, worried about going into labour and not being in hospital to be monitored, and/or not having had some steroid injections beforehand. I suspect that Zoe died during the initial phases of labour at 37 weeks, following which the labour stopped again (for the 2nd time).

My uterus has been feeling rather irritable all week, which was the same with Zoe. ("Irritable uterus" means it's hard all the time and the midwife is unable to feel physically the position the baby is lying in. It's a sign that you're going to go into labour soon.) While the meds I've been on are supposed to reduce the risks of stillbirth, I have no idea what impact they will have on my body's decision to go into labour.

Nellie was born at 33+4, which would be on Saturday. She's fine, so I have all faith that if he's born this week, he'd be fine too.... as long as he is born alive.

So - will we be moving house or not this weekend??? Will the weather, or the baby, cause us to change our plans???? THAT is the question.

Is this it?

Over the past few weeks, I've been having a lot of Braxton Hicks contractions (these are "practice" contractions to prepare the uterus). Then, last week, I had none. Suddenly, today, it's like WW3. I've been SO uncomfortable and my uterus has been rock hard most of the day. Of course, there are several consequences of this:

1) Baby boy has been uncomfortable, so has been kicking me a lot. (No paranoia today, as a result of that!)

2) I can't bend at all, not even slightly, without feeling extremely uncomfortable and sore.
3) I have had serious indigestion all day.

While on the one hand, all this is actually good news, I am slightly perturbed by it. The reason being that this is the pattern both previous pregnancies have followed... with the result that during my 33rd week I have gone into labour.

So... week 33 starts on Wed and my uterus is irritable. Hmm.... does this mean what I think it means??????

Mother's Day with all my children

As the 33 week mark draws near (Wed), I'm finding myself panicking at least once a day, often more. Fortunately though, every time I do start to panic, within a few moments, baby boy responds by moving and I can breathe a sigh of relief.

I had a wonderful moment this morning, followed by a moment of sheer panic. Nellie came for a snuggle in bed this morning before G got up to make me pancakes in bed (he has NEVER made me pancakes before!). As she and I were cuddling, I suddenly became aware of baby boy being part of that hug, and then of Zoe on my other side. It was such a warm, happy feeling - all my children with me, all happy, all loving me. I wish I could have bottled that moment; it was so precious.

A few moments later though I wondered to myself whether the reason that I felt Zoe's presence was because baby boy won't be with me much longer, and God wanted to give me at least one special moment with all my kids together. Cue panic.

People keep telling me to be positive, to trust that all will be well. While I appreciate they're trying to help, I wish they'd say nothing. I am trying to be positive, but however positive I am, that makes no difference to whether this baby will live or die. That decision is entirely up to God, and no matter how positive I try to be, it's a decision that is out of my hands. I was terribly optimistic about Zoe, because she'd managed to stay put till week 37; because the scan on the Wed showed that all was well with her and me. Look at how that positivity turned out.

I will treasure that moment this morning for a long time, but doing so does not alleviate my fear and paranoia. I'm getting to the stage where I want to have a monitoring belt permanently attached. If this baby is going to die, there will be no warning, no indications. He will be here one moment, and gone the next, but I want to know when that moment will be. There is no way to prevent it (other than what I am currently doing in terms of taking my meds), and therefore there is no way to reduce my fear.

Trust in God, everyone says. Hmm... trust in him to do what, exactly? Keep this baby alive? I don't know why God decided not to let Zoe live, so I have no idea whether he might make the same decision with this baby, or not. I am in completely uncharted waters here. While I trust in God to do whatever is best, I have next to no faith that he won't make the same decision again, that him choosing not to let this baby live is what is best. So how exactly do you want me to trust in God? God is sovereign. If he chooses to take this baby, or if he chooses to let him live, the extent to which I trust him is not going to change the outcome. All I can trust is that God is faithful. If he does take this baby, then he will help me cope; he will get me through it, eventually. I'm not sure how, but I trust he will. That trust, though, does not alleviate my fear that God's plan is to take this baby.

I guess that knowledge made that moment this morning all the more precious. If he is going to take this baby, then at least, for that one moment, I had all my children with me, and what better day on which to have it than Mother's Day.

So I'm grateful, even though the thought that that may have been the last moment on this earth that my children were all together scares me witless. Small mercies...

As for the rest of the day, well, it was nice, but nothing spectacular. I didn't feel particularly treasured, or appreciated. Nellie is ill - she's going to the doc tomorrow to get something. She's been ill for about 2 weeks now, but was getting better last week. Then, suddenly, yesterday, she developed a fever. Today, she was completely lethargic... quite scarily so. At one point I was ready to rush off to ER with her.

The time we had with my mom she was asleep (she slept from about noon until about 3pm!) and I was constantly keeping an ear out for her to wake or cry, and worrying that she'd hardly eaten or drunk a thing all day (up till that point) and wondering whether she was getting dehydrated. (A mother's lot in life, I guess!) The time we had with G's family I spent entertaining her and so not interacting with anyone else. I'm not complaining about that - I loved the hugs and cuddles and snuggles... but having to remind/ harass others to get me stuff to eat/ drink or fetch my bag, etc because I couldn't get up, and not having a decent conversation with any of his family for 2 hours, well... that wasn't really how I envisaged mother's day....

So, now I'm off to bath my baby and get her into bed. Then I'm off to bed myself. Sleep cures a million ills, I figure!

Baby Doppler

Having lost Zoe at 37 weeks, you can understand that I was bound to be rather paranoid during this pregnancy. In discussion with my gynae, we decided that a good route to giving myself peace of mind would be to buy a baby Doppler machine. These machines allow you to hear the baby's heartbeat from about 12 weeks onwards, but in the comfort of your own home.

We looked into it, but they are frightfully expensive in SA, particularly if it's only going to be used for one pregnancy. A very kind friend then offered to buy one for us in the USA, as they were quite cheap there. We were thrilled. Unfortunately, the one she bought can only be used in the 3rd trimester (from week 30 onwards) and despite trying several times, I haven't been able to get it to work at all.

I then had the scare around 22 weeks where I was convinced the baby had died. I didn't rush off to the hospital, as everyone would have assumed I would, because I am (surprisingly) a bit of a pragmatist. Even if the baby was in trouble, they would not have induced or given me a caesar, because a baby that young has little chance of survival outside the uterus. My attitude was - either he will live, or he won't; medically, there is very little that can be done. So I kept my mouth shut, suffered in silence (I didn't even tell Graeme for the first 24 hours) and waited for our scan on the Monday.

At that appointment the sonographer told me that I will find it difficult to feel him move, since my placenta is in the way. It covers most of the front of my uterus, which is where the nerves are that allow you to feel movement. (There are relatively few nerves inside the abdomen in general, most of which are not involved in pain reception, but in innervating digestive muscles, which is often why people can develop tumours and not feel them.) That gave me a lot of peace of mind, because I could calm myself with the knowledge that, this time around, it's okay not to feel a lot of movement.

Since then though, it seems baby boy has decided to co-operate in the grand scheme to keep me sane. He has been steadily kicking his way through my bladder and lungs - the only other places where pain can be easily felt. On the one hand, I've been so grateful - at least I know he's alive; on the other, I've been annoyed - it's not fun having your lung capacity decreased to such an extent that you can't stand and talk at the same time, or feeling like you're about to wet yourself.

There have still been moments though when I've had anxiety. I won't call them panic attacks, because they've never got that bad. I've usually been able to distract myself and calm myself down, and a short while later he has kicked again. However, as the danger period (from now onwards) these anxiety spells have been increasing. Most often, they occur when I wake up at night, and I can't remember when last I felt him move.

So I decided that, since I've not been able to get the other machine to work, it was time for us to fork out and buy a proper Doppler. In conversation with our home group members about my anxiety, they generously (and spontaneously) clubbed together and gave us some money to buy the machine. Last weekend, we found a second-hand one that was (while still expensive) in good nick and less than the full amount for a new one.

Since then, I have learnt a lot about my little man. For example, he REALLY does not appreciate the eavesdropping. No sooner do I put the machine on, and find his heartbeat, than he will determinedly turn away so that I can no longer hear it. Very annoying! Also, I discovered just how much he is actually moving. Even when I can't find his heartbeat (and yes, that does have tremendous potential to freak me out) I can clearly hear him moving around in the amniotic fluid, practicing his kicking and punching. What amazes me is that even while I can hear him, I honestly can't feel it. That has been a great source of peace to me - that even when I can't feel him, the likelihood is that he is still moving around.

The Doppler also has the function to allow you to record the sounds you hear on the computer. I haven't tried it out yet, but I will. When I do, I'll post the recording here, so you can hear him too.

Other than that, I guess we're doing well. I'm feeling more and more certain that he's going to make an appearance before the induction date (which will be 10 June), and that's already early. I say that because I'm already feeling as uncomfortable as I was with Janel (she appeared of her own accord at 33 weeks) and with both girls I went into labour at 33 weeks (Zoe's stopped spontaneously after prayer). I'm 29 weeks now, so if my 'magic' number is 33, then I've got 4 weeks to go! There's a scary thought!

28.5 weeks

Not quite side on, so you don't get the full effect, but it gives you the idea.

About 10 weeks

I went for another scan earlier this week. The little man was sleeping, using a thickened portion of my uterus as a pillow, and honestly looked like he was snoring - mouth slightly open and 'breathing' through it! So cute!

He's lying breech at the moment, but as we have several weeks to go, that really is not a problem. Everything else was fine. He's been kicking up a storm recently, so I'm quite at peace that all is well in there. He's also been lying with his head right under my belly-button, and then rubbing his head against the nerves in that area - OWW!! I've been so uncomfortable and sore as a result that I've had to hold my belly up with my hands, to try to relieve the pressure of him pushing against that area. Not too pleasant.

Apart from checking vital stats, I also discussed induction dates and general labour stuff with our gynae. I was very relieved to learn that the system here is pretty much identical to the system in the UK. While I've done this twice before, doing it in a 'foreign' place and system was starting to stress me out - I don't deal too well with the unknown when my life and the life of my child are at potentially at stake.

Anyway, I will be admitted as an in-patient 2 days before the induction, so that I can have several steroid injections to help his lungs develop properly and have several different scans. Then, on the 3rd day (currently set for Wed 10th June, assuming we get that far), we'll induce. (The poor boy will never have the pool or other outdoor parties that Nellie will be able to have!) Initially, we'll use the gel, but if that doesn't work, we'll go for the oxytocin drip. My gynae was pleased to hear that I respond very well to oxytocin - 2 hours from the initial injection and the baby is out. However, she agreed that starting with it leads to a very vicious labour, so I'm all for starting gently with the gel instead, even though it means I'll probably be in labour for much longer than I was with either Nellie or Zoe. Shame - she nearly lost a baby this week to complications in induction, so I think she's had a big scare and is being overly cautious with me as a result.

Although both Nellie and Zoe's births were induced, they were both positioned correctly for labour (i.e. not breech). That bodes well for this pregnancy. With any early birth, and particularly with inductions, there is always the possibility that there will be complications. I'm hopeful that there will be none with this one.

So - about 10 weeks to go. On the one hand, that feels like a million years from now. On the other, it feels like just the blink of an eye. One thing I am grateful for is that it means I will have about 10 days after finishing work before he arrives. That will give me a small breathing space to sleep (unless of course we're still moving house around then!) and rest and prepare myself mentally.

In some ways, I really don't feel ready for this. I don't feel ready for the sleepless nights, leaking sore boobs, dirty nappies, and the MESS. I don't feel ready for dealing with Nellie's inevitable jealousy. I don't feel ready for any of this baby stuff again. But then I remember that right now I'm looking at it from the outside. When he's here (please God, let him BE here!), I will have my love for him, and my hormones, to get me through. This time around, I will have Priscilla to help during the day, and BOTH grandmothers only a phone call away.

I'm really starting to get excited about the birth now. I've been so nervous about forming a bond with this child, just in case. Now that he's moving so much though, it's impossible to ignore him, or the developing bond I feel for him. And now that I feel that bond, I am getting excited about meeting him. Of course, we're only just entering the danger period now, and so the likelihood of losing him increases with each passing day. In many respects, it feels so ironic. I'm trying not to think about it though. I'm trying hard to be positive and to think that he's going to make it just fine. I pray he does, because I'm not sure how I would cope if I lost another one. But he's definitely not going anywhere just yet - that much is clear: as I write he has decided to wake up and is dancing and kicking. How I love being able to feel him move!

(Tertia - you are so amazing, my friend, to have survived the loss of your babies as you have.... you are an inspiration to me on a daily basis! Thanks for your honesty and your 'bare it all' approach to blogging.)

Mixed up

It's one thing when you know that your pregnancy is high risk. It's quite another discovering that a friend is in trouble. For one, you feel so completely helpless. At least, if it's me, I know what the situation is minute by minute. With a friend, you've got to wait for them to sms you (since their phone will mostly be off while in hospital) or call you and let you know progress.

A dear friend has been having problems with her pregnancy just lately - blood pressure stuff. She went into hospital again this past weekend because she was having difficulty breathing & her blood pressure was doing really weird things. After a battery of tests, pre-eclampsia has been ruled out. So has the possibility of an embolism and pregnancy diabetes. Baby is doing absolutely fine. So far so good.

However, they still haven't been able to figure out why her blood pressure is all over the place. She's had to basically cancel her holiday plans (she will still go away, but to a place just over an hour away, rather than the original exotic holiday planned) and now is worried that they will have to induce early. She's about a week ahead of me in terms of gestation.

Praying for her, and worrying about her, over the weekend it struck me afresh how Zoe's death has affected me. I sometimes still struggle to hold other people's babies, and to get excited about them. With this dear friend, my heart was completely in my throat all weekend at the thought that she might have to suffer as I did. Last week, when our deputy head's wife gave birth, I was over the moon about it. Yet, I still struggle to hold family babies... and there are several of them around. Graeme's cousin is also currently pregnant, and I'm finding it really difficult to feel excited for her, yet I'm really excited for my colleague at work (who is 2 weeks ahead of me).

I'm thoroughly mixed up. I can't explain why with friends and colleagues I'm fine, but with family I'm not. It's just so weird. I wish I could though, it would make it a lot easier to deal with.