Mama Bear Is Ready to Rumble

As you may recall, I am at a high risk of getting ICP, aka cholestasis, again, since I got it last time (leading to early delivery for the safety of all 3 of us). At my last appointment I insisted on testing as a baseline.

Well, surprise! My bile acid level (sexy) came back at 11.3. By all reputable sources (Mayo Clinic, Society of Maternal Fetal Medicine, etc.), anything over a 10 should be treated. Anything over 40 is a SEVERE case.

My nurse practitioner was concerned and immediately referred me to the high risk guy. Who I really liked last time I was there. I'm now not so happy with him.

He wants to wait until I'm at 40. And not retest for another month.

ICP literally popped up overnight last time. I'm not waiting a month. I'm not waiting until 40. I will find another doctor who understands how serious ICP can be (hello, life of my baby). Hell, I'll even drive the hour to my old high risk doctor if I have to.

I'm beyond pissed I have to educate my own doctor on what safe levels are and how often I should be retested. He won't even see me? Bullshit.

Mama Bear just woke up and she is not happy.

Visit icpcare.org for more info.

20 Weeks!

My, how time doth fly. 20 weeks today, and finally looking preggo instead of just extra squishy. Maybe I'll brave a bump picture next time.

This is the week we go from measuring crown to rump to crown to toes, so don't let the fact that he's ten inches this week and was six inches last week freak you out. Cyan weighs about 10.5 ounces. He's the size of a paper airplane.

I think we can all agree that I am desperately out of practice making paper airplanes. We shall pretend this never happened.

Four weeks until he could be viable outside the womb, God forbid.

I've gained 2-3 pounds, so the backwards slide seems over. Thank you, avocado and Greek yogurt! No signs of cholestasis yet, so yay! Doctor did test me last week to get baseline numbers, but I don't have those results yet.

And, for fun, here's the size of his hand compared to a full term baby.

Meanwhile, it seems all anyone (women... men are still treating me the same, except my boss, who seems to think I'm going to have this kid earlier and earlier and is now planning on my handing over projects two months before my due date, but I digress) is capable of saying to me at work now is, "How are you feeling?" I'm all of a sudden"Mama" or "Sweetie." It's driving me bonkers. And I'm getting a little short in my replies, or answering with something completely unrelated to being pregnant, or outright avoiding people I once thought were the "safe" ones to talk to. 

Am I a horrible person? Can we talk about the weekend, or my other kids, or your upcoming vacation? Do you really need a daily update on my well being? "Well, my boobs hurt and I have major gas. How about you?"

I'd much rather get into a debate over the Oxford comma or the use if that vs. which.... really.

19 Weeks!

Time is flying! Baby Cyan is roughly 6 inches long (head to rump) and 8.7 ounces. I have my anatomy scan tomorrow where they measure everything and look for any developmental issues. Hoping everything checks out okay.

I'm still waiting for kicks, though I've had a few "was that him?" moments. Soon!!

And I am completely addicted to salt. It doesn't even need to be on anything...

And now I'm going to go eat some Greek yogurt despite not being hungry, because I still haven't gained back anything I lost.

Some Pictures

I've had three ultrasounds so far. Or is it four? In any case, here's what the little bugger looks like, or looked like at 16 weeks. Cutie pie.

I think there's a similarity to Indigo's ultrasound from the same week. What do you think?

Hard to tell, I know. But he doesn't really resemble Periwinkle, right?

I'm 18 weeks now, so probably halfway done, assuming cholestasis gets me again  (90% chance, joy). To refresh your memory, I got crazy itchy at 35 weeks, was tested, and it was found that my liver wasn't working right, and babies were born soon thereafter. It sucked, so I hope I'm in the 10% that gets nothing the second time. Go look up ICP to find out more.

Next week is the big ultrasound where they measure everything, so I'm hoping for some great photos!

As for what color to call him here, I am torn between Garnet, Russet, Cyan, and Saffron. Help!

We're Having Another Fish!

Yup! Because having twins doesn't make life crazy enough, Blue and I decided to go for a third. And almost as soon as deciding that, I got a massive migraine and just KNEW I was growing a baby again.

I must admit, I'd begun to wonder if I was too old, too tired, too past this point in life to go through pregnancy again (which is pretty ridiculous considering I'm newly 33). And while I am still fertile Myrtle, it seems, being preggo is MUCH harder this go around.

Part of that is having two four year olds at home who want mommy to play and craft and be with them. No mid-Sunday naps this time! And part of that is that I am older, and still have various autoimmune issues that are being less forgiving this time.

And part of that is that even before I got that positive test, I had a funny pain in my left leg, below the knee. Which I of course ignored for two weeks. Then I mentioned it to a friend, and did some research, and realized that, holy hell, it's a blood clot!

My friend recommended a fantastic doctor who has taken excellent care of me ever since. And for the past 13 weeks I have given myself twice daily injections of blood thinners. This is not the blissful, easy pregnancy of 2012, my friends. This sucks. This complicates things around delivery (have to switch meds at 35 weeks so I don't, you know, bleed out). This complicates dentist visits. And paper cuts. But I'm dealing with it as best I can, and if it gets me a healthy baby* then so be it.

The fun part is we aren't sure if the pregnancy caused the clot (the timing seems to indicate it did) or if my lupus stuff did.  If the latter, I might be on blood thinners for life. Not cool. Fingers crossed it's just the hormones.

Also worse this time are the headaches (iron seems to be helping), the acne  (nothing is helping), and general lack of interest in food (I lost about 15 pounds, but I seem to be gaining finally).

What makes this go around better than last time is seeing how excited the kids are to have a little sibling, although Periwinkle is still pretty ticked that it's a boy. I'll have more on her and Indigo when I finally write their 4 year old letters. Blogging is harder on your phone...but it seems that it is the only way, what with work's draconian lockdown/stalking of Internet usage, and having no brain power left in the evenings...

Now, to come up with a color for the little guy...

*Yes, it's just one this time.

Adorable feature of my app

Jasper is not his name. Just something that popped in my head when the app asked for a nickname. 

A Letter to Periwinkle at Three Years Old

Dear Periwinkle,

In less than two days, you will be three years old. Three years ago, I was searching for apple cider donuts at Dunkin, complaining of an aching back, cleaning the house, and eagerly awaiting your arrival in 3 weeks. Little did I know it’d be only 36 hours. Little did I know how completely my world would change.

And so here we are. You are so smart and conversational, I often forget you are only three, rather than thirteen. Your logic and reasoning skills are rather astounding (though I may be biased) and absolutely adorable. You informed Boomer he could not come in the playroom because he did not have fingers and thus could not play with the toys. You negotiate more time before bed, more cookies, more pears, more trips to the library, more stickers, with the ease of a studied lawyer. You are an expert at dealing with an Indigo meltdown, often giving way in an attempt to soothe him. “Okay, Inno. We can watch Mickey first, then Daniel Tiger,” even though it is your turn to choose. My heart swells with pride when you do that, seeing your empathetic soul. When we brought the cats to the vet and they were crying in their cages, you started crying along with them, begging us to let them out. The cats barely give you the time of day, and yet your heart ached for them. 

You are sweet and loving, yet still fiercely independent. “I do it” has turned into “Let me do it myself!” but your stubborn pride is the same. Often, you will turn back to me moments later, “Can you help me?” on your lips; but more and more often, you succeed where once you struggled. It is bittersweet seeing you accomplish more and more on your own, my girl who from minute one pushed away from me to look around the recovery room in the hospital. You still take in so much of what you see and hear, recalling it days or even months later when I think you must have forgotten by now. 

You handled moving (again) like a champ. You transitioned into your new shared room without issue, and this past month you transitioned again into your big girl room with little struggle. In the morning you proudly announce, “I slept in my room all by myself!” If only falling asleep all by yourself were easier, but we’ll get there.

You have taken to preschool like fish to the water (although swimming lessons this summer were a failure—things to work on). I love seeing the worksheets sent home, with your circles around all the letter A’s and B’s, your scrawling handwriting as you learn to trace letters and now words. I have no doubt you soon will be reading me stories instead of vice versa. I’m so very proud of all you are accomplishing. You are also pretty much potty trained, which is awesome. Just . . . awesome. Keep it up!

This year has been so much fun, seeing you experience everything around you and seeing you turn from a baby into a little girl. I’m in complete denial that you are old enough to not be in diapers, old enough to pedal your tricycle and help me bake cookies. Old enough to remind me to stay within the lines when I’m driving (I always do), and to tell me that a stop sign is an octagon, not a hexagon. But you’ll always be my baby girl.

Love,

Mama

A Letter to Indigo at Three Years Old (YIKES!)

Dear Indigo,

We got into a routine, you and I (and Daddy too, though he less willingly) over the past month or so. Every morning around 6am—though sometimes 3am, if we’re honest—you would pad into our room, give a plaintive, “Mommy…”, and I’d lift you into our bed, put you between us, and fall back asleep as you snuggled in. And kicked Daddy in the face. I often wouldn’t even recall you coming in; I’d just wake up with you beside me. Sometimes I’d try to cut you off if I heard you getting up, try to bring you back to bed, to no avail.  You took my hand one time, said “Come on, Mommy,” and led me to my bed, snuggling in even closer than normal. It was adorable. When we informed you that it was time to move to your big boy room upstairs, you bawled like the three-year-old you are soon to be. “Can I still come in your room in the morning?” I reassured you that yes, just call for me and I will get you. But it hasn’t happened yet. You seem quite content in your new room. Which breaks my heart just a little bit.

Yet when I see you building giant towers, doing puzzles, or when you tell me a fantastical story about a dinosaur and a monster, I can’t help but be happy to see you growing up, learning, using your imagination, becoming more YOU with each day. You are still my quiet, snuggly boy with a biting temper (literally, you randomly bite; please stop). You still seem to feel things deeply, like when you began crying about preschool and how different and loud it was, how it scared you. Such feelings I hadn’t really processed that you had yet. Such big feelings for such a little boy. 

I often wonder what is going through your head as you stare out the window at dinner, watching the birds and the trees. Or at night, when you lie in bed, eyes open, staring into nothing, thinking, thinking, thinking, taking forever to fall asleep. What huge thoughts so occupy your little world? From the beginning, you have been my worrier, concerned about the world around you, even as your sister stared it down and said, “Bring it!” I have photos of you, weeks old, with huge, worrying eyes. You are more like me than you yet know. I am a worrier. I, too, stare into the night thinking, thinking, thinking. I like seeing that we are alike, but I wish it were in other ways. Try to live life a bit more freely, a bit less worried. You are surrounded by people who love you and will protect you, for as long as possible, so don’t fret . . . yet.

But you also feel joy deeply, with your big, whole-body, infectious laughter. I love that laugh more than almost anything in the world. Your eyes light up and your entire face along with it. I hope to find more ways to make you laugh instead of worry. 

You love playing pirates and are pretty good with a lightsaber. Your obsession is Paw Patrol now, not Elmo or even Mickey Mouse. You can sing the theme song and say all the catch phrases. You take my phone and call it your Pup Pad and summon the Paw Patrol “to the lookout!” I love it. 

This week you guys discovered Wall-E. You get so anxious for him, jumping up and down and yelling at him to run, to look out, to go faster. You run in and out of the room, barely able to take the suspense, but you love every minute of it. One of these days I'll catch it on video, before it all becomes old hat. Seeing your excitement makes me so happy.

You love running around outside, especially if it’s away from me as you look back with that devilish grin you got from your father. You enjoy reading books (repeatedly) and going to the library. You are doing great at preschool, learning to identify your letters and numbers, and to write them too! You love pasta with sauce, bananas, pears, and grapes. We’re still working on the veggies. You are doing pretty great with potty training, and I’m so excited to get you out of diapers once and for all. You still won’t pedal your tricycle, because it’s just easier to push along with your feet, but I know one day you’ll wake up and simply get it. You love playing in the sand at the playground, less so going down the slide. I’m wondering if you have a fear of heights. You love your sister, too, and it’s the best thing ever when I see you working together on something instead of fighting over it. You are good at sharing, once reminded. You like to help me around the house, and I let you, even though it’s really no help at all. 

In short, you are a three year old. My little three year old baby boy. Happy Birthday.

Love,

Mama