I've been thinking about how long this pregnancy has seemed to carry on. Which brought me the beginning of this journey. When I found out I was pregnant (surprise!) only 7 weeks after I lost Willow, I vowed that I would not waste my energy worrying. Of course that was easier said than done. When I managed to approach my 2nd trimester without a mental breakdown I was quite proud of myself. But I felt I was slowly losing hope when I lingered around the 21 week mark, when I lost Willow. With God's strength and my husband's support I made it to 30 weeks!
Now that I'm nearing the end of what will be my last pregnancy I have a mixed bag of emotions. I still won't feel safe until this baby has arrived safely from my womb and I am holding him in my arms. And who am I kidding, even then I will worry! I also feel sadness that this will be my last pregnancy. The last time I get to feel baby ninja kicks in my ribs. The last time I get to eat ice cream without feeling guilty. But I'm also anxiously anticipating the arrival of this baby boy just to have some relief from this terrible back pain. The pain associated with this pregnancy has made it one of the worst pregnancies I've experienced (except for losing Willow of course). I thought I was so lucky when I didn't experience nausea for the first time out of all my pregnancies. What I wouldn't give for some vomiting if it meant I could actually walk without pain again. But as I sit here and feel a little sorry for myself (as my husband cooks his 7th meal straight, along with a special dish for me to take to work tomorrow) I remind myself that this is no normal pregnancy. I almost feel as if I've been pregnant for a lifetime. So I did some math.
30 weeks pregnant, currently
7 weeks between this pregnancy and when I lost Willow
21.5 weeks pregnant when I lost Willow...
So I've almost been pregnant a total of 50 weeks, which is a little over a year. No wonder why I'm a little miserable. I plan to breastfeed a minimum of 6 months which also means I haven't had a drink in a little over an eternity! Just some food for thought.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
I'm Not Alone
I just wanted to take the time to mention a very important website I recently discovered. www.facesofloss.com has become such a part of my life. I can't believe there hasn't been a website like this before. It's sad to read everyone's story regarding their loss. Everyone's story is so different, but then again it's the same. We are a community of women... mothers, fathers, aunts, grandparents who have lost a child. The loss is not less significant because it happened during the third trimester, the second or just days after finding out about this tiny being growing inside.
A part of my healing process has been to talk about Willow Rose and her death. I know it makes some people uncomfortable, but some have embraced my courage. Some have taken the opportunity to ask questions. Some feel more comfortable to share their own story. I'm so thankful to be able to share my journey with others, but saddened by their losses.
A part of my healing process has been to talk about Willow Rose and her death. I know it makes some people uncomfortable, but some have embraced my courage. Some have taken the opportunity to ask questions. Some feel more comfortable to share their own story. I'm so thankful to be able to share my journey with others, but saddened by their losses.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
What's In A Name
It's been frustrating trying to come up with a name for our baby boy. Who by the way, just might end up being referred to as "Baby Boy" if we don't agree on something soon!
Terrell was named by his "sperm donor"... long story. Basically, I was 15 and his father chose the name. If I got a do-over I would name him something else. Maybe something that wouldn't get him confused with the Sr. who has quite the record.
Olivia was the name of my Cabbage Doll and I always knew I wanted a girl named Olivia. I never knew that every other person would name their girl Olivia since 2007. But I still like it because it's classic and not trendy. Besides she has lots of nicknames to go by.
With our last pregnancy Will fell in love with the name Willow. We knew it wouldn't get the popular vote so we hid it. I didn't want to tell anyone because I didn't want the negative comments, which are so easily dished out when it comes to naming OUR baby. Sadly, Willow went to heaven but she took her name with her; Willow Rose Wardlow.
Had we been pregnant with a girl this time, I feel that we would have pinpointed a name by now. For some reason, it's harder to pick a name for a boy. Now that we got passed the "Willie Jr" discussion (thank God) we have to choose something quickly.
My List:
Maximilian... Has been my top pick forever. I do understand it's a BIG name for a baby. But I'm okay with Max. BTW, Damn you JLo for stealing my baby name!
Gabriel... Archangel Gabriel. What's not to love? Except that it's high on the Top 100 list. Something I want to avoid since the Olivia situation.
Xavier... Another name I've loved for a long time. Until I did some research and I found out that the correct pronunciation (even in the US) is "Zayvier". The X is not pronounced.
Tomás... The reason why I like this name so much is because it is a Spanish and Irish name AND if the accent is over the "o" it is Scottish/ Gaelic. Wardlow is a Scottish last name and I am Hispanic. The downfall is, I think people will just refer to him as Thomas or worse, Tommy!
Jadon... But is it too popular? Too similar to Aidan? This spelling is from the bible.
His List:
Sean... Will seems to love it. I just don't get it.
Ian... I am pretty sure Will got this name from the books about a cartoon pig named Olivia. Her baby brother is named Ian. I definitely am not a fan.
William... Im ok with William. What I don't like is it's too popular (#8 on the Top 100 List) and I fear his family will just call him Lil' Willie.
Max... I prefer my pick, Maximilian, but I'm okay with the nickname Max.
Maxwell... Another Scottish name. Im actually liking this name more, although it's not a top pick of mine.
Darryl... Oh hell no!
I'm sure this debate is going to last until the last minute. Either Will is going to have to give in or he will have to sign all the paperwork while I'm drugged up before we come to a decision. I feel like there may be another, perfect name that's out there. One that we haven't discovered yet. In the meanwhile, I'm still taking suggestions. Just be nice!
Terrell was named by his "sperm donor"... long story. Basically, I was 15 and his father chose the name. If I got a do-over I would name him something else. Maybe something that wouldn't get him confused with the Sr. who has quite the record.
Olivia was the name of my Cabbage Doll and I always knew I wanted a girl named Olivia. I never knew that every other person would name their girl Olivia since 2007. But I still like it because it's classic and not trendy. Besides she has lots of nicknames to go by.
With our last pregnancy Will fell in love with the name Willow. We knew it wouldn't get the popular vote so we hid it. I didn't want to tell anyone because I didn't want the negative comments, which are so easily dished out when it comes to naming OUR baby. Sadly, Willow went to heaven but she took her name with her; Willow Rose Wardlow.
Had we been pregnant with a girl this time, I feel that we would have pinpointed a name by now. For some reason, it's harder to pick a name for a boy. Now that we got passed the "Willie Jr" discussion (thank God) we have to choose something quickly.
My List:
Maximilian... Has been my top pick forever. I do understand it's a BIG name for a baby. But I'm okay with Max. BTW, Damn you JLo for stealing my baby name!
Gabriel... Archangel Gabriel. What's not to love? Except that it's high on the Top 100 list. Something I want to avoid since the Olivia situation.
Xavier... Another name I've loved for a long time. Until I did some research and I found out that the correct pronunciation (even in the US) is "Zayvier". The X is not pronounced.
Tomás... The reason why I like this name so much is because it is a Spanish and Irish name AND if the accent is over the "o" it is Scottish/ Gaelic. Wardlow is a Scottish last name and I am Hispanic. The downfall is, I think people will just refer to him as Thomas or worse, Tommy!
Jadon... But is it too popular? Too similar to Aidan? This spelling is from the bible.
His List:
Sean... Will seems to love it. I just don't get it.
Ian... I am pretty sure Will got this name from the books about a cartoon pig named Olivia. Her baby brother is named Ian. I definitely am not a fan.
William... Im ok with William. What I don't like is it's too popular (#8 on the Top 100 List) and I fear his family will just call him Lil' Willie.
Max... I prefer my pick, Maximilian, but I'm okay with the nickname Max.
Maxwell... Another Scottish name. Im actually liking this name more, although it's not a top pick of mine.
Darryl... Oh hell no!
I'm sure this debate is going to last until the last minute. Either Will is going to have to give in or he will have to sign all the paperwork while I'm drugged up before we come to a decision. I feel like there may be another, perfect name that's out there. One that we haven't discovered yet. In the meanwhile, I'm still taking suggestions. Just be nice!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Friend or Foe
Over the past couple of years I had a few childhood friends locate me. Sure, I had some friend requests from middle school, even elementary school friends on Face.book. But I've also had a friend find me through search websites. Recently, I had a friend drop by my Mother's house hoping to find me. It makes me feel warm and cozy inside that someone thought of me enough to track me down. I guess I was a good friend after all.
These friends from the past made me reflect on all the friends I've had over the years. But I've reflected on the "Best friends" I accumulated along the way. I had middle school best friends, high school best friends, best friends among dozens of sorority sisters and adult best friends. Currently, I think my only best friend is my husband, Will. I guess that's not a bad thing. He's seen me at my worst and he still loves me. Nobody knows me better than the man that wakes up next to me everyday.
Having Will as my BFF is not horrible, but I miss that female companionship. A comrade to shop and gossip with. Someone who is there to listen when I want to bitch about my other BFF (Will). I once had a friend like this. I held her hair when she puked. I gave her advice when she was arguing with her boyfriend. Hell! I even introduced her to her boyfriend. Things went sour for whatever reason. I'm not sure why.
Breaking up with a BFF is like breaking up with a boyfriend. I hear about their life through mutual friends like I catch up on my gossip through TMZ. People notice that we aren't tied at the hip anymore. Awkward questions are dodged as I try to pretend it's no big deal or the breakup was mutual.
It's harder to swallow when there wasn't a blatant wrong doing. Nothing to pinpoint when and where things went wrong. No argument or blow-out. That makes things more complicated.
I've made several attempts to mend the broken relationship with no success. So I made the decision to move on. But every once in awhile I yearn for my BFF. And what's worse than name calling, back-stabbing and gossiping is saying nothing at all. Especially when you've heard through the grapevine that your ex-BFF is suffering.
These friends from the past made me reflect on all the friends I've had over the years. But I've reflected on the "Best friends" I accumulated along the way. I had middle school best friends, high school best friends, best friends among dozens of sorority sisters and adult best friends. Currently, I think my only best friend is my husband, Will. I guess that's not a bad thing. He's seen me at my worst and he still loves me. Nobody knows me better than the man that wakes up next to me everyday.
Having Will as my BFF is not horrible, but I miss that female companionship. A comrade to shop and gossip with. Someone who is there to listen when I want to bitch about my other BFF (Will). I once had a friend like this. I held her hair when she puked. I gave her advice when she was arguing with her boyfriend. Hell! I even introduced her to her boyfriend. Things went sour for whatever reason. I'm not sure why.
Breaking up with a BFF is like breaking up with a boyfriend. I hear about their life through mutual friends like I catch up on my gossip through TMZ. People notice that we aren't tied at the hip anymore. Awkward questions are dodged as I try to pretend it's no big deal or the breakup was mutual.
It's harder to swallow when there wasn't a blatant wrong doing. Nothing to pinpoint when and where things went wrong. No argument or blow-out. That makes things more complicated.
I've made several attempts to mend the broken relationship with no success. So I made the decision to move on. But every once in awhile I yearn for my BFF. And what's worse than name calling, back-stabbing and gossiping is saying nothing at all. Especially when you've heard through the grapevine that your ex-BFF is suffering.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Pain Pain Go Away
I've come to realize the pain I'm feeling is a little more serious than I cared to admit. It's time I stopped denying it and did something about it, although it may be too late.
Early in my pregnancy I realized I didn't have the right to complain about pregnancy symptoms. A baby loss mother expressed her opinion that those who are able to conceive don't have anything to complain about. As if I should be happy enough that I was able to produce another pregnancy (regardless of the outcome of my previous pregnancy or the struggles I went through to get pregnant in the first place.) Nothing else should matter.
This statement has been embedded in my brain. When people asked in passing how I was doing I would simply smile and say fine. I was pregnant again! Without help from fertility meds, without timing intercourse down to the day... hour... minute. I was pregnant even though my last baby had died inside of me. That was enough for rejoice right? No need to mention the nausea, the headaches, the back pain, the constant nagging fear that my baby could be taken again. Without so much as a warning; a cramp or a bleed. No need to mention the lack of sleep because nightmares of demons sweeping my baby away. The inability to wipe without inspecting the tissue for blood. Who cared about all of that. I was pregnant and I should shut up and be thankful for what God has given me (even if it is only temporary.)
Recently I realized I shouldn't have to suffer. I shouldn't feel bad that I was able to conceive (and so quickly, without trying) after Willow died. I shouldn't carry the burden of guilt for all those women who suffered a loss, or were never able to conceive in the first place.
Guess what? My back hurts. The pain is tremendous. Radiating down my right buttock into my leg. I walk with a limp. Kind of like a waddling duck with a limp. 2 months of chiropractic care couldn't help. Dr.s shrugged their shoulders and spoke highly of post-pregnancy care or surgery. I recently visited a highly recommended physical therapist. She was clearly upset when she explained that she could not help me. Possibly a re-injured herniated disc caused by pressure or movement from my pelvis. My only option is "pain management". They seem to think Vicodin is safe during pregnancy. And a "Wheelchair is not such a bad idea" or "Bed rest." This scares me. So I take Tylenol, attempt to do my therapeutic exercises and try to smile and keep my mouth shut. No need to complain that it takes me minutes to roll out of bed, just to use the bathroom. Nobody wants to hear about my husband helping me put my pants on or that I can't take my daughter to the park or walk my dog. I will just suffer in silence and pray to God that the moment I deliver my healthy, baby boy this pain leaves me along with the placenta.
Early in my pregnancy I realized I didn't have the right to complain about pregnancy symptoms. A baby loss mother expressed her opinion that those who are able to conceive don't have anything to complain about. As if I should be happy enough that I was able to produce another pregnancy (regardless of the outcome of my previous pregnancy or the struggles I went through to get pregnant in the first place.) Nothing else should matter.
This statement has been embedded in my brain. When people asked in passing how I was doing I would simply smile and say fine. I was pregnant again! Without help from fertility meds, without timing intercourse down to the day... hour... minute. I was pregnant even though my last baby had died inside of me. That was enough for rejoice right? No need to mention the nausea, the headaches, the back pain, the constant nagging fear that my baby could be taken again. Without so much as a warning; a cramp or a bleed. No need to mention the lack of sleep because nightmares of demons sweeping my baby away. The inability to wipe without inspecting the tissue for blood. Who cared about all of that. I was pregnant and I should shut up and be thankful for what God has given me (even if it is only temporary.)
Recently I realized I shouldn't have to suffer. I shouldn't feel bad that I was able to conceive (and so quickly, without trying) after Willow died. I shouldn't carry the burden of guilt for all those women who suffered a loss, or were never able to conceive in the first place.
Guess what? My back hurts. The pain is tremendous. Radiating down my right buttock into my leg. I walk with a limp. Kind of like a waddling duck with a limp. 2 months of chiropractic care couldn't help. Dr.s shrugged their shoulders and spoke highly of post-pregnancy care or surgery. I recently visited a highly recommended physical therapist. She was clearly upset when she explained that she could not help me. Possibly a re-injured herniated disc caused by pressure or movement from my pelvis. My only option is "pain management". They seem to think Vicodin is safe during pregnancy. And a "Wheelchair is not such a bad idea" or "Bed rest." This scares me. So I take Tylenol, attempt to do my therapeutic exercises and try to smile and keep my mouth shut. No need to complain that it takes me minutes to roll out of bed, just to use the bathroom. Nobody wants to hear about my husband helping me put my pants on or that I can't take my daughter to the park or walk my dog. I will just suffer in silence and pray to God that the moment I deliver my healthy, baby boy this pain leaves me along with the placenta.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Pee in a Cup
Today I had another Dr. appointment. It seems I'm spending every Friday afternoon with someone in the medical field. What's more fun is I'm always dragging Olivia along since she attends daycare at my job and the Dr is close to my house (halfway across town). Olivia is astonished that I have to pee in a cup at every visit. In her loud toddler voice she questions my intentions... "Mommy, are you going to pee in that cup again?"... "What are you going to do with the cup?"... "Are you going to wash your hands?"... Now mind you, this conversation occurs in the waiting room. I hear snickers behind me as I try to shush Olivia.
By the time I get to the bathroom to leave my sample I have to pee so bad I feel like I may not make it. But not only do I have to encourage Olivia to hurry it up (because she always has to go potty right before me!), I have to write my name on the plastic cup AND peel away the wrapper from the tiniest wet nap in the universe. So I can provide a "clean" sample. It all seems like a very cruel joke.
Recently Olivia had to visit her pediatrician for a possible UTI. Thank goodness everything turned out okay (just some summer chaffing.) You can imagine her surprise when she had to provide the urine sample this time. This simple task made her day. My day, however, began like this...
Olivia woke up and immediately wanted to pick out her outfit for the day. She chose a beautiful blue... princess dress! Complete with plastic, princess high heels. Never mind that it was 90 degrees outside and she may have to return to daycare depending on the outcome of her visit that day. After much debate (damn, she's good) I convinced Olivia to wear a different dress that was pink and cotton. Who cared if it had 5 layers of ruffles and took 15 minutes to iron! Since it was pink, Olivia had to find her pink high heels that took a half hour to locate. At this point I didn't care if she wanted to wear her Hello Kitty rain boots. We had an appointment to make, and I was losing this battle quickly. After several attempts of getting her braids "just right" (Olivia's request, of course) we were finally out the door.
Olivia got many compliments on her high heels. I just smiled and grit my teeth. Come on people! Please don't encourage this behavior! I tried to help Olivia hold the plastic cup to catch the sample, but Ms. Independent HAD to do it by herself. When she clearly wasn't catching anything I had to reach in and help. Then we washed our hands for several minutes. I stopped only to swat her hand away from her prize urine sample as she tried to admire it.
Even though she kept asking to use the bathroom, the Dr. gave her a clean bill of health. Later I realized, she just wanted the chance to pee in a cup again. At least she didn't get all dressed up for nothing. Ugh!
By the time I get to the bathroom to leave my sample I have to pee so bad I feel like I may not make it. But not only do I have to encourage Olivia to hurry it up (because she always has to go potty right before me!), I have to write my name on the plastic cup AND peel away the wrapper from the tiniest wet nap in the universe. So I can provide a "clean" sample. It all seems like a very cruel joke.
Recently Olivia had to visit her pediatrician for a possible UTI. Thank goodness everything turned out okay (just some summer chaffing.) You can imagine her surprise when she had to provide the urine sample this time. This simple task made her day. My day, however, began like this...
Olivia woke up and immediately wanted to pick out her outfit for the day. She chose a beautiful blue... princess dress! Complete with plastic, princess high heels. Never mind that it was 90 degrees outside and she may have to return to daycare depending on the outcome of her visit that day. After much debate (damn, she's good) I convinced Olivia to wear a different dress that was pink and cotton. Who cared if it had 5 layers of ruffles and took 15 minutes to iron! Since it was pink, Olivia had to find her pink high heels that took a half hour to locate. At this point I didn't care if she wanted to wear her Hello Kitty rain boots. We had an appointment to make, and I was losing this battle quickly. After several attempts of getting her braids "just right" (Olivia's request, of course) we were finally out the door.
Olivia got many compliments on her high heels. I just smiled and grit my teeth. Come on people! Please don't encourage this behavior! I tried to help Olivia hold the plastic cup to catch the sample, but Ms. Independent HAD to do it by herself. When she clearly wasn't catching anything I had to reach in and help. Then we washed our hands for several minutes. I stopped only to swat her hand away from her prize urine sample as she tried to admire it.
Even though she kept asking to use the bathroom, the Dr. gave her a clean bill of health. Later I realized, she just wanted the chance to pee in a cup again. At least she didn't get all dressed up for nothing. Ugh!
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