Anticipation

The clock is ticking. Every day, I see the baby countdown ticker tick down the number of days left before my due date. There are 75 days until my due date of January 11 and just 54 until December 21 which is when I will reach the 37-week (full term) mark. When people say things like "You still have awhile left," I'm tempted to scoff. It doesn't seem like all that long. As the number gets smaller, I feel any number of things all at the same time: anticipation, anxiety, and excitement to name a few.

Disbelief is another big one. I keep wondering: Will I really have a child at home? Really?

There is no reason to expect anything will go wrong. It's just that things didn't go quite right the first time around, and this being the second, well ... I don't know what it's like. Though this pregnancy has been textbook perfect to date (a fact which I do not take for granted for a moment), to have "normal" from the point of birth going forward is still a foreign idea where my experience is concerned. Even with Ewan's diagnosis, we made our home ready to have a baby there. But the baby carrier, the stroller, the crib, the diapers, the changing table, the clothes -- none of them ever got used last time. I never got to breastfeed, bathe him, or wake up with him in the middle of the night (at least not in the usual way).

And here we are, all prepared again. Gulp.

The disbelief is a good heaping dose of "too good to be true," part having no other experience to which to compare it, and more than a smidge of having lived just over a year now in the thick of our loss.

I don't think we will lose again -- I'm not afraid of that this time around. But by the same token, the thought of "normal" when it comes to having a baby, watching her grow up, and doing all the things we missed out on before is almost entirely unbelievable to me.

I anticipate that I will simply need to take it one sweet, unbelievable moment at time, beginning from the moment she is brand new and in my arms -- and no one is coming to take her away.

The Belly Report :: 18 Weeks Pregnant

Nothing much new to report here, except baby and I are definitely both growing!

Click to enlarge ... you know, just in case I'm not large enough already!

I wish I had been more consistent taking belly shots with my last pregnancy (I took plenty, but rarely on the exact day) so we could adequately compare, but I do have a shot from 18 weeks + 6 days from my pregnancy with Ewan. (So flattering, I know!)

As far as baby names go, we've long been settled on the girl name (since early in my pregnancy with Ewan), but the boy name is quite a bit more difficult. It took forever to come up with Ewan's name -- something that has meaning, something that's unique (nothing too weird, just nothing where there's going to be five or six of the same name in his class), and that we both like the sound of. It was a struggle to arrive at the one boy name we used already. We just can't agree.

Sigh.

I've been busy getting the baby's room ready. There's a lot more work to do, but it's great finally to have a start. I can't wait until all this unpacking is done!!

The nursery is definitely in the middle of a really big "so far" stage.

Lots of stuffed lovies (many inherited from a big brother) waiting for our bean.

I'm still feeling good and am finally back in a regular routine of working out. When I was still in the throes of nausea (up until about 13-14 weeks), there was not a single vegetable I could keep down. Over the last several weeks, I've definitely been making up for lost time. My favorite lunch these days is a veggie sandwich made with cucumber, baby spinach, Roma tomatoes, sliced black olives, and lite cream cheese on a whole-wheat sandwich thin, and a side of carrot sticks, if you please. And speaking of healthy (but so delicious you'd swear it was baaaad), I recently tried this recipe for the first time so I could indulge my sweet craving a bit. James and I finished off a whole bowl in less than 24 hours.

I'm just sayin'.

My "reality check" pic. The words "miles to go before I sleep" come to mind ...

In other pregnancy-related news, I'm already at that part where my hips hurt during the night. But luckily, I am also at the part where we can feel the baby move a lot which is always fun. S/he seems to wiggle around quite a bit and rarely kicks the same place twice.

We are fast approaching that midpoint in the pregnancy, but our first official appointment with the midwife isn't until August 29 when I'll be close to 21 weeks. At that point, we will get referred out for an ultrasound (that's the only kind of test she doesn't do in her office), so I will probably be around 22 weeks or so before we go in and find out if we've got a little brother or little sister baking in there.

And while we're on the topic, I am not anxious about the ultrasound, but I do have some nervousness when I think about it. I mean, who in our shoes wouldn't be? I want to see my baby, and I definitely want to know more about who is in there. But the truth is, we got a heaping dose of bad news at our very first ultrasound with Ewan, and the medical professionals we were dealing with at the time didn't exactly smooth the way for us. So while I'm not fretting or nervous, I'm not exactly jumping all over myself to lie on that table to get under the ultrasound wand to discover that information. I can reason with myself all I want about how statistically unlikely it is and how it is most likely the case that everything is fine, but the truth is, we just don't know either way yet. So I am hopeful, but sober.

One this is for sure: this child is incredibly loved (regardless of whether s/he is "perfect" or not), covered in prayer, and is eagerly anticipated by more than his/her parents and family. C'mon, baby!! Grow baby, grow!!

A few random things

Life these days is a little crazy (hold the "little") and fragmented, and so is this blog post! Here are just a few of the things going on these days ...


1. I don't think I've mentioned that once I get to Florida, I won't need to work anymore. Wahoo! This is both incredibly exciting to me, and just a tad unnerving. Not needing to work will give me the freedom to work on writing a book, spending more time on photography, and to do the oh-so glamorous work of growing a baby and maintaining a home. As excited as I am, I know it's going to be a tremendous adjustment. After graduating from college, I took a two-week break and then promptly began working full-time. I haven't stopped since then (11 years!), so it's going to be crazy not to be earning a paycheck of my own.

2. I have been consistently sick with this pregnancy -- just like clockwork. Though I doubt this little one's personality is exerting much influence over my hormones, I can't help but notice the fact that for the last several weeks, I've been getting sick on a very regular schedule. Could it be a sign of things to come?? ;o)

3. Seattle Children's Hospital is having a memorial service this coming Sunday to remember and honor all the children who have died in the past year. My family and I will be attending for Ewan, and visiting the cemetery where he is buried (which is very close by) afterward. I've visited the hospital just once or twice since his death to pick up some of his things, and to visit a family we met there -- so it will be strange to be back there again.

4. I can't wait to get to Florida. It's not because I'm not going to miss it here in Seattle -- I really, really am. I'm going to miss the place and the people I love here. But being so far from my husband for this long is hard on us both. Skype is wonderful, but only gets us so far. To say I'm looking forward to the day when we're together again is a tremendous understatement!

One of the many reasons I love Washington: woods like these!

Dear Baby ...

Dear Baby,

As much as I think about you, hope for you, and pray for you, I confess that I've also been spending a great deal of time thinking about your older brother. A day never goes by where I don't think of him and miss him, where I don't wish that things had turned out very differently than they did. This does not mean that I don't want you very much -- because I can assure you, I do -- it's just that my pregnancy with you so far is so much like the one I had with your brother. It is impossible for me not to connect the two in my mind.

Baby Petermann's older brother, Ewan

I have pictures of Ewan at my desk at work. I always look at them throughout the day and remember his soft skin, piercing blue eyes, and the demeanor that was as sweet as it was feisty. Today I found myself weeping uncontrollably every time I looked at them for no reason in particular other than the obvious: he died and he's gone, and I will never stop loving him.

It's because of this that I feel both incredibly hopeful for and protective of you. I don't have any strange or foreboding feelings that something is going to go wrong (like I did before we found out about your brother's heart, and which I dismissed as run-of-the-mill first-time mommy jitters), nor am I worried about losing you the way we lost Ewan. But because of Ewan, you should know even now what you mean to us. It will look different for you than it does for your brother, but you should know that even now, I love you every bit as fiercely as I do Ewan.

The websites tell me that right now, you're barely over an inch long and weigh somewhere around one gram. But don't let that fool you into thinking that even as I write this, that you are not mighty. I feel sick almost all day long and I need extra rest. There was a time when I minded all of this and while I won't sugarcoat things by saying that nausea and vomiting are a walk in the park or something I deal with while donning a smile, I am thankful for these signs that you are alive and well, thriving just as you should be. I do it for you, just as my mother did it for me.

You should also expect that we are all going to make quite a fuss over you. To say we will appreciate bringing you home, staying up with you, cleaning up your diaper explosions, and wiping up your spit is an understatement. While I don't expect I will coast through these moments without complaint, I do expect that I will find myself rejoicing that I get these moments with you at all. What others might see as mundane will be simply miraculous to me. This means there will be lots of kisses and cuddling, and that we may turn into the types of parents who cannot carry on a conversation without mentioning their child, or without photos popping out on display out of nowhere. When you're old enough to realize it, we will probably embarrass you. But if you're old enough to be embarrassed, hopefully you're old enough also to cut us a little bit of slack in that department.

Keep up the good work of growing, little one, and know that even now, there's a big brother who watches over you, loves you, and prays for you too. As big brothers go, I promise you that you really couldn't ask for a better one.

We love you to the moon and back again, and then some.

On being open again

You bet we want more.

Call us crazy, but we are still all for having a family. When I had my six-week checkup with my OB in November, she asked us what our plans were. She said that people who go through a loss like this may want time to process, while others want to launch straight back into babymaking. We were somewhere in between, wanting time for me to recover and heal physically, and also time to deal with things emotionally while not also contending with a torrent of hormone-induced vomiting episodes. But we also need to balance this with the reality that we're contending with the calendar: statistically, there may not be a lot of fertile years left.

It has been both good and necessary to take some time to grieve and not to worry about when we want to add to our family, but we are kidding ourselves if we think that this is a process that will ever reach some kind of finality, that we will ever wake up one morning and say, "Hey, I think we're done being sad about Ewan's death now. Let's start having some more children."

So as we approached nearer to the point where Ewan would have been six months old, in my mind, we were "trying." It only took two months of this to realize the "trying" mentality was an incredibly bad idea for me emotionally and psychologically. With "trying," a negative pregnancy test feels not just like a failure, but also a lot like loss for the child that "could have been". Honestly, I was obsessed. Tears and anger ensued when discovering that month's negative results. I could see and feel that this mentality was unhealthy, but I was so caught up with "trying" and felt like I couldn't let go of it even though I saw how it was harming me.

But I have let go of it. It was surprisingly easy once I recognized it for what it was. I've let go of "trying" and am embracing "being open" instead. This attitude of being open is how we found ourselves expecting Ewan, after all. I'm not going to cease in my efforts to ensure that my body is an optimally healthy environment for a baby, but I'm releasing the death-grip I had on the effort to achieve pregnancy within a certain timeframe. I'm going to enjoy the fact that I get to share life with an amazing husband and invite that love to bring more children our way.

Ewan taught me so much, and continues to teach me. Though unlikely, it is possible that what happened to Ewan could happen to another child of ours. We decided early on, however, that we weren't going to make our decisions from a place of fear, but rather from hope: hope that we could have a "normal" experience, hope that next time, we will have a child at home -- except after Ewan, normal wouldn't be normal at all. Normal would be extraordinary. Because of Ewan, to say I can appreciate that now is a terrible understatement.

When that day comes, there will be a lot of wondering, and a lot of waiting. Breath will be held until we can see and know (in as far as we can know) that that little beating heart is whole. And when that day comes, it will be worth it no matter what happens. For me, Ewan is proof enough of that.

Three Pieces

Grief mostly feels like being really, really tired right now. I used to get by on 6-7 hours a night and now I can wake up after nine hours feeling like I could sleep nine more. I feel exhausted, heavy.

* * *

We went to the cemetery this past weekend. The spot where Ewan's body is buried is not marked yet, but my feet know the way to the patch of earth where the tiny casket was lowered into the ground. Every time we've been there, I stand over the spot where his body is buried -- the body that was still nestled safely in mine just over eight weeks ago -- and wonder at the fact that it is underneath a thick layer of earth. I know it is there, but there is a disconnect. As I look around at the flat markers, I wonder at the stories contained within those narrow date ranges. It is all too much to take in.

* * *

My friends came to be with me, to grieve with me. A hand held, tears shed, sitting together in the space that holds so many evidences of our desire for his life. We dreamed once that perhaps after a bit of trouble, Ewan would be there. And now that space screams at me: he's not, he's not, he's not.

What Is, What Was, What Was Supposed To Be

In many ways, the grief feels a bit fresher these days than it did when the loss was newer. In those early days, there might have been a bit of shock, the newness and quickness of everything that happened acting as an anesthetic that protected me from the fuller weight of grief. But now I see babies, and my eyes sting with tears. I walk into his room, and I remember what -- in my mind -- was supposed to be.

He was supposed to be here.

And I mourn the loss of a million different little things.

This was his blanket the day he was sent off for emergency surgery, and we weren't sure he would ever come back.

This is the monkey he clung to so fiercely after his surgery.

These are the diapers we were supposed to use when he came home.

This is the chair I was supposed to rock him in.

These are the images of some of my favorite memories of him, and consequently the ones that make me cry the most.

I don't avoid these things. I look at these pictures and go into his room on purpose, confronting the evidence of the hope we had on his behalf. As long as there was life in him, we fought for it. As long as there was the smallest shred of hope, we clung to it. But in the end, it became clear that he was not meant to stay with us long. This is a difficult truth to contend with. I still fight it -- and I never win. In the end, I have to continue to learn to let go, both of him and of the desires that arose in our own hearts because of him.

My God, this world is a hard place to live sometimes.

Blood Pressure

I had one of my weekly prenatal visits today. Not surprisingly, my blood pressure has been steadily climbing the last few visits. I'm fairly convinced that it's within normal ranges when I don't have an appointment. We totally love our doctor -- I talked about the stress of me being the only one working, trying to figure out the financial end of things while I'm leave, being turned down for financial assistance (another story for another time, perhaps), getting closer to facing the unknown about what it will be like with Ewan and his heart once he's here -- we are certainly dealing with an above-average amount of stress.

Until that 20-week ultrasound (and even in my final two visits with the midwives, after we found out about Ewan's heart), my blood pressure was in very healthy and normal ranges -- just like it's always been (I classically fall within a few points of 105/65 or so). Ever since then, every appointment sees numbers that have been steadily climbing and today's numbers were the scariest yet. I'm not surprised, but wish I could convince those subconscious parts of myself that are in charge of these kinds of physiological responses that it's all going to work out and that there is no reason to stress.

A friend reminded me today of leaving my burdens at the cross. I wish I knew how to do that. I know the verse about casting your cares on Him, about giving up your heavy yoke, about how worry profits us nothing, and about how we can't change anything by worrying about it -- when it comes right down to it, I guess I don't know what all that really means -- how it looks in real life to do that. I can say it, I can pray it -- but how do I actually live it? How do I still deal with the things that need to be dealt with (especially those things that I cannot delegate to another), but not worry about them -- especially when we keep running into brick walls with so many of the options we explore? They all seem to be rolled up into one big, hot and tangled mess for me. I don't know how to untangle it so that I'm not carrying a big burden of worry, but also not Pollyanna-ing my way through it -- burying my head in the sand and denying reality. I want to be able to do just that and have been praying toward that end, but it has yet to bear itself out in my day-to-day reality.

So, I'm on blood pressure medication now -- humbling for the woman who's always had a BP in a very healthy and athletic range. We have a non-stress test (NST) scheduled for Friday to see how Ewan is handling it once I'm on the BP medication for a few days. And blood was taken today so they could test for anything that would point to pre-eclampsia (which, thank God, there are no other symptoms pointing to this -- just the BP). I have a very good and very understanding doctor, but we all agreed that it is going to be best to eliminate the element of surprise where we can so we can all know exactly what we're dealing with.

She was very reassuring, telling me I know I can tell you not to stress about this -- that it will all work out and that in the end, you're going to take home a happy and healthy baby. I can tell you that all of this will be worth it. It's so easy to know it here (pointing to her head), but in real life, it's hard to know it here (pointing to her heart).

Ain't that the truth?! (See why we love her?)

In other news, Ewan is still doing really well in utero. He's moving quite a lot (seriously, my belly has looked like a cartoon lately with all the feet, elbows, knees, and fists sticking out of it) and his heart rate is quite healthy in the 150s. I'm technically full-term now at 37 weeks, but he hasn't dropped yet, so it will still be some time before we see any action in that regard (thank goodness, I say). I'm glad he's as strong and resilient as he is, and am thankful for the continual (and not subtle!) movement that reassures me he's doing just fine in there.

I can completely understand why my stress level is the way it is, and why my blood pressure goes to the levels it does when I'm at the doctor. Though I wish it were different, I have to be a little bit nice toward myself in that regard too -- it would be hard for anybody to go through something like this and not see the effects of it manifest themselves in this or in other ways on their overall health. I wish I could control those things, but it's just another area where I feel so entirely powerless to change anything. I want to do better by Ewan because I know he deserves it (and really, most of the time I don't feel as hypertensive as I do when I go to the doctor lately), but the last thing I need is to pile more on to the burden that for now, I don't quite know how to cast down.

Finding Normal

It's hard to know what normal is right now. On the one hand, I'm incredibly excited to meet the little guy we've been anticipating since late January. I want to see his face, kiss his cheeks, and wiggle the little toes that have so frequently found my ribs. I want to touch him and hold him. I want to rock him to sleep and be the one to comfort him when he wakes up in the middle of the night.

Ewan's room as of Sunday morning -- we've gotten a lot more done since then!!

This weekend was a lot about making a push to get more things ready. I had my last baby shower and my Dad came down to paint his room. James made a homemade diaper sprayer and hooked it up to our toilet. Auntie Kaari did a lot: put together the stroller, helped rearrange the room, washed clothes and blankets, and was my shopping buddy for the last few things we needed to help make it feel complete. I ordered the cloth diapers we had decided on, I sat and watched him move through my growing belly.

But amidst all these normal baby preparations is the poignant awareness of what waits for us: a dark and looming unknown about Ewan's heart -- how bad it is, how long will we be in the hospital, and the question of whether or not we will even get to bring him home. The last cardiologist we saw suspects Pulmonary Atresia in addition to the Tetralogy of Fallot, which if it is the case, only complicates things. Ewan's pulmonary artery is just too small to make a positive diagnosis one way or the other. Pulmonary Atresia makes it all dicier, and scarier. We know the medical community tends to present the worst-case scenario, but given the circumstances, we know it could be true, and we know better than to presume upon the better news.

And so I find myself going back and forth, making these standard preparations for having a baby: readying the nursery, picking out colors, washing clothes, setting his things out. And then there are also the things that are hard to get ready for: seeing my baby hooked up to tubes, wires, and machines. Waiting and wondering as they wheel him off for his first surgery. Making sure that in my hospital bag, I'm also packing things that will prepare me for being away from home for a few additional days. When I went shopping today, I made sure I bought a dedicated notebook where we can record doctor's notes and write down our questions, and a bottle in which we could put some holy water so he can be baptized before going off to surgery.

It's hard to know what normal is, or even if such a place exists: I don't want to lose the joy in preparing and anticipating this little someone we've loved and have been waiting for -- but these preparations are, for me, a double-edged sword right now. I know these preparations are more for me than for him. They are an exercise in hope, an exercise in feeling as normal as possible as much as possible before our experience of pregnancy and birth becomes so markedly and dramatically different from that of most people we know. It's my way of saying I don't know what will happen, but my son is alive now and I am going to honor that.

The other side of this is that it is precisely these preparations that are throwing into sharp relief for me just how not normal our situation is. As we sat through baby baptisms at church yesterday, I wept. It was just one more thing on the growing list of things that we wouldn't get to do like normal people. I broke down last night as I sat and folded his clothes. Holding them close to my face and then my chest, I wondered if I would ever get to dress him in them. I couldn't stop sobbing. I looked around the nursery we had readied and wondered if baby Ewan would ever be using it. James even said he's not sure he'd want to stay in this apartment if what we don't want to happen, happened -- Ewan is the whole reason we moved into the bigger space.

The closer we get, the more difficult it is getting emotionally. While his birth is not immediately imminent, it is close enough that the difficult reality in which we are about to be immersed is so very close, and so very much out of our hands. Nobody can tell us how this will turn out, and no one can provide the kind of reassurance that would put us at ease. We are hopeful about the outcome, but cannot presume that we won't have the kind of story no one wants to have.

So we wait and we hope, we prepare and we pray -- hoping we can bring him home and love him like we want to.

Meet Auntie Kaari

This is my younger sister Kaari (her name rhymes with "sorry"). I think she's rather fabulous. And I've never (and I mean never) met another person so excited about being an aunt.

James and I toured the NICU at Seattle Children's Hospital yesterday. I've never been to a children's hospital, but I was impressed with how unlike a hospital it felt (i.e., my blood pressure did not go through the roof when I walked through the door, like it tends to when I enter most medical establishments). People were excited for us to meet our first baby. I didn't feel odd or like a pariah for being pregnant with a baby that has ToF. There were brightly colored murals everywhere, and everyone who worked there smiled. It felt like a hopeful place.

We learned that amongst the many and various resources available, we can connect to wireless internet while we're there. We are definitely planning on taking one of our laptops with us so we can provide regular updates (and pictures!) as we're able. But I wanted to let you know that Auntie Kaari might be dropping in at Team-Ewan.com from time to time, offering not only the updates on Baby Ewan's condition (and ours), but also a different perspective on the matter. She loves her nephew to the moon and back already, so I know she will do an awesome job. She's definitely ready to spoil him rotten!

Eliminating unknowns

Thank you so much, heart moms, on your tips and advice!! I can honestly say that those are some of the most practical, helpful, and nurturing bits of advice I've gotten. I know your previous experience will help us navigate the crazy territory we're about to enter into. I know your wisdom was hard-earned, and I'm so grateful for it.

The biggest and most important unknowns are ahead of us and entirely out of our control, but we are doing what we can to eliminate what unknowns we can. We've arranged to take see the NICU at Valley Medical Center (the hospital where I will be delivering) and on Thursday, we will be getting a tour of the NICU and cardiac area of Seattle Children's Hospital. I know just having the visuals and something of a sense of familiarity when all this really starts happening will help us adjust more quickly and provide the best care for Ewan that we possibly can.

My emotions continue to ride one incredible roller coaster as we get closer and closer to Ewan's birth and all we can do is anticipate. Ugh. I know all we can do is pray and wait.

And just a reminder about my "Virtual" Baby Shower. Unlike other normal baby showers, this one isn't about baby swag so much as it is having a tangible reminder of your encouragement and prayers to keep with us, and one day (Lord willing) to share with Ewan when he's older. Click on the button below for details.

You've been there, done that, and have the t-shirt

CHD Awareness shirt from Zazzle.com

My fellow heart-moms, I have to say: you are a lifeline for me right now!! You've been there, done that, and have the t-shirt (and you're still going there!).

As I was reviewing comments from the past few posts, I got a lot of information that neither my husband nor I had heard before: about government and other assistance programs, about ways we can get help to make it through this crazy time.

And then I had the thought:
What else do you know that might help?

I'm not just talking about ways to get financial assistance, though if you know of ways above and beyond what has already been suggested (e.g., the SSI form for a child's disability), then I want to hear it. But I'm wondering what else you've gained in your experience that might be helpful for us to know.

I don't want to limit the scope of what is offered, but I'm thinking about anything in the way of the following: NICU survival tips, asking the right questions of your doctors and nurses, things that might have worried you at first that may have turned out not to be a big deal (or vice versa: things that seemed like no biggie but turned out to be important), things you wish you would have known and/or taken advantage of while your child was there. Anything like that. I know there is a wealth and variety of experience, so have at it.

What should we, or do you want us, to know?

The day her last nerve died.

I need to be really honest here: I'm not holding up all that well right now. Actually, I'm not really "holding up" in any sense at all. We're getting closer to Ewan's arrival every day and there are still a host of unknowns that need to be dealt with -- questions that need to be answered, work that needs to be accomplished, and realities that need to be handled. My due date is 5 weeks (just 35 days!) from tomorrow, and we don't have the luxury of being able to take our time figuring things out.

There is much above and beyond Ewan's heart condition that is beyond our control: the dismal job market, the amount of income we receive from James' oil investments (which have taken quite a tumble recently), and when Ewan will arrive -- just to name a few. Right now, I'm the only one working, and that means that I'm the only one who can take care of certain things: maternity leave paperwork, short-term disability paperwork, making sure I have as much time off with my baby as possible (which means working as close to the due date as I can without losing my sanity).

The combined reality of Ewan's heart condition (and all that comes with that: the wondering, the extra appointments, the financial concerns, the emotional stress, etc.), James not having a job, not yet knowing how we are going to manage our financial obligations while I'm on maternity leave, the steady stream of ignorant or downright insensitive comments about my size or about pregnancy in general, having to work full time until it's time (and my job -- like yours -- has its share of incredibly frustrating days too), the general lack of free time away from work in which to check off anything on my personal to-do list, and the everyday obligations of life mean that I am and have been operating at a level of stress that doesn't leave me a lot of wiggle room in the patience/ability-to-handle-the-unexpected department. There is nothing in reserve.

And instead of getting better, sometimes it all just feels like things are getting worse.

People who know me well know what this means: everyday things -- even the tiniest frustrations and mishaps -- send me flying off the handle. Spilling food down the front of my shirt (again). Dropping something on the floor. Not being able to blow up an exercise ball by myself. Dropping my planner at work and watching all but two pages spill out. Having a paycheck that was taxed at a higher rate, resulting in about 20% less take-home pay. These are the the proverbial straws that break the camel's back -- the things that bring me to the point where I might, for example, get to my car and start sobbing, shouting unreservedly at the top of my lungs at God in all-out hysterics, telling him how desperately I need a break from all of this and how I cannot handle ONE MORE THING. You know, just like I did about three hours ago.

This is more than hormones and it's bigger than knowing how bad all this stress is for me, so I better just take a nice hot bath with some candles and chill out. I am worried about what this kind of stress could do to Ewan. I'm concerned about how this could affect what has been an otherwise healthy pregnancy (the last thing we need is an early onset of labor). I am worried about how I'm going to remember being pregnant with Ewan. While we've experienced so much joy in knowing he was coming and now that he will be with us so soon, the inevitable, implacable realities we go to bed and wake up with are starting to overwhelm and suffocate the joy out of it for me. I feel like this should be such an exciting time for us -- expecting our first baby!! -- and instead I'm finding myself filled with dread. And guilt for feeling that way.

All of it together is just too much for me to handle. I want him to stay safe for as long as possible, and I don't want my stress to hurt him. He will have plenty of challenges soon enough. If there was something tangible someone could help with I would gladly ask for it, but I honestly don't know what that would be right now.

God has taken such good care of us throughout this whole ordeal, providing even for our smallest needs, I have a hard time believing that He would abandon us in these bigger things. He knows what we need and often makes His provision known at the last minute and at the height of the impossible. But I feel so lost in contending with these day-to-day realities that comprise my present, in confronting decisions that I simply don't know how to make, in stresses and frustrations that I cannot ignore or delay or shrug off. I can't live in this place where I'm constantly falling apart. I only have a few short weeks left of being able to take care of my baby, and I don't want to screw them up.

I just don't know what to do, except say Jesus, help with every breath, and hope with every fiber of my being that our morning does not delay in coming.

showered

It was an amazing weekend -- busy, hot, and steeped in lots and lots of love. Kaari (my sister) did an amazing job of pulling the event together. There was plenty of fun, laughter, food, and just a good time being surrounded by people who are loving and praying for all three of us through this process.

We haven't done anything with the pictures from our "big" camera this weekend, but in the interest of sharing something visual in a more expedient manner, here's one that was snapped with the camera phone.

After I opened the gifts, I was asked to share how those gathered could be supporting and praying for the three of us. It was hard not to choke up as I described Ewan's heart defect for those who weren't totally up-to-date, the tests we still face, the anxieties and fears we have, as well as the unexpected blessings that have already come out of this.  We were prayed over, hugged, and loved beyond what I am able to comprehend or take in.

With all the activity this weekend (which started out with Kaari's 30th birthday party and ended with the baby shower), we are exhausted -- exhausted and aware of how loved and blessed we are, as well as how many challenges we still have yet to face. I have another ultrasound today and am already anxious and on-edge about it. I don't want to be, but we have yet to have a scan that's yielded happy news. And so I wonder.

And that's ususally when Ewan will squirm or let his little foot poke out. It reminds me that for now, he is well and that we will be, too.

here comes the weekend!!

And thank goodness!! I thought it was Thursday three days in a row this week. I will let you do the math, but I was only right one of those days. That's just the kind of week it's been.

I can't believe how close we are to meeting this little guy: 53 days until I'm 40 weeks ... but if I'm any judge of his personality, he will be the one to determine the time of his arrival -- not some little baby calendar!!

mama bear (self-portrait) by kirsten michelle (12 august 2010)

So much of our anticipation of meeting him, at least since that first ultrasound, has been related to the heart defect: how that will affect him and our lives. We've still been enjoying all the of the normal expecting-our-first-baby stuff that you would expect, but since the initial diagnosis, we've also had to deal with the inescapable reality that (barring a miracle, of course) Ewan's first few weeks will be challenged. Our joy has shone brightly, but through a dark veil of congenital heart defects.

But this weekend, I get to focus on happy things. I intend to take a break from thinking about Tetralogy of Fallot for an afternoon, how it has and will continue to shape our lives, just so I can let people shower us with love and much-needed baby swag. I'm going back to my hometown of Bellingham for my first official baby shower (I did get a surprise one at work yesterday, so I guess this will actually be the second -- but the first one I knew about in advance), and I'm really looking forward to it. Many of the people attending have known me since I was a child!!

No doubt we will talk about Ewan's heart. I don't intend to ignore it, but I hope we spend at least just as much time adoring the belly, feeling for kicks and squirms, and gushing over teeny-tiny adorable baby boy clothing.

I know it will be so good for me to be immersed in the joy of welcoming and preparing for this child -- to remember that in spite of the tough road we know we can anticipate -- that a new life is something to celebrate and rejoice over, whether or not he comes to us with a body is ready to equip him for living and thriving. I'm hoping this weekend will continue to impress upon me the reality of the gift that he is to us just as he is. I hope it reminds me that every tear we cry, every moment we spend waiting in the NICU, and every minute we feel like we're falling apart is worth it.

Ewan is absolutely worth it.

facing it

Yesterday I scheduled our second (and final) fetal echocardiogram prior to Ewan's birth. We knew we needed at least one more at about 36 weeks, and until yesterday, that appointment had yet to be scheduled.

It felt so weird on so many levels scheduling that appointment. I felt excited. I felt tense and nervous. I felt as I talked to the receptionist like I was holding my breath, letting it out in a deep sigh when I got off the phone with her.

It's so close to my due date.
He (and I) will be so big!
The doctor may see more wrong than he saw before.
There may be improvements.

There might not be improvements.
Might things be worse?

There may be a miracle.

There might not be a miracle.

As long as he's inside me and as long as my pregnancy is progressing with relative ease as so many do -- without any real hiccups or drama (aside from the obvious heart defect, which is enough) -- it's easy to imagine anything: that everything is and will be alright, that we will sail through this. This is not to say that the reality of the diagnosis has become any less potent for me, and it's not to say that I'm blindly holding on to the belief that somehow, the doctor was misguided in his diagnosis.

It's just that as long as Ewan is in me, growing and thriving, things are good. He's safe in there. He's not in any distress.

But that fetal echo has one specific purpose: it will give the cardiologists at Children's Hospital the best possible pre-birth view of what they can expect to encounter once Ewan is born. And so this fetal echo means facing it: the day Ewan no longer occupies my body, the day I can no longer shield and protect him in the way I do now. The day my heart will break a little bit more, and a little bit more again. The first day of many where I will hold my breath and wait.

This appointment means facing the inevitability of that physical separation, facing the thought of letting him go, of trusting those who are best equipped to care for his unique needs.

Deep breath.

I'm torn between the anticipation of meeting our feisty little punkerbelly, and just wanting to keep him in there forever. I don't think I will ever feel ready for that moment: the one where it suddenly feels like my heart is outside my body.

photo taken by james // processing by me

july 2010

baby spaces

It's not hard to remember the days before our first ultrasound. We were eagerly counting down the days until we found out if we were having a boy or a girl. I had a very clear picture in my mind of rushing out to shop for the first gender-appropriate outfit right after our ultrasound appointment.

That didn't happen. In the wake of receiving the news we did about Ewan's heart, shopping for him was the last thing on my mind. I cycled through more feelings than can be named: I felt guilt, wondering if my body had betrayed him. I felt grieved, knowing that as tough as life is already, my child would be facing additional challenges in his first weeks of life. I felt despaired as I soaked in the information the doctors had told us, wondering if the outcome could really be as hopeful as they projected. I felt hopeless, devoid of joy, assaulted by sadness, and unspeakably jealous of every mother and father who had never gotten bad news at an ultrasound.

I remember going to Target the day after we heard the news, just to pick up some basics we needed at home: toilet paper, toothpaste -- those sorts of things. In the space of about five minutes, I saw no less than six healthy, cooing baby boys. I couldn't help it. I rushed out of there, weeping.

It took at least a week before I felt like I could be joyful in preparing for his arrival, before I could imagine his room: the colors, the bedding, the furniture, the arrangement. In the weeks that followed, we completed our registry, and I felt excitement again over preparing for the arrival of our baby. Now, I can''t be stopped!

In an earlier post, I told you about the print I ordered from Etsy. The print is entitled You CAN do it! that I've chosen to represent Team Ewan and all that people that are praying for, encouraging, and cheering him on.

This, my friends, is what you will look like to Ewan (you are very cute!!):

When I ordered the print, I sent the artist a brief note explaining our situation and why the print had significance to us. She also included a very sweet personal note ...

... and some extra postcard prints!

We've got a lot of work to do before we're ready to really get going on the nursery, though. This is what his room looks like now (we moved four weeks ago ... that counts as "just moved", right?). This room is our project for today.

In other baby room news, I also picked up some paint swatches to play with. My Dad has graciously offered to be the official baby room painter! I have no idea what I'm going to do yet, but I've got hundreds of ideas bouncing around in my head -- ideas that I'm flirting with and playing with about stripes and accents and all sorts of things, wondering what we can do with them (and wondering if we can execute on them). I have no idea how it will turn out, but I can tell you this: we will not, under any circumstances, be afraid of color.

No, no. We will not be afraid of color!!

The artwork:
In case you missed it in the first post, the print we ordered from Etsy is by Marisa of Creative Thursday. She has oodles and oodles of adorable prints with a cast of characters just like you see in the You CAN do it print.