sueeeus

Poor little Boo. The sniffles started on Thursday or Friday and there was a little bit of fever here and there, accompanied by some tearing eyes with swollen eyelids, but he seemed to be feeling better on Saturday.

There was a bit of a croupy sounding cough which alarmed me, though, and then he started drooling. At that point it was Saturday night and I called the doctor, after having read that with that laundry list of symptoms, one should call the doctor immediately. She recommended Ibuprofen over Acetaminaphen, and plenty of fluids. Sometimes I think those books on children’s health, although trying to be helpful, introduce too much stress on the parents’ part. They seem to put forth the worst case scenario. I don’t want to be the one to freak out over every little thing and thus turn my child into a quivering quaking neurotic mess with little to no self-confidence. On the other hand, I don’t want to ignore or overlook things for which I ought to seek assistance. Sunday he had much more energy and the cough was less croupy. Monday he seemed energetic and boisterous. I gave him some Ibuprofen when we got home that night, just for good measure and not long after he got whiny and drowsy. I took his temperature and it was around 100. I held him and he fell asleep, but he felt very warm, so half an hour later I took his temp and it was 103.5 in one ear and 105.5 in the other. This freaked me out, so I stripped him down immediately and got in the bathtub with him, in lukewarm water. He screamed while I dabbed cool water on him. I held him close but kept gently wetting him, trying to cool him down. When his temp dropped to around 101 I put him on my lap out of the water but his temp rose immediately again, so back in the water we went. Meanwhile, we tried to reach the doctor. Finally, she called back and recommended alternating the Tylenol with the Motrin, every 2 hours, and also giving him some Sudafed. She asked that we bring him to the office in the morning, but if his fever spiked again so high before then, to take him to the ER. The Tylenol brought his fever down nicely, and we made it through an uneventful night. I’ve had the humidifier running with eucalyptus oil since Thursday, which has been somewhat of a help. Meanwhile, the full frontal onslaught of toddler coughs and sneezes has finally taken it’s toll, and today I find myself battling the bug as well.

The doctor confirmed that my 37 lb almost 2 year old has an ear infection, and possibly a throat infection as well, so prescribed antibiotics. His 2 year well child physical is next week. It’s uncanny how he manages to get sick enough to require a doctor visit one week before his regularly scheduled checkup. This has happened for the last four checkups (12, 15, 18, and 24 months). Weird. The nice part is that means he hasn’t been sick for six months.

We went to fill his prescription, but Costco wasn’t yet open, so we went to Target to kill 45 minutes. My poor little guy was whining and crying the whole time. I felt so bad for him, but look what I found! I’ve been hoping to find dishes like these for several years now. They’re never quite right, the dishes I encounter, but these plates! Oh, these plates I adore! They remind me of the Hubble nebulae photographs, which I LOVE! The bowls and cups are a bit off. I love the glaze, but not the shape. I ought to be a designer. It’s perfectly fine to mix round with square. Just because one has square plates does not mean the bowls must also be square. Sigh. Alas, Target didn’t ask me. I bought the set anyway, on the plate merit alone. What a find. They are stunning.

Back at Costco, we arrived 15 minutes after opening time, and it was completely packed. It’s insane. It must be senior citizen prescription filling day, because the wait at the pharmacy was two hours. TWO HOURS!! My sweet little boy fell asleep and I made a nest for him in the cart. Being the prepared mother that I am, I keep a comforter, pillow, and blanket in the car, so I can make a nest for him when he falls asleep shopping. This leaves only the space under the basket for items, which one might think would allow somebody to make it out of Costco without spending a small fortune, but somehow I managed to spend a fortune anyway. I had to kill two hours, after all. No, I didn’t need any more Method soap, but I like it, and it comes in nicely shaped bottles. I also didn’t need the 52 pack of disposable razors that I bought, even though Mr. Gadget assured me that he was getting low. Apparently he didn’t look in his cabinet where I put the 52 pack I got him the last time they had a coupon special. No more razors for at least a year. Diapers cost a fortune, but we consider them a necessity. Wipes as well, and those new Huggies wipes with aloe vera and cucumber smell so nice. Then there were the hand made thank you note cards. 30 for $10. I couldn’t pass that up. It’s easy to spend a fortune in that store, and because I’m one of those brainwashed tried and true dedicated Costco shoppers, I don’t mind. It’s Costco.

Although it was nice to have nearly two weeks off from work (even though some of that time was not nice at all), it is with a sigh of relief that I return to the office and my mundane life.  The skies are cloudy and grey, the decorations are put away.  No more garland, no twinkling lights, no ribbons and bows.  All is back to normal, and life in the suburbs goes on.  There is no more holiday chaos and suppressed or unsuppressed anxiety over expectations for idyllic picture book lives where all is merry and of good cheer.

A little someone continues to seek his mother around 2:30 every morning, and again around 6:00 a.m.  Five hours of continuous sleep is a prize!  Note to self:  Don’t allow the little one beverages after 6:00 p.m.  (Right.  Well then.  We’ll see about that.) 

We bathe, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening, we dress, we play, we make messes, we tidy up, we wash clothes, we put them away, we prepare meals, we dine, we wash dishes, we buy groceries, we drive from here to there and back again.  We go to work or we go to daycare.  We spend our days and live a mostly comfortable routine, day in and day out.  It is very soothing, and I am grateful for this life we live.  It’s a good life.

I’m not big on formal resolutions (right, who am I kidding, what with all my various lists and journals), but I hope to make positive strides towards better health and harmonioius living.  Of course I’m hoping for a baby as well, but I’m a bit too timid to put too much hope there at this point.  I can only take so much heartbreak at a time.

All said, I am relieved to be through with 2006.  Hello 2007.  I’m ready for you.

I’ve been stumbling through the last few days in a fog of sorts, and I realize that the experience is most likely the manifestation of depression. Real, hardcore depression. Or maybe a form of postpartum depression The awareness leaves me a bit concerned, but I’m confident I’ll come through it without medication and therapy. I know it’s there and I know I need to work through it. Then I’ll be back to my normal ups and downs. There is deep exhaustion, first thing in the morning after a full night’s sleep, continuing on through the day. There is the weight of the facial muscles pulling my expression into a grim frown, where conscious effort is necessary to compose any other expression. There is a sort of dizziness or vertigo — a general feeling of imbalance. There is a void in my mind, where thoughts might normally be. Only quiet and darkness. And there is sorrow, welling from deep within, that washes over me every now and then, that brings forth the sobbing tears. Tears and sobs are good, because they bring release. I can feel myself getting better –a little more so with each passing day.

Two more aprons have joined my collection (one, an artist’s smock style, which I think I like best so far, is in the wash, so no picture; the other is sort of a basic style with a huge pocket and a slightly scalloped hem), and an arsenal of pumpkin pies have made their way from my kitchen to the MIL’s for Christmas Eve dessert. I spent an entire day on those pies, cooking the pumpkin (formerly Halloween decorations, and already cooked once, then frozen for future use). I followed the America’s Test Kitchen recipe to the letter, froze then shredded the butter and cut in the flour, kneaded the dough, chilled it again, rolled it out, formed various and sundry pastry and pie shells, chilled them again, pre-baked them, cooked the spices into the filling on the stovetop, and finally loaded the warmed pie shells with the hot filling for the final bake. ATK didn’t disappoint. The resulting pies had a rich, smooth and creamy filling in a nice flaky crust. Of course, MIL, fully aware that I was bringing and preparing all the food for the family get-together, made 5 pies of her own. All told, there were nine pies at the Christmas Eve meal. Couple that with the no-shows, and there was approximately one full pie per person. At least she didn’t have a meal prepared when we got there. It’s just the kind of thing she would do. She wasn’t happy with the spiral cut ham, because the slices were too thin. She wasn’t happy with the cauliflower, because it didn’t have the family fake Hollandaise sauce that she expected. They mix mayonnaise with mustard and call it Hollandaise. I can’t bear it! At the last gathering, the green beans were criticized, so I prepared them differently this time. Some of the family members are lactose intolerant, so I used milk substitute in the mashed potatoes, and the resulting texture was far from fluffy and altogether disappointing. I made two kinds of gravy, in case people preferred one over another, and I made a special apple cider shallot sauce for the ham, which nobody tried but me (and it was delicious, I might add). I made it clear that we were NOT taking any pumpkin pies back home with us, so everybody had to take a heaping plate of leftover pie home with them. I’m developing a thick skin for dealing with the MIL. She can be abrasive and generally unkind. At least all the cooking, chaos, and general discontent kept my mind off of my broken heart, and helped me get a few steps further from my sorrow.

What is it they say, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me I should heed my own advice, even if it is over three years old. Last week, when I learned that life had ended, I should have gone through my journal and read the entry from that fateful and eventful day, March 28, 2003. It was my 38th birthday. It was the day my body finally gave forth the lost twins, after holding them in for over a month past the time their lives had ended. The same day I was scheduled to have their remains surgically removed. I should have learned from my past. But I didn’t, until after the fact, or rather, after it was too late.

Had I read my journal, I should have paid special heed to the phrase, “Maybe labor is mentally more bearable because you know you’re bringing forth new life, instead of purging lost life. It was so painful. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, and God forbid I ever miscarry again, but if I do, I want the D&C right away. I don’t ever want to go through that again.”

People may say it wasn’t labor, but if not, what is it when the body convulses in pain, the lower back throbs and aches, the abdomen contracts in what feels like a massive charlie horse, every three minutes or less for hours on end Because that’s what it was, at that time, in 2003.

Sadly, I didn’t learn from my past. I didn’t read my journal. I opted to wait a little longer to see if nature would do its thing, and after the alotted time had passed, I scheduled the D&C. Nature, schmature. Nature’s way –similar to a very heavy period, according to several internet sources. A heavy period is not daunting. Nature’s way sounded good. And natural. I could handle that. Or so I thought. I am here to say that Nature’s way is not, NOT, EN OH TEE NOT, in any way, the least bit, not even remotely akin to a very heavy period. (Not in the case of a missed miscarriage, anyway –perhaps it’s different if the body passes the remains immediately upon cessation of life, but that has not been the case with me.) Do NOT wait! Get the D&C immediately, ASAP. Do not wait. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Go DIRECTLY to the hospital. GO!

What did women do in the days before modern medicine One cannot go through the day as any other day, as if one were having a heavy period. One would have to find a place to curl up in fetal position and lie in the ever increasing pool of blood amid the terrifying massive clumps of matter that the body expels, until it’s over. Or die of infection. Or both.

The phases of a missed miscarriage (according to me):

The Nagasaki Moment.

The moment one learns that life has ended. There is a stunned silence, followed by a shockwave of sorrow and anguish, then a mushroom cloud of scattered emotions. With the knowing comes a peace, though. The torture of not knowing, of waiting, of uncertainty, unanswered questions and what ifs is over, and with that, a form of peace.

The Matter of Decision.

Let Nature take it’s course, or have a D&C Being the composting, recycling, semi-conservative sort that I am, I mistakenly assumed that Nature’s way would be better. After all, it’s Nature. In retrospect, and now from two-fold experience, I should have made an immediate decision for immediate D&C. Before the fact, one might think that surgical extraction is unpleasant, unnatural, and comes with risks associated with any surgical procedure. All that is true. What is left unsaid is that with an immediate D&C, the waiting is over. The uterus is clean. The hormones revert to normal which works wonders on one’s mental state. There is no wondering how long the miscarriage will take, what it will feel like, how emotionally and mentally difficult it will or will not be. There is less risk of infection from decaying matter not flushing from the system as it should. There is more immediate closure.

Nature’s Way.

This only applies if immediate D&C does not occur, and this is only my own dreadful experience. Hopefully it’s uncommon. It would be awful if this is what women normally go through. I would not wish this upon anyone. Ever. The bleeding begins and one might think with a little relief that it will be like a heavy period, and the day can go on, even though there will likely be some unpleasant discomfort and cramping. The cramping begins. It is unpleasant. My D&C is scheduled for 1:30 this afternoon. I just have to make it until then. No food, no drink, no pain relievers, as instructed in preparation for surgery. I have the bright idea to run some errands before admitting myself to the hospital. You know. To pass the time. I won’t be in any shape to drive and run errands afterwards, so there’s no time like the present. Idiot. The cramps get worse. As does the bleeding. Deep breathing. Lots of deep breathing to get through the cramps and contractions. How can there be so much blood In the women’s room at Bed, Bath & Beyond I pass a horrifying object the size of a tomato or an apple. I sit there on the toilet and sob, traumatized by what came out of me, wondering what I’m supposed to do, and why I am here, in this public place, going through this private thing. I’m an idiot. I compose myself and go find Mr. Gadget, who is patiently waiting for me. I keep asking him the time. How soon can I check in to the hospital, I wonder. It’s 9:30 a.m. and my check-in time is noon. We go to Linen’s and Things, in search of the pie plates I expected to find at BBB, but I sneeze and something happens. I find the women’s room and again, sit on the toilet and sob. Sanitary napkins are useless. I had 5 with me, thinking I’d make it to noon with them. I was left with one and it was 10:00 a.m. There is so much blood. I made a mental note of the neighborhood and decided the closest place where I could buy more was Target. I decided to try baby diapers instead. I know they hold a LOT of liquid, and the leftovers would be put to good use with my son. Ever practical. Of course, every express register at Target had a long line at 10:00 a.m. on a weekday. I told Mr. Gadget I couldn’t wait, ripped open the package, and stomped off to the bathrooms, diaper in hand. It’s funny how modesty and social graces can so easily be brushed aside in times of crisis, although I did vaguely wonder what the people were thinking when they saw a distressed not-so-young woman heading to the bathroom with a diaper in hand and no baby in sight. Crazy shoplifter. More trauma and sobbing in the loo. Trying not to leave a biohazard trail. By now my clothes were soaked and I was thanking my lucky stars that I chose to wear dark chocolate brown today. How I wished I had packed extra pants. I was tempted to buy new pants while at Target, but decided I wanted to go to the hospital NOW. Enough was enough. Not that there was a chance to fit me in early, but at least I’d be there. Thankfully, they let me have a room without waiting too long, and I could curl up in fetal position and bleed in peace. For four and a half more hours. Around 1:00 p.m. they finally checked on me and took my blood pressure. The machine tried several times to get a reading before it pronounced me low. Do you normally have low bp, inquired the nurse. No, but I have been bleeding quite alot, if that makes a difference, I said in my own special sweet yet sarcastic way. Does your doctor know you’ve been bleeding, she asks Ummmmm, I am here, at the hospital, 2 hours early, due to heavy bleeding. I don’t know, I said. (So, as I am wont to do, I dropped the communication ball, assuming that somebody would have pulled my chart and notified my doctor when they put me in the room. My bad.) She’s a very kind and sweet nurse. Lola. I like her. I overhear her talking to my doctor. She returns, and gets me prepped with an IV. FINALLY. Drugs are on the way. My doctor ordered petossin. I thought that was for inducing labor, and lack of contractions was not the issue, but I didn’t care. Was it supposed to slow down the bleeding I was relieved to be getting any medical attention at all, and once that IV was in, they could administer pain relievers. Which they did. Not that they did much. I felt the drug hit my veins and make me dizzy, but the cramps continued to surge and they remained painful. I was still glad to have the drugs. It helped me keep up with my deep breathing and counting the minutes until surgery and sweet nothingness of general anesthesia. My ticket home.

Surgical Extraction.

Preop instructions. No food or drink between bedtime (the night before) and surgery time. This can make for a long and hungry day if surgery is scheduled in the afternoon. Arrange a ride home. Patients are not released to drive following general anesthesia. There may be grogginess, dizziness, and disorientation, so driving is a liability. There is the normal hospital waiting time. It shouldn’t be too big of a surpise if a 1:30 surgery takes place at 3:30. Especially after the city is recovering from a severe wind storm with extensive and extended power outages. There’s nothing like loss of electricity to bring a population to its knees. Say goodbye to modesty, but if you’re lucky, you’re under before you have a chance to think about it. There is a pin prick from the IV, and the cold feel of the liquid entering the body. The oxygen mask goes on, the anesthesia begins, and the next thing you know you are awake. You may cry. General anesthesia does a number on the brain. I had a wash of emotion where tears rolled down my face as I said goodbye and hoped and prayed that there will be a next baby and that the baby would live and that I wouldn’t find myself waking up again from GA after another D&C. Along with that, there was a relief that it was all over. There was a refreshing feeling of an empty and clean uterus. It may be psychological, but it doesn’t matter. It was a good feeling. It opened the door to hope for the future and the peace of proper closure.

In Conclusion.

I had a bad day. After writing it all out, it doesn’t sound as bad as it was, but it was horrifying. Now it’s over, and there is a lifetime of happy tomorrows ahead of me.

Sometimes the system goes on the blink
And the whole thing turns out wrong.
You might not make it back and you know
That you could be, well, oh that strong.
And I’m not wrong…

(Daniel Powter – Bad Day)

Little tidbits of domesticity help me feel happy.’ Surgery is tomorrow, and after that, closure.’ Sigh.’ But I don’t want to write about miscarriage, or rather missed miscarriage.’ It’s as though my mind wants so terribly to be and stay pregnant, that it won’t allow my body to give up the remains, even though it’s the necessary thing to do.’ Either that, or it’s just another quirk of this old jalopy of a reproductive system.” So.’ Tomorrow, closure.’ In the mean time, a little bit of domesticity and creative release.
All the wee one’s in daycare will be receiving these bibs for Christmas, as a gift from my son. He’s such a thoughtful little boy, isn’t he I wanted him to give his friends something, but not just anything. And it had to be age-appropriate. There are two boys and a girl, around 6 months old. The age-appropriate concern helped me narrow down the choices, and I decided that something useful would be best. A baby can not have too many bibs. It’s simply not possible.

Look, they’re reversible.

And they have food catcher pockets!

The boys get trucks, rockets, and stars.’ Two bibs each.’ Oops, looks like the yellow bib has a crooked pocket.’ C’est la vie.

The girl gets flowers, bugs, and dancers.’ The other two (I made two of each fabric) go to my sister-in-law who is having a girl in April.

Is this not adorable fabric ‘ (I should have made some of these for my boo boy, when he was a little snugglebug, but the inspiration escaped me at the time.)
Now, the babies have older sisters who have moved on to preschool and are not in the daycare any longer.’ My son, the ever-considerate lad, has little token gifts for them as well, so that all the children will get a little something, and there will be a happy few seconds of paper shredding and package opening. It will be a sweet moment.

There is no heartbeat.

Tonight, wine, candlelight, and tears.

That is all.

This morning I had a dream in which I arrived home one day to find, to my utter surprise and delight, my friend Suse in my kitchen.  With her was her friend A, who had a young son about the age of Suse’s  youngest son.  Both boys were present and very bored.  And hungry.  Being the bad hostess that I am, there was no snack food readily available for the boys, and I was both embarrassed and disappointed about that.  The womenfolk had come to my house to use my kitchen because it was bigger than theirs.  It makes perfect sense.  After all, they live in Australia, and I live just around the bend, in Northwest USA. Sadly, they were just leaving, and couldn’t stay.  They were just packaging up the last of the Christmas cookies they’d been making.  They were so nicely and neatly packaged in vintage Christmas tins.  Very classy.  They left me with a sweet little tin filled with something delightfully delicate and chocolatey, and bustled out the door.  I rummaged about for snacks for the boys, and finally found some snack bars, gathered them up and darted outside to catch my visitors before they left.  I was nearly too late.  They were just leaving, and I had to wave my arms to make them stop.  The car was a purple suede racecar.  It belonged to A, and she was all strapped in and ready to take off.  It was shaped something like a Prowler, only the driver lies on her stomach and wears goggles as her face is so close to the road.  A. assured me that this kind of car is the best for maneuvering in traffic, and a joy to drive.  It was quite something to behold.  The passengers were stowed safely within, all lying down.  The passenger area was somewhat like a bed.  There was no need for safety belts, as the car was much like a pod and once the lid was in place, the passengers were sandwiched in and there was no moving about.  I gave the boys the meager snacks that I’d found, and we said our goodbyes.

Scene II.  Around the block.  I was on my way to a work meeting when I noticed the purple suede car parked on the roadside.  I sauntered over, because of course it was A., Suse, and the boys, and say hello.  Who else would have a car like that   A. explained that she needed a flashlight.  Happy to be able to help, I rushed back to my home to collect a flashlight.  Sadly, it took longer than expected and by the time I returned, they had gone.  On top of that, I was late for my meeting.  I felt a bit bad, but realized that we hadn’t confirmed that they would wait, and I hadn’t confirmed that I actually had a flashlight.  I suspected I did, and said that I would bring it if I could find it.  Meanwhile, they must have found a way to get out of their flashlight-required predicament, so they continued on.

Then I heard my toddler letting me know he was awake and that it was time to change his diaper, so I had to bid adieu to R.E.M. sleep.  I was a bit sad that I had missed the chance to visit with my friend, her friend, and their boys.  That purple car was something else, though, and the cookies were divine!

The things one does to keep one’s mind occupied, so as not to think too much about things that are beyond one’s control…

I’m generally a wash and wear kind of person, as the things I wear are often covered in toddler goo of some sort or another, but I had some pretty fabric that I’ve had stashed in a closet for years, and decided it would make a nice apron. I wanted a specific style, and after a little googling, found that the style I like is often referred to as a 1940’s apron. I found a few cover shots of vintage patterns to get a general idea of construction, then made my own pattern.  I love one of the vintage pattern descriptions. It said something like “crisp as celery, neat as a pin.” Of course the models have 18 inch waistlines. That would be one of my arms, maybe, or a calf, perhaps, but not a waist. Not since I was maybe 4 yrs old or so. The end result isn’t neat as a pin, or crisp as celery, but I guess I like how it turned out. It’s fully lined and I even hid some pockets among the front seams.

In other news, we shopped until we dropped this weekend, and it’s been a very long time since we’ve done anything like that.  It all started with a quest for a coat.  Not just any coat.  I decided I wanted a black hooded peacoat.  Either that or a duffle coat.  It’s been several years since I’ve bought a coat.  A little online browsing revealed that the average duffle coat costs way more than I’d ever be interested in spending, and most of the available hooded pea coats did as well, and of course, they generally aren’t available in extended sizes.  After an exhausting and fruitless journey through the mall, and I loathe shopping malls, by the way, I happened into a Lane Bryant outlet store that actually had black wool peacoats (sans hood, though) for 50% off.  Add to that some gimick they were running whereby you get to take 25% off of one item if you buy their magazine for $3.95, and then if you open a credit account, you get an extra 15% off.  It would have been sweet if one could have added all those percentages together.  That would have been 90% off.  But instead it’s 50% off, then 25% off the remainder, then 15% off the next remainder.  Even so, I walked out of that store with my black peacoat for $41.  Now I have to cancel that credit card after I pay the bill.  I’m very much against having a menagerie of credit cards.

In our shopping fervor, Mr. Gadget got the notion that he needed a suit.  We found a couple possibilities while at the mall, but decided to check out another store today.  He’s had his heart set on one of those swanky tuxedo vests.  He’s probably secretly thinking 007 or something!  We put together the full sh’bang — a suit, shirt, and vest/tie/hanky combo, for under $150.  Suits generally cost a fortune, so we did well.  No more new clothes for MG for quite some time, though.  He’ll be very dapper in his own special and very color coordinated way if ever we have an occasion that calls for a suit.  Either that, or perhaps one of these days we’ll dress up for dinner at home, just for fun.  I would actually quite enjoy that.

Still waiting.  Holding my breath.  Crossing my fingers.  I went to my OB yesterday, and as luck would have it, the ultrasound tech had a slot so she fit me in.  I was ecstatic!  I SO wanted to see that heartbeat.  First scan was the transabdominal method.  Only visible was the black sac.  I told her that last time I’d needed the wand, because I had too much belly fat to get a good view.  I just ignore the mortification that lurks when having to make such a remark about myself.  It’s not that it’s not obvious, or anything, but all the same, who wants to actually vocalize the fact of abundant adipose tissue.  I think I read that on a med site today.  It sounds less gruesome and awful than obese or fat.  All the same, it is what it is.  Adipose tissue.  Sigh.  Anyway.  With the wand, the tech was able to locate, with a little difficulty, the embryo.  I was so excited to see that white spot!  Although, the fishing around in there trying to find it was a bit unnerving.  I strained to see a heartbeat and didn’t see it.  Next, she said the calculations based on measurements showed the date to be six weeks and one day.  I didn’t panic right away, but just marked it as something to speak to the doctor about.  I know, KNOW KNOW it’s more than six weeks and one day.  There’s no way it can be six weeks and one day.  No.WAY.  All the same, the kindly tech cut out a couple of the ultrasound pictures and placed them in a nice congratulatory envelope for me.  So it must have been good.  Maybe she saw a heartbeat and didn’t tell me   I know they try not to discuss anything in there.  I think they’re under strict instructions to leave the questions, answers and discussions to the doctors.  I would feel so much more comfortable if I KNEW there was a heartbeat.  Next, I told my doctor that the estimated date made no sense.  Yes, it’s way off, he agreed.  Based on LMP, which means nothing in my case, I am supposedly 9 and a half weeks or more.  Of course I know that’s not true, so I showed him my numbers of dates in the realm of possibility, and he used his little magical wheel and did some backtracking and decided, yes, the 6 weeks one day measurement is not possible.  He didn’t seem alarmed, though.  He just said we should reschedule for later next week, and then we’ll have a good idea of what’s going on, based on change.  So now I have to wait until the 15th, and try not to be anxious about anything.  Everything I’ve read says that a heartbeat should be clearly evident at 6-7 weeks, especially if measured transvaginally.  Sigh.  I think I’m 7-8 weeks, so if I don’t see a heartbeat and if the embryo size looks only like 6 weeks, the most horrible conclusion is that things stopped around 6 weeks.  Oh, dear Lord, I hope not!  I still have general symptoms and I so so so want this life to make it.  I know that if it doesn’t, it’s no fault of my own.  I’ve done everything that I can to take proper care of this earthen vessel in which I live since the first day I tested positive, and the cell division and growth is out of my hands.  Even so, it’s so hard not to be anxious.  I’m trying to be peaceful and not neurotic or depressed.  I need to find the glass half full attitude, and hold on to it, rather than the looming fear and dread of the glass being half empty.  It comes and goes.  Perhaps the emotional yo-yo should be taken as a good sign that the hormones are actively fluctuating.  If all is well, there should be quite some change by the 15th, and hopefully a reasonable due date can be determined.  I should have some peace by then.

These eyes have a mischievous twinkle, yes

He’s come a long way in nearly two years. I like how his newborn hat turned out. I still have leftover fabric so I made him a new hat and scarf. I don’t know what happened to the baby hat, and I didn’t remember how I made it. The mittens were a bit of a flop, as well. There is a bit of fabric left, so I may try another pair of mittens, or a better hat. Or perhaps a pillow to match his little blanket and quilt. So many choices.

He is just so darned adorable! And so much fun. He runs and dances and plays and is generally an exhuberant toddler. He gets into absolutely everything!  My little love.

Now, to keep those gifts wrapped until Christmas.  We shall see.