An Update, a Correction, and the Aftermath

I lied. Zach's birth story was not my last post.

First, the correction:
I later discovered that my due date was off by several days. Zach was not born at 36 wks, 3 days like we thought. Instead, he was born at 33 wks, 5 days. Which means everything I blogged was off, too. Sorry. I have since gone back and tried to adjust the dates, but some of it will still be off. We didn't know this until I went for my postpartum check-up.

The Update:
Zach is now 3 months old--13 weeks chronologically, 8 weeks old with the adjustment for his prematurity. And he is absolutely perfect. Our angel. The easiest baby ever! He ended up having a few issues from his prematurity, such as an abnormal newborn thyroid screen. He also had a few feeding issues where he would mix up the suck-swallow-breathe routine and sputter and choke while eating. And difficulties latching on. We are continuing to work through all of it. Developmentally speaking, he is just a couple of weeks behind on his milestones, but that is to be expected.

He lights up our world with his beautiful smiles, loves to be "worn", and is the apple of his big brother's eye. We cannot even remember what life was like before he came into our lives.

The Aftermath:
It turns out that my relief I felt at the end of the pregnancy would be false. Instead, I find myself having difficulties with coping with the pregnancy. I feel like I am a failure as a woman as a result of the whole experience and have a bitterness I did not expect to feel once I held my baby in my arms. This is not something that has interfered with my ability to mother my children or carry on with my life, but rather serves as a sort of hang-up. Not really postpartum depression and not a simple case of the baby blues, it has no label. About the closest thing I can find is "Traumatic Birth Experience", in that the pregnancy and birth served as a sort of emotional trauma. I find myself resentful toward other pregnant women who get to have a positive experience, which in turn makes me feel guilty for feeling the way I do. And I simply have not been able to let it go. And despite all of the pain I felt in the last months leading to Zach's birth, I wish I could go back and do it all over again. Only this second time, things would go as they are supposed to. I would get to leisurely shop for the baby, not be in the hospital over and over. Maybe even have a baby shower. I would be able to spend more quality time with E before Zach's arrival instead of having such physical limitations or being submerged in the fuzziness of painkillers to get me through. I would be able to bond with my baby through a more natural childbirth instead of the cold and calculated world that is a scheduled c-section. And it would all be perfect.
As for the mathematical aftermath: My pregnancy cost my insurance company over $484,000. Thank God for Humana. My family's share? $15,000. By the time I delivered, I had exhausted every resource I had to compensate me for maternity leave. My FMLA job protection had long-since run out, and the only reason I had a job to which to return was because my supervisor likes me. I ended up returning to work at 5 weeks postpartum, just 3 days after my due date, simply because I was worried for my job and also because I needed the financial compensation of my full salary. We were scraping the bottom of the barrel. That in itself was a source of emotional difficulty: I simply was not ready to leave my baby yet. We still needed each other.

I have been back to work about 2 months now. I still run into people in the halls of the hospital who ask me where I have been. I was off of work for 21 weeks, from start to finish, and when I tell people this, they always reply the same way: "That must've been nice!" And then I want to scream. No. There was nothing nice about it. Not the needles, the pain, the hospitalizations, the tests, the bills, the fear, the tears. I honestly cannot think of one positive thing other than the gift I was given when Zach was finally born on May 13th. Not one thing. I don't tell these people the details. They don't want to know. The details are my burden to carry. Instead, I just smile the fakest smile in the world, and hope that they never have to endure what I did.

Learning How to Fight

I was posting yesterday about the hurts from which which you cannot protect your children. That got me thinking back to the time 2 years ago when E was going through a very difficult time. It still pains me to think about it. It was then that I made this little video.

E had a horrible first grade teacher. Horrible for him, anyway. He has always been very bright and creative. And had a love of learning like I had never seen in a child his age. Gradually, he started getting into trouble at school more and more frequently. He would come home with these pink slips where he would have been sent to the office that day, and I trusted the school, and would punish him at home as well, desperate to end the cycle and trying to put on a united front with his teacher. I tried everything. I scheduled meetings with the guidance counselor, the teacher, and anyone else. His teacher kept hinting that we should medicate him, but the change was sudden. Our family had just emerged from my brain tumor, from that horrible ordeal. I was back to work at a new hospital, and there were lots of changes in his life. I was worried he had internalized it more than we knew and this was manifesting itself in his behavior at school. While this was going on, E changed even more. We suddenly found ourselves having to fight to get him to go to school, to do his homework. This was such a change from the little boy who would literally cry if he was sick and had to be absent.

One day, he came home excited about an art project he had done that day. They had used pastels to draw pictures of owls. He said everyone's was the same, but that owls are birds and can fly, so he did his of an owl in flight. He was so proud, as was I. His was different, original, creative, and reflected a knowledge about the animal.

In another effort to intervene, I scheduled another meeting with his teacher. I didn't care what it took. I just wanted to fix my baby. J and I went together, eager to hear the opinion of the educational expert of children E's age. We were very open-minded to what she had to say, even if she pointed a finger at us and told us it was our fault. Just so E got the help he needed. The only suggestion I was opposed to was simply just putting him on medicaton. I believe ADD/ ADHD can be a real problem, but I also believe that it is completely overused in anyone who does not fit a certain mold.

So we went. We sat in the short little chairs across from this woman, and we listened. She had even saved samples of E's schoolwork and samples of his classmates' work to compare. She showed us handwriting samples-E's is as sloppy as his father's. She showed us his math, which was perfect. Then she pulled out a stack of construction paper and started going through pictures of owls. "These," she said, "are what his classmates did." Pictures, one by one, that all looked the same, like cookie-cutter images. "This is what your son did." She said it with pride, like it would seal the deal for us. There, on the paper, was the bird in-flight, like he had described. It was obvious what it was. He even colored in a midnight-blue sky, knowing that owls are nocturnal. And my heart sank. Not because my kid was different, but because I had been backing this teacher at home, trusting her without question, and punishing my baby. It was obvious she didn't understand E at all, or even make an effort. And me? The one ally he was supposed to have, who should have been behind him without fail, had failed him.

She brought up medication again. She offered us free help from the school counseling system. It was a relatively low-income area, and she had assumed we were no different. But I wanted to do this my way. I have insurance and an above-average income. I would handle it. I took E to a very reputable child psychologist. He sat there on the floor with her, building an elaborate city of legos, and told her everything. Articulating to her in a way unheard of in children his age. And it took all I had not to break down in front of him. He spoke of how the other children called him "retard" because he got sent to the office all of the time. How he tried to tell the teacher " like mama said" and the teacher told him she didn't have time for tattlers. He spoke of how he didn't like class trips to the library anymore. He liked books like Harry Potter, and the Judy Blume chapter books, not baby picture books, and his teacher told him he couldn't possibly be able to read those, that they were too hard for him, which fueled more ridicule from his classmates: they called him a liar. (In fact, he had been reading chapter books at home for some time--my fault--I didn't think the way they were teaching him to read was really reading. Sight words. Memorize the way a word looks instead of sounding it out. So I bought him books without pictures so he would have to learn to sound them out on his own.) He spoke of math time in class, of how he would get done with the work and the teacher would just give him more and more of it to do because his classmates weren't finished, and if he acted like he couldn't do it or didn't have enough time, she wouldn't give him so much more than the other children, which wasn't fair. That he likes going to the office because he gets to talk to the grown-ups there.

The psychologist sat me down and told me what is both every parent's dream and every parent's nightmare at the same time. She told me E had a "freakishly high intellect". That my then-6-year-old baby was literally a genius, based on his IQ. That he may have some hyperactivity going on, but it was hard to say if it was rooted in pathology or just boredom. That the school was failing him. That he thinks differently than other children because of his high ability. I cried that night. All parents want their children to be smart. But I didn't want this. I wanted him to fit in, to have friends his age. To be normal. I remembered back to when I was labeled as "gifted" when I was a child. It was horrible. I just never felt at-home with the other kids. I didn't want this with E. So I tried to take this new knowledge to the school, thinking it would help him. Instead it got worse. The teacher almost seemed to have a personal vendetta against my son.

The final stand-off occured over a broken pencil. E's had broken and she had told him to borrow his neighbor's. The pencil got broken. E was sent home for "intentionally damaging others' property". I assumed he had actively broken the pencil in half out of anger. I mean, they sent him home ! So I grounded him to teach him that you cannot do that to someone else's things. Then I found out that he just broken the lead. Just like he had broken the lead of his because his teacher had told him to press harder on the paper. The pencil just needed to be sharpened. That is the day I went to Staples and bought an entire case of yellow no. 2 pencils and took them to the school. In front of the entire office staff, I slammed them on the counter and told them that if pencils are such a rare commodity in their school that they had to torment my son over broken lead, then they could have some on me. And I withdrew E from the school. He is now in a small parochial school. The tuition is killer,but there are only 13 second-graders, total. He has teachers who take the time to know him, to recognize his strengths and weaknesses and play to both. They have the time and ability to keep him with his peers, yet still challenge him by giving him more enriching work. When he goes to the library with his class, they personally escort him to the more challenging selections, and when he finds one on a topic that is particularly interesting, they even allow him independent-research time in the computer lab and he gives the class a lesson on what he's learned.

This is my prime example of how no one will love your child like you will. How there are people out there who will hurt them and you cannot always take it away. E still shows the ill effects of that awful time with the horrible teacher. He doesn't fight us to go to school anymore, and there are no more trips to the office. He shines academically, but still doesn't have the same sparkle in his eyes as he did before. But I, as his mother, learned valuable lessons from it all. I learned how to fight for my son. How to advocate. And from now on, I will protect my children with a fierceness that is unparalleled.

31 Wks, 2 Days: Random Stuff

Saw my doctor yesterday, and all was well with my BP. I finally gained some weight, 1.8 pounds, making my net gain for the pregnancy totalling 12 pounds so far. Not too bad. We discussed my situation, and I left the office reassured that they will not let me go any further than necessary with the pregnancy. His exact words: "You're in pain, and we're concerned that you are in pain, and we are not going to let you suffer any longer than necessary." So the plan is still to wait until 34 weeks, stop everything and do an amniocentesis to test out Z's lung maturity. They cannot plan a c-section that early without a medical indication. I don't think I will last more than 8 hours without the meds before I am contracting. But what they can do is let me start contracting at that point, then do my c-section.

We discussed the end of my FMLA job protection on May 1st. The doctor had the idea that maybe, once I reach 34 weeks, they can let me return for some piddly 4 hour shifts a couple times a week to try and buy me more time. I would be thrilled with this idea, but for the first time ever, I had to make the statement that I don't think I am capable. I am so de-conditioned right now that it isn't even funny. I'm relying on the post-partum period to gain some strength and get my chops back before I start running around the hospital. I hated admitting that to him. I really miss work, and would give my eye teeth right now to return.

So speaking of work: Yesterday was the big Gainsharing disbursement. In lieu of giving huge sign-on bonuses, my hospital has this employee incentive they call Gainsharing. Basically, the hospital keeps tabs on those patient satisfaction surveys, compares them to the national average, and if we meet certain criteria, since it is a private hospital, they determine a portion of the hospital's proceeds and disburse it to employees. The amount you get is based on the number of hours worked for the year. 2080 hours is considered full-time, and thus earns you the top-out, maximum amount. I worked 2,778.4 hours last year. Since I work 36 hours per week, that was the equivalent of 77.178 weeks of work in 52 weeks. Kinda like me squeezing an extra 25 weeks out of the year. So of course I got the full disbursement amount. The check had to be picked up in person, and each department in the hospital has a big to-do over it: catered lunches, mandatory meetings, etc. My boss was going to allow J to pick up mine, considering the circumstances, but I wanted to do it. J dropped me off in front of the door, parked the car, and came and got me in a wheelchair to take me to my department. I got a very warm reception, making me think that the feelings I had of being snubbed were more my perception than reality. I'm sure that, just like anywhere else,there are people in my department who talk about me behind my back, who think this has been a vacation for me or some kind of lame excuse to not work. But for the most part, everyone got it and seemed genuinely concerned. My supervisor's exact words: "just have a healthy baby, recover, and get your butt back here ready to work!" as she hugged me before I left. This gives me hope that they see my value there and will not post my job.

Of course the money could not have come at a better time. I was sort of bummed that I couldn't just go on a binge and spend it like I did last year. Instead, this year, I used it to pay bills. The plus side is that I can now breathe a little easier, and will be until I am back to earning my full salary. I paid a couple of rent payments (through June) and huge advanced payments on electric and phone/ internet/ cable. My car-loan disability insurance came through, so I no longer have to pay that. They actually calculated my post-partum period to end 8 weeks from my scheduled c-section, so I am free from car payments until July 27th. And my bank, since I have been a Good Girl and never been late or short on any payments, actually restructured my other loans (education, personal, overdraft line of credit, etc.) into my car loan, refinancing my car to a payment that is actually lower. So when the insurance pays my car payment, they will be paying toward all of my loans. This frees up my income from my short-term disability pay for simple living expenses like groceries, gas, etc., for the next couple of months, at least. I can breathe again.

We did have a little fun, though. I treated myself to a stack of books that I cannot wait to lose mysef in. And E: that kid has been sitting quietly by, watching every spare dime that comes into the house go toward baby stuff. I'm sure it has been harder on him than he lets on. He is used to getting everything he wants. It is bad enough that my earnings have reduced so drastically, but then to have to watch any little extra go toward another baby? Poor E. And he has been so good about it. So I was going to buy him a new bike. He outgrew one a while back, and got a new one from his Grandma, but he has a little problem: the kid is short! And small. So while his old bike was too small, the next size up was way too big and no matter what adjustments we made, his little feet could not adequately touch the ground. Too dangerous for my taste!So the new bike is still brand new and in the basement right now. It has been for almost 2 years, as we kept stalling on buying him one, thinking he would grow into it. But summer is either coming, or is here, and my kid still doesn't have a bike to ride. We took him to the store to find one that would fit. Of course none did, so I gave him the equivalent in cash to spend how he wanted. I did place some guidelines on him, though. No video games, no dvd's, no computer games. Toys or books only. He made some good choices. As for the bike, I think Iam going to have to wait until later in the summer when I am back to work and take him to a cycling shop and get something customized for him. We then swung by and bought him some summer clothes. This is my favorite time of year for that. Usually I am a kid/ baby clothes snob. My child has been dressed in designer everything from the time he was born. But somewhere around the time he started school, I changed this a little. I think it was the first time he went outside to play in summer in a brand new Ralph Lauren outfit, and chose to roll in mud, and the outfit ended up in the garbage, as it was too ruined to even donate to charity. So in summer, we buy cheap clothes. And I have found that if you are choosey, you can find clothes at the discount stores for dirt-cheap prices that look like designer labels. So for once I can get him an entire summer wardrobe for a couple hundred bucks instead of the thousands I spend during the school year. Bonus for mom! And on the way home, E says this: "Thanks, Mama, for the ...." And rattles off a list of every litte tiny item I bought him, all the way down to the candy he got in the checkout lane. Arrrgh! I love the kid so much it hurts!

Decisions, Part II: The Last Time?

Am I really ready for this phase of my life to be over? There is no feeling in the world like a child moving within your body. Of making a life with someone who was once a total stranger, and being there together as you bring a new life into the world. Of holding a warm bundle snuggled in a blanket, close to your heart. The buttermilk smell of a newborn's breath. Toothless smiles. The sound of little coos and grunts.

There is nothing in the world like watching a child learn. Lke seeing them reach milestones. Like witnessing first steps and first words. Like seeing a personality form before your very eyes. Expressions of glee at a new discovery. Sloppy toddler kisses. Chubby baby fingers learning to manipulate an adult world.

There is nothing like watching them get on the school bus for the first time. Like being there for their triumphs, as well as their defeats. Like mending skinned knees and wouded egos. Trepidation at sharing them with the rest of the world. Realizing that they do not belong only to you, but are going to make an impact on others as well.

Am I really ready to give it all up? For this to be the last time I have these experiences? I once was sure. I'm not anymore.

To make the decision, one has to consider the potential cost. I'm not speaking of dollars and cents. I'm speaking of the trials and tribulations of a pregnancy like this. When I became pregnant with Zachary, I had a glimmer of hope that this time would be different, that the old adage "every pregnancy is different" would ring true. It didn't. History does repeat itself. And while the details have changed, the situation has remained the same for me. Can I do it again?

They tell you that you will forget the pain you endure as soon as you hold your baby. I don't want to burst any bubbles for anyone, but I don't entirely agree with this. Because I remember. The pain took on a different shape and morphed into something much more tolerable when I first laid eyes on my newborn son, but it will never be forgotten. It will always be there, at the back of my memory, serving as a reminder of my love for someone I had yet to even meet. And instead of feeling resentment toward him as a result of the struggle, instead there is a deeper love. Because I endured pain and grief and heartache to bring him into the world, he is more precious to me than my own life.

So am I really finished being a Mommy after Zachary? I'm still not sure. I have to trust that time will tell. And I am not going through with the plan for any permanent prevention.

Always Room For One More?

They say that when you have a second child, you will be amazed at how there is room for both of them in your life. I'm sure it's true. Look at these super-sized families that are all over the television! Look at my mother, who had 7 of us! And I will just have 2!

But here is the thing: I love my E with my whole heart. That child is my life and breath. He is so special, and I don't mean that in the way of short busses and having to read to him slowly. He is special as in one-of-a-kind, amazing, gorgeous, funny, sweet...The list goes on and on. Basically I can sum it up in one sentence: I already have a perfect child. To hope for another of the same seems like I am tempting fate a little too much.

I've been trying to picture our lives with another child. Yes, I can see the sweet newborn. I can envision the way he looks,the smell of sweet baby breath again. But is Zachary going to be cheated? Or E? The idea of not giving E my undivided attention just breaks my heart. I feel like I am being a traitor to him by bringing this other baby into the world. I mean, he has been the only one for almost 9 years.

I know in my heart that everything will fall into place when Zachary is finally here. I really do. And I am hoping that the sacrifices E will have to make to have a baby brother will just add new dimensions to his life. He'll get to be a role model, a guardian, and more. Things he has never had to do before that will make him a better, more whole person.

29 Wks, 6 Days: The To-Do List

Wow! Look at the calendar! Neither my doctors or I have any faith in the idea that I'll make it beyond 34 weeks. We can hope and wish, but it ain't gonna happen...

So that gives me about 4 weeks. Gasp! 4! F-O-U-R!

I have so much to do!

1. Everything that can be washed must be washed in Dreft.
2. Get Dreft! Ha!
3. There are still some items I need to buy. I need to buy bottles, but keep waffling between the handy-dandy Medela ones that conveniently mesh with my pump, the Playtex nursers I used with E, and the Avent ones I really like. We also need more bibs, a monitor, a swing, and a highchair. Then some of the simple stuff like baby shampoo and lotion. And a Bumbo. I need one of those too. And an overhead gym.
4. Find out about adding Zachary to my insurance, which should be fairly simple.
5. Find out what adding Zachary will do to my insurance premiums. (I think nada, as our family rate covers up to 4 people, an we only have 3 but have been paying the full rate, but I want to make sure.)
6. Fill out the stack of paperwork for the new pediatrician, which I have already printed from their website.
7. Have carseat installation checked. I think J did it wrong. There was no such thing as a LATCH system when I had E.
8. Make J clean the car out. I will not have the people at the hospital I work for see the car as-is, which looks like vagabonds live in it.
9. Find a way to get the new-furniture smell out of Z's dresser so that the freshly-washed clothes will smell like Dreft and not wood.
10. Pack a bag for the hospital.
11. Order the cute take-me-home outfit from the Ralph Lauren website, along with a coordinating polo for E. My hospital doesn't just do the one boring pose for newborns--they do a photo shoot complete with parents and siblings.
12. Enroll E in the sibling class at the hospital.
13. Buy books on breastfeeding.

29 Wks, 5 Days: Saving Easter

Look outside! Well, if you're in the Southwestern Ohio/ Northern Kentucky area, anyway. It's SPRING! Easter lillies are blooming everywhere, the sun is shining, and it is upwards of 70 degrees outside. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. I don't know if E still believes in the Easter Bunny or not, but he is still a kid...And it is Easter...And I am stuck in the house brewing his baby brother.

I was going to have J go to the store and get the goods to make his basket. I make E's basket every year. My husband would rather buy one of the store-bought ones at Wal-Mart, which I hate--The toys in them are cheap, as is the candy, and there really isn't much to them. I tend to buy more expensive baskets that can be reused for another purpose in the house, and stuff them with all sorts of candy, a book or two, and maybe some other smaller toys. As kids, my brothers and sisters and I would always have some sort of stuffed toy too, but I don't do that. What purpose do they serve? Years later, you have this army of plush bunnies and chicks that just collect dust. So I choose to buy things E will actually like.

So back to J and Easter shopping: I am having visions of last Easter. I got stuck working a 10 day stretch in the days leading up to and following Easter. If you don't work in healthcare and have never done this, it is Hell! After day 3 or 4, you are on auto-pilot. So I go into work on the 7th or 8th night, I cannot remember which, and all of my coworkers are talking about Easter. It is 6:30 PM the night before. The next morning was Easter. And I had just clocked in for 12 hours of ICU fun. I had completely forgotten about E's basket. So I call J and frantically tell him he has to put on his Superhero Daddy Hat and save the holiday. He has my debit card, he can do this right? He assures me it is no problem. E can play with the neighbors' kids while he runs to the store to Save Easter! I am reassured.

Until later that night. After E has gone to bed and J is free to talk to me on the phone out of E's little earshot. What did J do? Did he buy one of the cheesy store-made baskets? No, I wish. He bought my kid a package of Reese's eggs. That's it. Reese's eggs. Happy Easter, E! I was so upset my heart broke and I cried for hours from the mix of sleep deprivation and disappointment for my baby boy. That, and when you have kept the schedule I have kept for years, you don't exactly feel like Mother of the Year. So any shortcoming makes you feel even worse. In my mind, it was my fault. I should've been there. And I wasn't. I tried to salvage what I could of the holiday on my way home in the morning, but the stores were all out of Easter-style baskets. E, instead, got some non-Easter candy in a plastic bin. The worst Easter basket. Ever. But he is E. That means nothing to you because you don't know him, but let me explain. My baby has the kindest, gentlest heart there is. I have seen him give away toys to kids on the street. I have seen him cry over beggars with "Will Work For Food" signs. Just a month or so ago, he overheard J and I talking about our finances and the strain this pregnancy has put on us, and came upstairs with his piggy bank, offering to help. I don't know where he got all of this: he has been an only child and completely over-indulged all of his life. Instead of being greedy and having that sense of entitlement most spoiled, priviledged children have, my son has a kind, generous heart. So when he got the Easter basket from Hell, and was still completely thrilled and appreciative, it made my heart weep even more. When you have a child like him, you want to give them everything.

So this year, I am on bedrest, and we are quite honestly broke from months of the breadwinner (me) in the house not working. And paying medical bills from our worst nightmares. What am I to do? There is no way my baby will have a repeat of last year. No way!!! So off we went to Wally World. Apparently so did everyone else in the free world. There were no scooters available for me to ride, so I had to sit in the car and trust J once again. But his time? I put the fear of God in the man. I think I told him something to the effect that he would be singing soprano until next Easter if he didn't come through for me. So E and I sat in the car, and J did the shopping. And he did remarkably well. He bought a bag of every Easter candy they had. And he loaded it into the back of the car without E even knowing there was anything in those bags other than some groceries we needed. And we got home, and E happily ran from the car to his swing in the back yard while we snuck it all in the house and assembled the basket. There was so much candy that there are still bags full, even though the kid's basket must weigh at least 20 pounds. He didn't get the books and stuff like I would've, but no one can ever do it like Mama can. But he still did well with an adorable deep blue wicker basket that is absolutely overflowing.

Thank you, J.

So E comes in long after the basket and candy is stashed away in the closet, and he wants a cup of juice. I mention that tomorrow is Easter, and that I wonder if the Easter bunny will find us in or new house this year. E ran off, and I assumed he had gone back outside until I heard his little footsteps on the stairs. He showed up at my side with a few plastic eggs filled with candy, leftover from their Easter party at school, and he proudly thrust them at me: "Here, Mama," he said. "If the Easter Bunny can't find us tomorrow, I'll share my candy with you and baby Zachary."

See what I mean? Where, oh where, did this most amazing, perfect, angel of a child come from, and who thought I was good enough to deserve him?

(Image: E, with the most gorgeous brown eyes you will ever see, taken last year at 7 years of age.)

25 Wks, 5 Days: Bedrest and the Eight-Year Anesthetic

Bedrest.

I have dreaded that word, but have anticipated it from the time I saw 2 pink lines on the home pregnancy test. I didn't want this. I used to work for a hospital where I would come home at the end of the day hating my job. That isn't the case anymore. I love my job. I love my coworkers, from the nurses and doctors I work with, to the other RT's, to the nurses, and all the way down to the housekeepers. I don't want to jeopardize that. And I am worried about the financial well-being of my little family. We have had some rough times, and we always bounce back, but after so many of those, you get tired. I mean really tired of having to rebuild. I know somehow we will survive this also. I just don't know how at this point. I'll cut expenses as much as possible, save as much as possible, and get help if I need it. I guess I'll have to wait and see, which is the hardest part for a type-A control freak like myself.

Yesterday, as I was contracting every 3 minutes, I hung my head and asked J if it was this hard with E. "Yes, baby, it was," he says. " But it was different because we were at a different place in our life and our marriage." It seems like a funny question for me to be asking him. I, of all people, should know. I was there.

They tell you that you will forget the pain of bearing a child as soon as you hold your baby. In some ways, I agree with this. I can tell you that E's pregnancy was a nightmare. I remember that much. I can tell you about the time a doctor told us we should just abort him and try again. I can recall other bits and pieces. The viscosity of the mag sulfate, cranked to the highest possible dose, and the throbbing in my arms as it entered the vessels. The purple-black bruises up both arms from both failed IV attempts and having to have labs drawn every 2 days. My white-knuckled fist grasping the bedrail as the contractions ripped through me. But that's it. Little tiny snapshots. Heartbeats, really, in the 34 weeks my body managed to both maintain him and try desperately to rid itself of him. Back then, I could have told you the entire story, in great detail. Somewhere along the line, the edges blurred, as if the 8 wonderful years of my life since he entered it have served as an anesthetic. As if Mother Nature or God, either one, is whispering in my ear, "It's all okay. You survived that, and now look at the reward. Look at this beautiful person who is here as a result of your toughness and grit." I can tell you the story, but the raw emotion is removed from it. It is just another event in my life. I think I needed the 8 years of watching him grow and giggle and learn and laugh in order to recover from the manner in which he entered the world.

So now here we are, fighting the same battle and it feels both the same and completely different. E's pregnancy seems easier now, looking back, and I don't know if this is because of different circumstances, or if it just seems so because I know E, and that has erased the degree of difficulty from my mind. 8 years from now, when Zachary is 8, will I have forgotten? Will knowing him and holding him and watching him grow serve to take all of this from me? One can only hope.

Don't Let Me Go, Daddy: On Raising a Son

So I bought this CD because I loved the song "Then". We were on the way to Babies 'R'Us to pick up some stuff for Zachary on the very same day we found out his gender. I had held off buying anything because I really couldn't find anything I liked that was gender-neutral, making it necessary to wait. We had gone to Target first, where I bought this CD along with some baby items, and I popped it in in the car. That was the first time I heard this song, and it made me tear up a bit. "Anything Like Me" by Brad Paisley.

If you have never had a son, you probably won't get it. But it reminded me of E. E is mischievous and rotten and messy. He's rough-and-tumble, all-boy. He has a sweet, angelic side too. But mostly, he just does stuff to either make me shake my head and laugh, or bite my nails and worry. He is delightfully male. And fun.

So last night, in the unseasonably warm sunshine we had, with the piles of snow from previous weeks' snowstorms melting fast, he decides he wants to try out his new in-line skates. He asked for those for Christmas, as well as a skateboard and other things that have the ability to maim my baby. He hasn't had a chance to really try them out yet. J decides he will take him outside and give him that chance.

Of course I have to be the mom. "Helmet, elbow and knee pads are not optional!", I exclaim. He does as he is told, and scoots outside on his little butt, completely garbed up. I watch from the window as J holds him up and helps him get started. "Don't let me go, Daddy.", he says. It is so cute and I am so amazed, witnessing this moment between father and son. E's blind trust in J, and J's unfaltering presence for our baby boy. And I also know that there will be times when Daddy has to let go. And I will too. Where we cannot protect him from bumps and bruises, whether physical or emotional in nature.

In that moment, my thoughts turn to Zachary. In that I get to do this again. I've never raised a girl, and I never will, so I cannot speak on it. But raising a boy can be scary, but it is by far the most rewarding challenge I have ever experienced. I think it is made to be even greater a challenge when you go through so much to bring them into the world. We do the medicines and the tests and the doctors' appointments and hospitalizations to keep them safe and protect them when they are in the womb (and in my case, to keep them in there),and that is hard. Very hard. But is it really any easier when they are out here with us? When there is so much more from which to protect them?

(Image: Blissful laughter, E at 5 years old, playing in the backyard. I snapped a pic of him with one hand while tickling him with the other.)