Today was the day I have been dreading for a long time. I am 24 weeks 1 day pregnant: the day in my pregnancy that Weston was born.
For the past twenty months, I have primarily been grieving the death of my son. However, I have always known that, if I were to get pregnant again, I would have to work through the events of my pregnancy with Weston and his birth. Recent (and well-timed) communications have confirmed this need. I have struggled through the past 24 weeks, and now it is time to prepare for what is ahead: childbirth. Look at me, already off on a tangent. I'll save the future talk for a later post.
There is a popular pregnancy resource that compares babies in utero to produce. I got rid of the fear-mongering book, but I still can't help Googling "size of a xx-week fetus" every week to see how big my baby is getting. Caroline often asks me as well. At 24 weeks, my baby is the size of an ear of corn. But that sounds weird to me. I've seen a baby at 24 weeks: I know what they look like. I can't quite imagine Weston as an ear of corn. So, this week I am saying that my baby is the same size as Weston.
I had my first growth ultrasound on Friday, at 23 weeks 6 days. My doctor wants me to have them every four weeks, because I have a higher risk of having a too-small baby. I wanted the sonographer to check my placenta closely, and I ended up telling her some details about my abruption at Weston's birth. She told me I am lucky to be alive.
Now, I know how serious placental abruptions are. I know they can kill mother and baby. But, after my c-section, when they discovered the abruption, no one was that dramatic about it. Of course, they said we were both very fortunate, and one of my surgeons said he'd never seen anything like my situation when they opened me up. But no one said, "You could have died."
So it was striking to hear those words from a medical professional, especially at the same point in my pregnancy. It was also quite a reminder of how different things are now.
The ultrasound examination continued. "Everything looks great…your placenta looks good…his heart looks perfect…growth is good…it looks like he weighs one pound six ounces." Unbelievable. That was Weston's birth weight. Fortunately for the sonographer, I was able to hold back the tears until I was in my car.
One of the most difficult aspects of pregnancy after loss is doing normal pregnancy things with other pregnant women. I have been attending prenatal yoga on Saturday mornings (side note: if you ever find yourself pregnant, get yourself and your bump to prenatal yoga!). My emotional difficulties in class are outweighed by the physical and mental benefits; I think the yoga will pay dividends during labor.
Anyway, class always begins with introductions, how far along we are, the sex of our babies, and anything else we'd like to share. Almost everyone else in the class is expecting their first child and is blissfully unaware of anything that could go wrong (I know this because they also say it's their first pregnancy). I always try to be a little vague. Yesterday, for example, I didn't want to say what I was really feeling: "I am 24 weeks pregnant today and so relieved to be here instead of in the hospital, which is where I was at this point in my last pregnancy, getting all kinds of radiation exposure, followed by hours of being chained to a hospital bed, followed by a scary-like-a-TV-drama c-section, and I'm so glad I'm here because I think yoga will help me deal with all of these flashbacks I will inevitably have at this baby's birth." No, that would not fly.
But it is really hard to hear things like, "I'm 37 weeks, blah blah, and I'm not looking forward to the sleep deprivation." I don't like sleep deprivation either, but…seriously?
So I feel like I don't really belong anywhere. Yes, I am pregnant, but I don't want to complain and commiserate this time. Yes, I will (hopefully) be pregnant in Phoenix in the summer, but no, it won't suck. No, I won't have my hands as full as you think I will after having my third child. Yes, I am elated to be pregnant, but I am also indescribably sad and will never be able to adequately explain the contradiction.
The weekend continued with some fun and distractions; I did not think about the 24-week milestone constantly. But my body reminded me: this morning Shannon woke me up at 9:15 (!) and asked me to help get Caroline ready for church. I was almost nodding off again around noon. Noon is when I finally met Weston, ten hours after he was born. Later today, I fell asleep on the couch twice. I think my body just wanted to block out today completely.
Caroline and I planted a little herb garden this afternoon, and Shannon planted flowers. We didn't plan it out, but, yep, we started new life in our yard on the same "day" Weston was born. Like Weston, these plants won't survive the summer. In fact, they will probably be gone by the time Weston's baby brother makes his first appearance.
Now that the pregnancy milestones are over, I pray that days of joyful anticipation outweigh days of fear and sadness. Somehow, though, it will be acceptable if they do not. There is room in my heart for every emotion. For baby #3, what matters is that he is loved. He is dearly loved, and I can't wait to meet him.
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