let your memories grow stronger and stronger 'til they're before your eyes

My OB office recently held a "cute baby photo contest" on Facebook for all of their patients and the cute babies that their doctors brought into this world. I had entered one of my favorite photographs of Ethan from Thanksgiving, sitting in his Bumbo and wearing his favorite silly turkey hat. Ethan's picture racked up over 200 votes and won the contest, making him the winner of a cute new I-Pod shuffle!

This morning, Ethan and I headed over to the office to pick up his prize and take some photographs with the doctor who delivered him! (If any of you Boca Raton area mommies-to-be are looking for an out of this world OB, this is your guy!)

It was pretty amazing to see Dr. Arcelin holding Ethan now for the first time since he held him up over that surgical curtain and showed us our beautiful newborn baby boy! I keep saying it and I'm pretty sure this is the unspoken motto of motherhood but, gosh, time seriously flies.

ouchies.

Yesterday Ethan had his two month check-up with his pediatrician. In the days leading up to the appointment, I had been eager to learn how much he has grown but dreading the shots he was going to receive. Ethan weighed in at 11 pounds, 14 ounces (almost twelve pounds?! Where did my baby go?!) and 23 inches long. That puts him at the 50th percentile for height and the 53rd percentile for weight. Now that his reflux is fully under control, he's getting oh-so-adorably chunky!

The nurse brought in the tray of vaccines, complete with little bandaids ready to be applied over the "ouchie spots". I started crying before Ethan did. Ethan had stopped crying and was perfectly content by the time he was strapped back into his carseat ready to head home. (Note: I said Ethan had stopped crying by that time. Not me. I'm still have a ways to go in becoming a strong, unwavering mommy.) He survived the night without any fevers or adverse reactions save for a little grumpiness and discomfort. He needed a few more cuddles (which is nothing I can complain about) and his WubbaNub to make him feel better but eventually he did.

This pediatrician visit also gave him the all-clear to make his way into public places for the first time since birth. I had been thinking of exciting places that would be suitable places for his first time out in public; places that would look really cool when written in his baby book. Life had other plans and I ended up taking him to the grocery store to pick up a couple of things we needed for dinner. Passerby smiled and asked how old he was and complimented him on his cuteness and he slept the entire time, safely snuggled up in his beloved Ergo.

I'm pretty sure his "ouchies" hurt me more than they hurt him, but isn't that the way it always goes?

hey, 98.6, his lovin' is the medicine that saved me, oh I love my baby...

Today was a day I've been looking forward to for some time. It was Ethan's one month well visit with his pediatrician. I was so excited to learn how much he grew and I was also looking forward to discussing his reflux with his doctor in hopes we'd be able to bring him some relief. This morning was especially rough with reflux symptoms, including a projectile vomit session at around 6 a.m. and a mass outpouring of spit-up throughout the day (including all down my back and in my hair seconds before we walked out the door to see the doctor -- go figure).

We arrived at the doctor for our 4:15 appointment and were brought back to our room. The nurse weighed Ethan (9 pounds, 9 ounces) and measured him (21 1/2 inches). Perfect! It was when the nurse went to take his temperature that all of the impending chaos began. Yes, my child decided to urinate all over the place and defecate all over the table for the poor nurse. After I cleaned up the mess, he decided he would top it all off by urinating all over the place again seconds before his diaper was back on! Eventually she took his temperature, which was 100.7. She thought maybe it was high because of the events that had just occurred. We then waited for his doctor to come in.

Cue in the smiles and "take my picture with Ethan at the doctor!" requests as we thought his making a huge mess on the table would be the low point of the visit. Oh, how naive. The doctor came in and asked for a temperature recheck now that Ethan was calmer. She was concerned when that temperature came back at 100.9. I swore my baby wasn't feeling warm at home or showing any symptoms of being sick at home. My husband was more positive with a "well, at least we're in the right place at the right time" kind of attitude. Optimism, my friends, is not in my nature.

In a few short minutes, the visit went from a happy, smiley one worth documenting to one that looked more like this:


(Yeah, I passed him off to my husband. I was crying in the corner. I'll own it.)

The doctor ran a strep test, a CBC and urine on him. We waited for the results for what felt like an eternity but was really only less than ten minutes.










...The results came back perfect. Perfect, normal, wonderful, great. At this point, his temperature was reading 99.4 and we were sent home with the orders to keep a close eye on him (which is easy for me, the paranoid lunatic who admittedly checks the rise and fall of his chest 1,000 times within the night to ensure he's still breathing) and take his temperature every four hours. I totally processed that as "take his temperature every 10 minutes." I'll own that, too.

Since our visit, his temperature has dwindled down and, as I was just feeding him, registered at a perfect 98.6. Insert major sighs of relief all around.

(Oh, and if you're curious, our fabulous pediatrician managed to completely cure Ethan's reflux. I'm saving this miracle for an entry tomorrow because it's too wonderful and miraculous to be cluttered up in this post about excrement, fevers and crying in corners.)

On our way home, I insisted my husband stop at Starbucks.

...a venti quad nonfat iced caramel macchiato? Pretty much mandatory. I have a long night of temperature checking every four hours ten minutes, don't you know.

When Seeing The Perinatologist Isn't Scary

I'll be honest: pregnancy is scary. As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I was scared that something unspeakable would happen. It was all downhill from there. Just when I was cruising along perfectly and getting the hang of it (and maybe even gloating that I enjoyed pregnancy), preeclampsia decided it wanted to spoil any of those positive feelings. Suddenly I was at the almost-end of my first pregnancy, being diagnosed with my nemesis pre-e and being referred to a perinatologist. And the perinatologist? It's scary, too. Well, not my doctor herself -- she's extremely kind, gentle and calm -- but the thought of the perinatologist, or namely the thought that we need one.

Yesterday I saw my regular OB, as I do every Tuesday. My blood pressure was surprisingly low (well, normal, but low for me) and Ethan's heartrate was great. I went home with two jugs to do a 24-hour urine catch (is it bad this no longer even remotely phases me?) and nervously anticipated my second perinatologist visit...which was today. Today, we dropped off my jugs of urine (again, is it bad this no longer phases me?), I had my blood drawn to accompany this test and then we made our way to the perinatologist's office...

...where I sat in the world's most comfortable chair, strapped to a monitor and relaxed. The only thing I had to do is hit the little button each time Ethan moved. No big deal. I can do this.

After the relaxing monitoring session, it was onto the ultrasound session. The larger he gets, the harder it is to see him clearly on ultrasound but we were able to see his little face today. He's still frank breech, but we did get to see a cute profile shot of him sucking on his little fingers and looking happy as a clam in there.

Proud grandmas, in case you're wondering, sit in the lobby texting camera phone pictures of their grandson's ultrasound to everyone we possibly know. (Hi, mom!)

Meeting with the perinatologist today wasn't scary. In fact, it was kind of awesome. That's because she gave me great news...better news than I got last week at that! Depending on the results of my urine testing (which we should expect by Friday or Monday at the very latest), she's pretty confident that I'm going to make it to my 37 week check-ups with my OB and her! Not only is this exciting because it'll mean that I'll have made it to 37 weeks, but it's also pretty exciting because the day after I see my perinatologist next week, I'll be 38 weeks! I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but when the perinatologist gives you "a 10 out of 10" on your progress, it feels pretty good. And it's hard not to puff yourself up and start thinking all sorts of optimistic thoughts that you had pushed to the back of your mind previously.

I'm trying to keep my feet on the ground and accept that things could change. My urine results could come back atrocious, things could flare up and my pre-e could head into overdrive...but right now I'm enjoying the fact that these things could also not happen. Right now I'm enjoying the fact that my perinatologist feels confident I'll make it to my 37 week check-ups which is initially when I was predicted to have to deliver. I'll soak up the optimism while I can.


The bad news is that it's hot as hell in Florida these days. Maybe I'm a little late to the party, but I'm also on bedrest (and suddenly quite thankful for that). The ridiculous heat paired with my flared up, pre-e swelling-of-doom was not helping along my day of needle pricks, pee jugs and nerve-wracking appointments.

I came home swollen like I've never been swollen before but...it was worth it. Because the good news? WORTH IT. Knowing that I'm kind of kicking preeclampsia's ass with my intense bedresting? SO WORTH IT. Knowing that 37 or even 38 weeks aren't totally unattainable after all? Do I have to say it again? Okay, I will: WORTH IT.



(Yes, those are chicken breasts. We were out of ice packs...they were keeping my urine cool in a cooler. Yes, this is the glamorous side of pregnancy in so many ways.)

35 Weeks & Appointment With The Perinatologist

Today I'm 35 weeks and am currently feeling quite relieved after all of my anxiety towards having to see the perinatologist today. I was referred by my primary OB on Tuesday to see a perinatologist today to deal with my preeclampsia issue. We're still waiting on results from my latest 24-hour urine test (which will hopefully be back tomorrow) but my doctor wanted to be sure that I was checked out immediately by a perinatologist. I went into this appointment with the overwhelming anxiety that she would tell me to get in the car, drive to the hospital and they were going to have to deliver my baby right this minute. I've been dealing with fear of a pushed-up delivery since this began and when my OB admitted this was very much a possibility during my last visit, I've let the worry kind of consume my little world.

But, luckily, I only have good things to say. My pressure was great at 117/78 and Ethan looked great on ultrasound. He's super active with a fantastic heartrate and my fluid levels are perfect. We're still waiting, like I mentioned, on my latest urine results to come back but based on everything the perinatologist did today (did I mention we were there for 3 1/2 hours?!) and my time on the monitor, she's confident that my delivery window will be between 37-39 weeks.

This means a lot of things. My first thought was a deep sense of relief that she wasn't horrified by her findings and rushing me over to the hospital to deliver right now. 37-39 weeks is a window that I will definitely take and accept! As I was running it through my mind, I realized that 37 weeks is only two weeks from today. Two weeks! It's a possibility that I may have little Ethan here in two weeks! Of course, I'm pushing for as close to 39 weeks as possible but it's still a great relief to know that he's not being pressured to make his big debut right this minute.

As far as a future gameplan, I have to see my primary OB weekly and I also have to see the perinatologist weekly. Together they'll keep tabs on the sneaky pre-e and work on week-by-week estimations on how long he'll stay in utero. I've got a great medical team behind me and I'm just trying to remember that whenever I get nervous. Today, at least, I can focus on the fact that I was given a 37-39 week window which is all I can possibly ask for at the moment.

As for Ethan, we learned today that he's weighing in at 6 pounds! That's a bit bigger than the 5 1/2 pound estimates from the baby websites, who also estimate him to be around 18 inches long. We got to watch him swallowing and practice his breathing on ultrasound today which was pretty cool to see. His kidneys are fully developed now and his liver is processing waste. Most of his physical development has been completed and now he's just working on gaining weight. Gain away, Ethan!

& Then There Was Bed Rest.

I debated making this post yesterday but, to be honest, I haven't been able to wrap my mind around the entire incident. My mind still isn't fully there and I feel sort of trapped in some kind of fog but here it goes: as of yesterday morning, I've been put on bed rest for the duration of my pregnancy. Positive-thinking friends and family members have pointed out that it's only 7 weeks (as of Thursday) and that I should enjoy this as my final time of rest and relaxation before it's gone forever. And, yes, I'm sure it's true there are worse things to do than lay in bed while being served snacks and drinks, watching Roseanne and a non-stop marathon of films on the Sundance channel. Still, though, my mind is consumed with worry. Please read "worry" as "terror" and it's a more accurate description of my current mental state.

The reason for the bed rest is because I started spilling protein in my urine. At first it was within the normal ranges -- but on the high end of normal -- and then it made it's way over to the high end in general. With words like "preeclampsia" dancing on the horizon, I'm trying my best just to stay calm. Calm and collected. Enjoying watching Detroit Rock City while eating my mom's freshly cooked pudding. However, all I can really think about are my now weekly doctor appointments, all of the monitoring in my future and the fact that all of that monitoring is to make sure there is nothing wrong with the little boy inside my belly who I have grown to love more than I could ever love anyone ever. The very notion that there is a problem, that my body is failing him, it's unsettling. Being told that this happens to many first time mothers without rhyme or reason, that there was nothing I could have done differently or nothing I can do to stop it makes me feel even more frustrated and helpless. There's nothing I can do from here. I can't just hold him and protect him and make the problems go away. I'm stuck laying in bed, trying to ignore the horror stories of others involving steroid shots and lung development and preeclampsia and uncontrollable bleeding during c-sections. I'm stuck in bed resisting the urge to Google (like I promised my wonderful doctor I would) and trying to find solace in Partridge Family reruns and carrot sticks served to me bedside by my doting mother.

I'm stuck laying in bed trying to relax but really just waiting to feel him kick or stretch or hiccup in there every single second so I can be assured that he's okay. Because, really, nothing else in the world matters at this point. Nothing at all.

While my husband works, I've "moved in" to my parents house during the daytime hours. I've planted myself in my parents bed (see photo at bottom right) while my wonderful mom runs all of my errands. She buys my cat litter, she buys our groceries, she makes impromptu stops at the maternity store to surprise me with comfortable loungewear and nursing clothing (what you see hanging in the photo at the bottom right). My mom runs around all day long between taking my sister to school, dance, tutoring and all of her other SuperMom duties and now she's added another one to the mix: taking care of me as I lay in her bed absolutely miserable.

I'm managing to write this entry now because my spirits have been lifted thanks to the love and support from my awesome friends and family. Today my good friend, Nea, stopped by to visit me. She brought me the beautiful flowers that you see in the other photos. We had lunch and she hung out in bed with me for a few hours. I was able to have a conversation and spend time with my super thoughtful friend and, really, by the time she left I felt like a whole new, happy person -- a total switch from yesterday (and this morning, even). Today my cousin, Mike, also stopped by to visit me on his way from his internship to his next job further down south. Laying in bed and this time being surrounded by visitors made all of the difference in the world.

Between friends and family, it's safe to say that I'm an extremely lucky person.

And so somehow, I suppose, I will get through this. I will dutifully remain in bed. I will dutifully attend my once-a-week doctor appointments for monitoring. And I will be brave for Ethan...because that's really all I can do at this point. Just force myself to be brave for Ethan.