18 08 2008

I am tired.

Exhausted. So bleary eyed, I can hardly keep my eyes open.

After almost 6 weeks on something like bed rest, simple things wear me out. We spent the weekend at a cabin on a lake with some of our best friends. It was blissful to lay in the sun and float in the cool water. But it was also exhausting.

On the way there, Micah started crying before we hit Tacoma. We did not know where to stop, but found a Target truck on the freeway and followed it to the nearest Target. As I cannot walk around big box stores, I drove the little motorized cart to buy sippy cups, soy milk, and snacks. I feel utterly and completely silly doing this, as most people think I am completely able-bodied. When I sit down, you cannot tell that I am pregnant and I don’t have an obvious disability. Plus I look a little crazy driving around Target trying to keep track of my husband and two young children.

Some people stare. Little children are curious; teenagers are often obnoxious. This is true when I have needed to borrow a wheel chair too. Last week, Mark and I tried to do a little back-to-school shopping for Asher at H&M. We were in a long line waiting to pay for Asher’s new socks and boxers. Repeatedly, the teenage girls in line in front of us turned around to glare at my family. Others tried to ignore us and cut in line as if we didn’t exist. Outside the store, trying to navigate the crowded path through the shopping center was overwhelming.

At both H&M and Target, I did receive some sympathetic smiles. One from a man about my husband’s age pushing his daughter in a wheelchair, another from an older mom leading her two disabled children through the store. I can’t help but imagine that they smile knowing that it is hard. Hard to accomplish things thar are simple for normal people. Hard to walk through life having everyone look at you like that.

After Target, we continued in the car to the lake. We had bought Micah and Asher some goldfish crackers and Micah threw his on the floor. The then cried “guppy, guppy, guppy, guppy, GUPPY, GUPPY!!!” until we were about 5 minutes from the house. Getting ready, the drive, and the trip around Target were so stressful that I was having a lot of contractions at this point.

Thankfully, once we arrived at the lake house I landed on the couch and had lunch, my uterus began to chill out.

Now we’re back at home. The boys are sleeping and Mark has unpacked the car. I might last a few more minutes before falling asleep.

For a few days, I’ve been trying to write about what I feels like to be where I am: 18 weeks pregnant. Six weeks into bed rest. Six weeks to go until we have a baby who could potentially survive if I went into labor. Twelve weeks until the baby has a really good chance of being healthy in the end. Eighteen weeks from now, if the pea is still in my pod I will be 36 weeks pregnant.

In other words, by around September 26 the baby has a 50-70% chance of survival.

By November 7, he would have a very good chance of being healthy in the end, although he would still spend several months in the hospital.

By December 19, he’s pretty close to term and my doctors will stop preventing labor. If somehow, by a miracle, God keeps our little man in my tummy through Christmas, then we might be able to have him at home.

But the perinatologist has given us a 30-50% chance of another premature birth, despite everything we’re doing to prevent this. They have given me a 90% chance that my placenta will move by 34 weeks, if I stay pregnant that long.

If you are still following me, you get it: this is a lot of numbers. I am tired of the numbers. I’m tired of feeling contractions and trying to count and decide how much is too much. I’m tired of my hips and my back hurting.

I’m tired of my sweet Micah crying “Mommy, mommy, mommy, UP!” when I cannot scoop him up. I’m tired of Asher being mad at me.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m a little crazy and I just need to relax. That everything is fine and normal and the baby will be fine. But then I get out of bed and put clothes in the closet or sweep the floor or walk into Starbucks to get a cup of coffee and…contractions.

I want to dig deeper than the surface here, but right now I am too tired.




2 responses

19 08 2008

yes this is tiring i can see. be tired. it just is tiring. you are working hard little lady. i am proud of you. i wish i could see you in your electric wheelchair – please get a photo next time. teenagers are ridiculous. this is coming from someone who has an enormous burden for them and where they are coming from. they don’t know they are ridiculous but they are. i was. i would have snickered too. but you are confident like that tree planted by water. so you can giggle too. i want to come see you.
love kelly

19 08 2008

I’m planning to do some school supply shopping in the wheelchair sometime this week. Playdough, crayons, and glue sticks, here we come…

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