What a difference a week makes, eh? Sorry I’ve left y’all hanging, but even when I’m totally zapped of time and energy and incapable of updating here, I still try to give the play-by-plays over on Twitter…
So, what we’ve learned in a week:
- Baby But IF has a winkie. The Mr. smiled from ear to ear as the ultrasound tech proclaimed proudly, “No doubting this one, that’s a big old boy right there!” Momma hen came out a bit as I stifled the urge to reply, “Stop staring at my son’s penis!”
- I’m half way through this pregnancy. How in the HELL did that happen? I mean, I know I’m probably saying this because I have yet to reach any sort “OMG I’m huge and miserable and uncomfortable” phase, but seriously can we slow this down a little bit? It took us 4.5 years to achieve a sticky pregnancy, it seems kind of cruel to know I’ll only get to be pregnant for about 1/8th of the amount of time it took us to get and stay pregnant. (On the flip side, I so desperately want to meet this little man that the prospect of our meeting on the horizon is probably enough to get me to stop the chorus of “That’s so unfair!”)
- Stubborn boy doesn’t like kicking when daddy is within reach. As I was settling into a good book in bed on Sunday night I felt a sudden something. A passing moment, I buried my mind deeper into the book. Then again. And a split second later I thought, “Whoa, wait just a damn second! You idiot! You know what that was! That was most decidedly a kick Mrs. Always-Late-to-the-Party!” Of course, Mr. But IF was sound asleep so missed out on the tiny pitter patter I could feel both inside and outside of my tummy. And, the following day, when baby boy decided to vent his Monday morning frustrations by attacking the front of my desk, daddy was a few buildings away at work in his own office. The movements are still very minor and fleeting, but they’re there. And, just thinking about that brings uncontrollable tears. I was so very certain I would never see (and feel) this day; that it has come has melted me into a pool of topsy-turvy emotions.
- My (now former) OB is amazeballs. It’s not that I learned this this week, obviously, but more that I’m confirming it. I had my last visit with him yesterday. I peed in a cup, listened to little man’s heartbeat, had some blood drawn, and that was that. Off to perinatology I go next week to face an entirely new unknown. The departure was bittersweet. Dr. T had a med student with him, so it prompted him to explain to her how 1. I was a complicated case, and 2. That I was a dream patient. Though no one likes to be a medical students introduction to when to transfer a patient off to a higher level of care, it melted my heart to hear him say, “She’s a dream patient, this one. She knows her stuff, and it’s important for all new doctors to learn when it is time to listen to a patient who knows what she is talking about.” And, then he hugged me goodbye and threatened to hunt me down if I didn’t send updates. It’s strange, for over a year I cringed as RE#2 and his ridiculous soul patch hugged me in his impish, condescending, zen-master manner; this single hug from an OB I met just a few months ago elicited a wholly different reaction.
- The regional perinatology center may more closely resemble Alcatraz than medical nirvana. As Dr. T said his goodbyes he warned me (and the med student) that “Things aren’t so cushy over there, but you’ll be in good hands.” This really wouldn’t startle me, except he said it as I stared at the exam room’s peeling wallpaper, broken vertical blinds, and as Dr. T perched gingers on a stool meant for 4 wheels that, for whatever reason, now only had 3. If my former office is “cush” I’m not quite sure what to expect from the new one. That said, if 4.5 years spent running like a lab rat through a maze of medical offices has taught me anything, it’s that the dingier the office, the more amazing the doctor. And I’ll keep repeating that philosophy as I try to avoid being shanked in the new doctor’s offices next Thursday.
- Referrals move quicker when you’re pregnant. A new rheumatologist will see me April 17. That’s less than half as long as it took to get a referral last year after my third miscarriage. I still don’t have much hope that we’ll get anything useful out of the appointment, but at least it’s something else to look forward to.
- And, finally, I have amazing friends and family members that I totally don’t deserve. The mother-in-law has been nudging me with shower planning questions since the New Year holiday and, while at first the thought struck fear straight into my heart, I’m now more and more on her side as it looks more and more unlikely that I’ll be allowed to make it to my due date thanks to all these new medical issues. I finished my registry on Sunday, posted it on Facebook in response to a few questions I’d gotten earlier in the week, and, to date, I’m humbled by the response. While things most certainly don’t equal love, all I gotta say is this little guy is so beyond loved it’s incredible. He has no idea what’s about to hit him when he makes his grand appearance!