2 Years Later

Last year, on his birthday I wrote and posted EJ’s birth story for the first time. If you haven’t read that yet, you can read it here. It was a personal account of the experience through my eyes. Nowadays, I share the details whenever I’m asked but I rarely talk about my feelings toward my traumatic birth or “TB” as they say in my Facebook support group. Talking about feelings about this is hard for me because it’s still very raw, and writing it down makes me feel even more vulnerable. I’m choosing to speak more about this so that other women who have experienced birth trauma know that they aren’t alone and their feelings are valid and real. Billy said to me after reading the first draft of this post “Babe, maybe you’re meant to help other moms.” Maybe I am. And if I can touch just one other mama who’s struggling, that is enough for me.

Even the simple task of organizing my thoughts around this post seems impossible. When I think about my birth experience, I feel so many emotions… Sadness, grief, anger, shame, indignation, envy… WHAT? No woman should ever feel those emotions about the day they brought a life into this world. But the reality is that, according to ImprovingBirth.org, somewhere between 24-36% of women in the United States have reported their birth experience as being “traumatic”. That’s like 1.2 out of every 4 of your friends who have had babies. I don’t understand why sharing these experiences isn’t more widespread. Maybe it’s because of the stigma that comes with c-sections, NICU stays, formula feeding, etc. Or maybe it’s because women are so scarred from their birth experience, that their only coping mechanism is to mentally block it out and never talk about it again. Believe me, that’s what I wanted to do… The first time I talked about it with strangers was at my first PEPs meeting (side note: pregnant women in the Seattle area- SIGN UP FOR PEPS. Best thing I ever did, and honestly the women I met there are some of my best friends, even 2 years later).

So, coming back to feelings… My TB still has me feeling robbed…of EJ’s first week of life, of breastfeeding and the bond that comes with it, of having my baby placed on my chest after birth and that precious skin on skin time. Of my husband (or anyone) not being in the delivery room. . . Of the ability to CHOOSE whether my husband and I had more kids or not. I feel guilty that I couldn’t be there to help my son or my husband when they needed me the most and guilty that I was so incapacitated that Billy was basically a single parent for the first few months of EJ’s life. I feel frustrated. Frustrated that there are no answers as to WHY this happened to me. Even more frustrated that it still affects me the way it does. Even MORE frustrated that the waves of emotion come out of nowhere and I have no control over it. Why can’t I “get over it”? Why can’t I be happy for my friends who have babies without feeling sorry for myself? It’s not fair.

I think this time of year will always be hard for me. That in itself makes me sad. My son’s birthday was supposed to be the best day of my life, yet it will always be a reminder of “the day my son and I almost died.” I was supposed to bounce on the exercise ball while my husband fed me ice chips. I was supposed to labor in the tub and get an epidural way later in the game. I was supposed to have a normal delivery, yet I had an emergency c-section. My husband was supposed to be right there with me holding my hand, yet I was all alone. My husband was supposed to cut the cord. My son was supposed to be placed on my chest and immediately start skin to skin. I was supposed to breastfeed him soon after. I was supposed to see him get weighed and measured and his first bath given. HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BREATHE AND CRY AND NOT REQUIRE “vigorous resuscitation” FOR 6 MINUTES BEFORE HE TOOK HIS FIRST BREATHS.

I wasn’t there the first time he opened his eyes. He stopped breathing, was cut out of his mother, intubated, chilled to a hypothermic state, connected to all of these wires and I wasn’t there. I’ll always be thankful for my sister Amy, and my husband Billy who were there.. but can you imagine how that feels as a mother? The guilt goes even deeper. I somehow contracted an infection in my uterus that caused him to stop breathing. He was supposed to be the safest in there. Warm and cozy. GAH! I want to scream just thinking about it.

For weeks after EJ was born, (I hate saying this) but I wanted nothing to do with him. Somewhere in that first week, I emotionally distanced myself (probably to not literally have a mental breakdown while I was away from him). Afterward, my therapist said that if a mother gorilla was separated from her baby for a week and then it was given back to her, she would reject it. I would have literal panic attacks if my nose started running, if I sneezed. If anything was seemingly wrong with my health, I called my doctor because I was convinced I was going to get septic again and drop dead at any moment. I’d fall asleep and wake up screaming because I kept replaying the c-section in my head over and over. I heard sirens in my head for the first week, because the ICU was close to the emergency room in the hospital. I literally had to take Xanax every night to sleep. I knew I needed serious help, because I was in no way shape, or form “OK”. It’s hard to believe, but I called literally 15 therapists and said it was “urgent” before someone agreed to work me in that week. What if I gave up after the first 5? I saw the psychiatrist, therapist, my OB, and my primary care doctor A LOT in the first couple of weeks. Once I was on an anti-depressant, things were a bit better. I still considered this inpatient program for postpartum depression, but I toured the facility and it didn’t seem right. After continuing therapy weekly, I discovered that what I was experiencing wasn’t necessarily postpartum depression- it was PTSD which was “absolutely normal and expected” after an experience like ours.

I can’t really pinpoint the exact moment I was “OK.” I think it happened over time. It took a few weeks, but I finally bonded with EJ. I often wonder what our bond would be like if we had skin-to-skin right after birth, if I breastfed, or if I wasn’t so literally crazy after having him. I replayed the c-section (being alone, feeling myself dying, thinking EJ was dead, blood everywhere) in my head almost every night before bed until he was 10 months old. That’s a long time. It’s exhausting to cry yourself to sleep almost every night for a year. I’m so thankful something in me clicked and I don’t do that any more.

My traumatic birth experience affected me in a way I never knew was possible. It shook me to my very core, and changed me as a person. It turned my usually happy thoughts into usually sad thoughts. That has gotten better over time, but I think the sadness around this day will always linger. Regardless of the negative emotions, there is always a constant feeling of gratitude. I’m grateful that my son and I are alive. I’m grateful for the care provided by Seattle Children’s NICU and especially for Anne Camber and Anita Tsen at Providence. These are the doctors who saved my life, saved EJ’s life, and there’s not a morning I wake up where I don’t internally thank them for that precious gift.

The reason I write this isn’t to make anyone feel sorry for me. I write this so that people are aware of traumatic births, postpartum depression and PTSD.  I want people to know that it’s OK to talk about these things. People will support you and love you and listen.

Boogers On My Shirt

Hey all,

It’s been a hot minute since I wrote a blog post. I say this constantly, but I really want to blog more. I usually spend time perusing social media and shopping on Poshmark, and I’m trying to come up with a more creative outlet… so here goes.

Yesterday (Sunday), EJ woke up early, had milk, and came back to bed with me for snuggles. We woke up leisurely and got to hang out all day. We practiced his new words “fish, dog, nana (banana), ” I got to see him try and eat with a spoon, and we snuggled A LOT. He has had a cold for about a week now, so I ended up with a lot of boogers on my shirt. But you know what? I didn’t even care.

Today (Monday), I had to wake up early in order to get ready for work. I had to pretend I was well-rested and create the illusion that I had my shit together. I was doing my makeup when our nanny arrived, and shortly after- the baby woke up. She went to get him and he was in hysterics because he wanted me. I was a lot later than I wanted to be leaving the house, because I was trying to get a few precious moments in. When I get home from work, I only get 3 hours with him before he goes to bed. I pried his little hands off my neck and handed him to the nanny while trying to ignore the heaviness in my chest while he cried. Then, I sat in my car for an hour on my commute to work and wished I was with him.

Ever since Billy mentioned the possibility of me eventually being a SAHM a few weeks ago, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Those of you who knew me pre-baby are probably thinking: “Who are you and what have you done with Emilie?” I have ALWAYS been a workhorse. Up until I landed my current job, I had always worked 2 almost full-time jobs. I got bored on weekends if I wasn’t working, and often volunteered to pick up extra shifts. Even after I had EJ, I wanted to go back to work. That might have been the PPD/PTSD talking, but I really wanted to go back.

The thing about going back to work after you have a baby, is that no one talks about the guilt. If you stay home, you feel guilty for not working/not contributing monetarily. If you work, you feel guilty for not spending enough time with your child. If you work from home, you feel guilty for not being present enough. If you leave work early to go to your child’s pediatrician appointment, you feel guilty for being a sub-par employee. The guilt is literally never-ending.

In a perfect world, I would work part-time (blogging, perhaps?), and be a SAHM/Domestic Goddess. I would Pinterest until the cows came home about fun and educational toddler activities. EJ and I would schedule play dates with Lewis and Felix (our friends whose mamas stay home), and we’d visit new toddler attractions around town (and blog about them!) I’d be able to pick Hank up from school every day, make him an after school snack, and help him with his homework.

Driving home from work today, I called my mom. Moms make everything better, and my mom has no problem giving me a swift kick in the butt to keep me in check. Her first words were “I know it’s hard…” then, she told me to put on my big girl panties and think about the positives of working. My employer provides health insurance for our family. My company helped to provide the means for us to purchase a home and to pay for our upcoming wedding. In reality, I have it really great. I do love my company. It’s innovative, it’s a fun place to work, and I really love what my team is doing. When I told her how I was feeling today, my friend Alicia said “maybe it’s one of those ‘grass is greener’ type situations.” Maybe it is. Maybe I was just having a bad day, but today; I would’ve killed to have had boogers on my shirt.

EJ’s Birth Story

It’s been a year since my beautiful and amazing son EJ was born. Most people know that we did not have an easy start, but few have heard the experience through my eyes. I’m thankful that Billy, my mom, and myself were able to share updates on the medical happenings during my hospital stay, but as part of my healing process I want to share my birth story.

Tuesday, August 23^rd at 6am I was awoken by some strong contractions. I turned on my contraction timer app and laid there for a while. I wasn’t expecting much since I’d already been to triage twice for regular contractions and was sent home. Billy woke up about an hour later and asked if I was ok. I said I was, while gritting my teeth through the next contraction. He told me we should get ready to go in to the hospital and I told him no (because I didn’t want to be sent home again). I agreed to at least get in the shower and noticed that I was now bleeding. When I got out, the contractions were really starting to hurt. I sat on my bed and the next one brought tears to my eyes. I agreed to go to the hospital. We woke Hank up, put our bags in the car, and gave Wally a treat. Hank was still pretty sleepy but excited that his brother would be here soon! We stopped to drop Hank off at the Miller’s. I had my eyes closed, breathing through the contraction and heard a tap on the passenger window. It was Tracy who told me “I know you’re scared, but you’ve got this. We love you and you’re going to do great.” She gave me a little half hug through the car window as Billy jumped in the driver’s seat. Somehow he got stuck behind a bus and he still brings up that I yelled at him for driving so slowly.

We arrived at the hospital around 9am and I was only 2 centimeters dilated, which was a huge disappointment. They told me to walk around for an hour and then get rechecked. When I got rechecked, I hadn’t progressed much but my platelets were a little low and I had flat out refused to leave so the nurse told us we were getting admitted. Hooray! We met our nurse Barb who walked us to our room. As the contractions continued, tears were running down my face. Barb asked me if I was planning on an epidural and I said “yes, but not yet.” I wanted to be able to eat and move around and labor in the tub if I wanted to. The next contraction made my knees buckle and she said to me “if you were my daughter, I would tell you to get the epidural.” I told her I was ready for it. It took a while for the anesthesiologist to come in, but once she did, the process was very quick! It didn’t hurt much at all compared to everything else happening. It just required a lot of sitting still. When she was done, I think I told her I loved her about 4 times.

I don’t remember many details of my labor, as that was the least stressful part of my whole experience. At around 6pm, I developed a 103 fever and was placed on antibiotics. A few times, the baby’s heart rate dropped and the nurse had me change positions. Billy and the nurses were putting wet washcloths on me and I asked them why they were putting hot water on me when I was already super-hot. Turns out, it was cold water and my body was just so hot it felt warm to me. I made Billy feed me ice chips like every second I was able to eat them. I was SO HOT. I just wanted water. The epidural was uneven and I felt one side of my body more than the other, so they had to adjust it. The nurse checked me and I was only at a 6. During that check was when my water broke. At around midnight, I started shaking uncontrollably and couldn’t stop. The doctor came in and ordered a stat EKG because my pulse had skyrocketed to 200. They gave my Demerol to try to slow down my heart rate. The EKG was normal besides the tachycardia but then EJ’s heart rate started declining rapidly. He was in trouble and the doctor ordered an emergency C-section. I remembered shaking, signing paperwork while they were running my hospital bed to the operating room. Billy ran to go get scrubbed in, but they never went to go get him…

 

Everyone was shouting when we got to the OR. I was transferred to the table and prepped. The doctor said “can you feel this?” and poked me with the scalpel. I couldn’t feel it so then, she started the incision. I was silently crying but telling myself not to freak out, but I was alone. The baby was in trouble. I felt a lot of tugging and heard a lot of yelling. A nurse came and put her hands around my head and told me it was going to be okay. At 1:04am I felt them pull the baby out of me and just waited to hear him start crying. There was no crying and I started to panic. I quietly asked “is he ok? Is my baby ok?” Nobody would respond to me. I started yelling “IS HE OK? IS HE ALIVE?” Somebody responded “they’re working on it.” Meanwhile, I start to hemorrhage. There is urgency in the voices operating on me. They need units of blood. My BP is 60/0. I felt myself fading. I was very calm and in my head thought “my baby is dead. I am dying. I am sorry, Billy.” I had 2 blood transfusions and then I was finally stable. I later found out I lost 2 liters of blood (which is half of your blood volume).

I was very sick and throwing up non-stop. Billy was finally able to come in. He said it was like a murder scene and he had to step over puddles and puddles of blood to get to me. Billy told me that they had to intubate EJ but he is alive. Children’s Hospital was sending a team up for them to transfer him because he required cooling to slow organ damage since he didn’t breathe for so long (6 minutes). My doctor was transferring me in an ambulance to the ICU down the street. I told Billy and my sister Amy to go with EJ. I vaguely remember being in the ambulance and telling them that my mom was going to come. I got to the ICU and begged the nurse to let me have water. I think my blood sugars were like 30 or something crazy low. He was surprised I was able to talk to him. He finally let me have water but he took away my cell phone and said I had to rest. My mom finally arrived and then we got a visit from the chaplain. I laughed and said “doesn’t the chaplain only come when you’re dying?” I didn’t know how serious of a situation I was in.

The lactation specialist came in and showed me how to use the breast pump. I was supposed to pump each side for 15-20 minutes every 3 hours. I tried, but zero milk was coming out. She told me to rest ad we’d try again later. After a few hours, I seemed to be stabilizing quite nicely, so they transferred me to the step-down unit. I was so high on pain meds, I told the nurse Nancy that she “had to get ready for the cat competition.” And then told her “oh wait! You don’t have cats, you have chickens!” I passed out pretty quickly after that. I was woken abruptly by the sound of alarms going off and a bunch of nurses in my room. They made me put on an oxygen mask. This next part is a bit of a haze… I sent Billy a text “my lungs are failing. I think they’re going to put me on a respirator. I don’t know what to do.” They thought I had something called Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. The last thing I remember is tons of doctors swarming in and pain while they inserted a femoral catheter and performed hemodialysis.

When I woke up I was in the ICU again. The doctors told us that along with my lungs giving out, my kidneys and liver had also failed. My OB Eve showed up and crawled in my hospital bed with me and just held me while we cried together. I asked Eddie to come in and asked him to please help Billy take care of EJ if I didn’t make it. The hospital called Billy and my sister at Children’s and said they needed to get up here quickly to essentially say goodbye to me. The dialysis had saved my life, but I was still extremely ill.

After I stabilized a bit more, I was moved back to the step-down unit. There were tubes and wires everywhere. I had a nasal oxygen cannula in place, a 6 lead EKG, a pulse oximetry monitor on my finger, IVs in both arms, a urine catheter, my epidural still in place, and a large catheter in my femoral artery from the dialysis. I still wasn’t getting any milk when I was pumping and was feeling extremely discouraged about breastfeeding. On top of that, I had my c-section wound and was bleeding from having just had a baby. The nurses encouraged me to get up and walk, which was excruciating, but each time I did it got a little easier. I was in pain, but the pain meds helped. As an unfortunate side effect of the pain meds, I started hearing music. At first, I thought the nurses at the nurse’s station were listening to oldies, but then the nurse told me there was no music… I vividly heard Route 66 in my head. I asked my mom “you don’t hear Uptown Girl?!” Nelly started rapping in the bathroom. When there wasn’t music, it was static (like when you’re in between radio stations). It never went away. The static was always there. The doctors said it was “hospital induced delirium.” I asked my mom if she was sure that I wasn’t in a coma.

Each day was the same. The lab tech came in at 5am and drew blood, chest x-ray around 7am, the nurse came in to do vitals around 8am. The doctors came to round between 9-11am. I texted my family my lab results after I saw the doctor. My sisters, Billy, and my parents were there every day and I had a large stream of friends and other family members visit me; though I was pretty out of it and couldn’t hold a conversation much. After a few days, my white cell count was still elevated and they couldn’t figure out why. I had some unknown infection.  They thought I was holding some fluid around my lungs which might be infected, so I had to have a thoracentesis (where they stick a needle through your back, into the sac that holds your lungs to aspirate the fluid).  I cried through the whole thing. Not because it was painful, but because I was so emotionally exhausted. I was just wondering what else could go wrong and why this was happening to me. My mom and I waited for the results, and it turns out, during the procedure my actual lung was punctured which is called a pneumothorax. I had to wear oxygen full time after that. Luckily, these things heal on their own most of the time. After the hospitalists consulted with infectious disease, I didn’t have a lung infection. My body was telling the doctors that I had been on too many antibiotics for too long. Once the antibiotics were discontinued, my while cell count went back to normal.

The physical pain I was in was nothing compared to the emotional pain I was feeling. The first time I saw my son was via FaceTime. I smiled, and cried, and ached to hold him in my arms. We tried to FaceTime every day when I was feeling okay. My family sent me countless pictures, but it killed me knowing that everyone else was meeting my baby before I was. My sister Donna took beautiful pictures of him, enlarged them, and hung them on my hospital wall so that I could see him every day. Every time a new hospital worker would come in, they would say “your baby is so beautiful! Is he here?” I’d almost break down crying every time saying “no, he’s at children’s in the NICU. I haven’t even met him yet.” There was one night my mom went home: just once. But that was the night I had a break down. I was alone, so sick, and I just wanted my baby. I called my mom hysterical and she talked to the nurse and asked her to give me something for sleep.

The next day, she came and brushed my hair, gave me a sponge bath, and helped me put on a new nightgown and brush my teeth. I put on some lotion that Tracy had made for me, and I felt like a new woman. I made a conscious decision to get better that day. I needed to be better and to be with my baby.

Over the next few days, my kidney and liver counts slowly started returning to normal. I begged the hospitalists each day to let me leave so I could see my baby, but I was way too sick. Each day I got a little stronger. I was able to walk to the chair and visit with my family on the couch. The next day I was able to go to the bathroom by myself. The next day, the nurse told me I could take the EKG off since it had been very stable. It felt good to get rid of some of those wires! Billy had told me EJ was making leaps and bounds, and I was determined as hell to get out of there at the same time he did, so we could go home together. I started walking around all the time to prove I was feeling better. I organized the belongings on my table and put on some of my own clothes.

On August 31^st, I took a shower by myself and it was the most heavenly experience in my entire life. I noticed in the shower that my breasts felt very heavy but I just brushed it off. My friend Giulia came to visit me and she did my makeup. Jadey was there, just hanging out with me. When Giulia left, I mentioned to Jadey about my shower and she said “maybe your milk came in!” They had taken the hospital pump since it wasn’t working for me, so we googled how to assemble the manual one. We finally figured it out, and low and behold I was able to pump a few ounces of beautiful, amazing, breastmilk. My body was finally working! We have the funniest picture of her and me at that moment. It’s something I will always treasure.

My sister Amy showed up to be with me and I started doing my breathing exercises to prevent pneumonia. I was sitting up in the chair when I saw Billy walk into my room…. And he was pushing a stroller. I started hyperventilating and bawling my eyes out. HE BROUGHT ME MY BABY! He picked EJ up out of the stroller and placed him in my arms. It was the best feeling I have ever experienced. It was a combination of joy, love, pain, grief, and relief. Everything I had endured over the past week was now worth it. I could barely see through my tears, but I held him so tight and he curled into me. It’s like he knew that he was finally with his mama. My mom came to the hospital and we ordered Chinese take-out and enjoyed our time all together for the first time.

I had begged the doctors to let me leave that, but they said I needed to stay one more night. I was disconnected from everything, but one IV remained in my arm just in case. Billy took EJ home for the night, because he was only discharged on the condition that he saw our pediatrician within 24 hours. Jadey stayed with me that night and I barely slept. The next morning, I waited for what felt like forever. Billy and EJ came and waited with me for the hospitalist. Around noon, I finally got the go ahead to go home. The hospitalist said I really should be there a few more days, but if I promised to see the kidney specialist within 48 hours that I could go. When the nurse wheeled me outside, it was like I was seeing the world for the first time. I vividly remember how wonderful the fresh air was!

When I got home, I showered and tried to scrub all of the adhesive and bad memories off. I closely examined my new body with scars and stretch marks: my c-section scar from hip to hip, IV scars in both wrists and both arms, my large femoral catheter scar in my left groin…The scars, stretch marks, and bad memories have all faded; but they are still there. When I got out of the shower, I picked up my tiny baby and laid him on my chest. I put my head on his head and felt his tiny breaths on my chest. Suddenly, the world was alright. Even now when I’m having a hard time, EJ is a constant reminder that no matter how tough things seem; everything is going to be alright.

How We Met

I don’t know about you, but I absolutely LOVE hearing stories about how couples met. 

Some of my personal favorites include: sitting next to each other on a flight, bowling with the boss’s daughter, a house party in high school, middle school social studies, and walking together in the Seattle Solstice Parade (butt naked)! 

Sometimes, I make up stories about how we met… I was swimming in the lake when an alligator started chasing me, he jumped in and wrestled the alligator. We were reaching for the same book on the top shelf at the library. We locked eyes across the room at a concert and were immediately drawn to each other. 

Well, folks…Sorry to disappoint, but we met at a bar. Yep, four years ago on a rainy Friday night in February I was out with my girlfriends at Kangaroo and Kiwi in Ballard. I had maybe a few too many “Pink Drinks”, when I went outside to “get some air.” When we tried to go back inside, the dude at the door tried to arm bar me and told my friend Katie “she can’t come back in here.” Naturally, I pushed him and ran back into the bar. My friend Nicole was bartending, so when he came after me she gave me the ok to stay.

A few weeks later, we were there again. Katie was talking to this guy, and I came over. “Hey, do you remember Billy? He tried to kick you out!” He goes “That was you?!” I’d say hi to him when I saw him at the pub, but it wasn’t until a sunny May Day in the beer garden that it sparked. 

I honestly can’t tell you what happened. I don’t even know. One minute, I’m sitting with a group of the regulars and the next minute Billy and I are holding hands, joking about when we would have a baby on the date in the exact middle of our birthdays. His is July 26th, mine is July 18th. 

On May 14th, I agreed to drinks (at the pub, of course), and he kissed me in the Wells Fargo parking lot after walking me to my car. The rest they say, is history. 

Pregnancy Sucks

Don’t get me wrong. I think the fact that people grow people is incredible, and beautiful, and amazing. I look at EJ now and can’t believe I grew him in my belly. In fact, we have a song about it.

“I grew your tummy tummy tummy in my tummy tummy tummy and your belly belly belly in my belly belly belly. And your eyes, ears, nose in my tummy tummy tummy and your fingers and toes in my belly belly belly.”

Regardless of how much I adore being a mommy, pregnancy sucked. Disclaimer: nothing was exceptionally awful during my pregnancy( my delivery is a different story, but I’ll post about that later). I just really hated being pregnant.

Having a second baby was a huge decision for Billy. He was just getting to the point where Hank was getting pretty independent, when I came along. It took a lot of convincing, but he finally agreed. We knew we wanted to have a baby before he turned 40. He didn’t want to be that “old dad” chasing after a toddler. Call us non-traditional, but since we knew we’d get married eventually we weren’t concerned about doing things “in the right order.”

We decided to go off The Pill in late November, thinking it would take about 6 months to regulate cycles, etc. About 3 weeks later I found out I was pregnant! As excited as I was, I was also a bit terrified. I grew up with a bleeding disorder called ITP, and although it resolved when I was about 15 it is known to come back in pregnancy.

After meeting with my OB and the high-risk doctors, I was more at ease. We got many more ultrasounds than usual due to our high risk status and OB modeling gig at Philips!

From weeks 5-11, I was continually nauseated. I walked around trying not to throw up, all day every day. I couldn’t look at bacon, and when I walked outside into fresh air I gagged. I lived on Altoids Spearmint Mints, 1.76 ounce (12 Packs), Bundaberg Ginger Beer (4 Bottles) and Preggie Pop Drops (Three Lollies Preggie Pop Drops, 21 Assorted Sour Fruit Lozenges (3-Pack)). Every minute I wasn’t at work, I was PASSED OUT. Billy was like “uhhhh hey, it’s 6 o’clock, are you gonna eat dinner?” NOPE! The shape of my cornea changed, which made my eyes dry and I ended up having ulcerated corneas due to my contacts. I looked like something out of a horror movie. It was hard being sick, but not feeling actually pregnant. We bought this cool fetal Doppler to listen to baby’s heartbeat, which made it seem more real. Womb Music Heartbeat Baby Monitor by Wusic – Listening to the sounds your baby makes is like music to a mommy’s ears! The perfect pregnancy gift for a new mommy

Weeks 11-30 were much easier. I got more energy back, and the nausea finally subsided. I started feeling baby move, which means I “felt pregnant.” I started prenatal yoga and felt pretty okay. I did get bloody noses almost every day, which turns out wasn’t related to my bleeding disorder; but was due to a nasal polyp that sometimes develop in pregnancy (who knew?)
At 30 weeks, Billy and I took a trip to Leavenworth. We walked around the cute little Bavarian town, and when we got back to the room my feet were so swollen I could barely get my sandals off. Last summer was HOT for Seattle standards, and June and July were hard.  I considered going to work naked, but apparently that’s frowned upon. I felt like a fat whale. I bought a sexy nightie as a self confidence boost, and modeled it for Billy. He pointed out a hole in the seam, which I then realized I had created whilst donning said “sexy nightie.” I bawled. 10 minutes later, I knocked over the lamp on our nightstand with my ginormous belly. I sat on the nightstand and cried while Billy vacuumed up the shattered lightbulb.

My company has an incredible maternity leave policy that includes 4 weeks of pre-partum leave, so at 36 weeks I said sayonara to my desk job and konnichiwa to ice and elevation for my fat cankles. My body ached, the baby was estimated to be a 10 pounder, and I couldn’t walk without my feet swelling up like balloons.

The next 3 weeks were the longest of my life. I spent the days trying to find activities to do with Hank on summer break, going on long walks to get the baby out, and organizing and reorganizing the baby’s room. At 39 weeks, EJ decided to make his way into the world. I had no idea what I was about to experience.