There is something I’ve noticed with more intensity on Facebook and Instagram over the past year; gratefulness to God for taking care of someone’s child.

Babies that are born early and with issues or potential issues and spend a day or two or maybe a week or two in the hospital or children that was either injured or diagnosed with something like cancer or another illness are prayed for by parents, grandparents, friends, and fellow church members. And somehow, 7 or 8 times out of 10 there are posts of how great god is and how he helped their child be healthy and come home to their family sooner than expected.

But then there are the rest of us. The parents-to-be who get scary news while mom is pregnant and all they can do is wait and see what happens when the baby makes his or her arrival. The mom’s and dad’s who have children in the NICU or ICU. They are on heart monitors or respiratory support, or medication or all the above. The parents who spend every waking and sleeping moment doing everything they can to help their child; getting the best care for their child, holding them when possible, talking to them, even praying, hoping for the moment the doctor says you can take them home. But somehow, all of the praying, hoping, perfect combination of nurses, doctors, treatment, just doesn’t seem to work.

Am I not doing this right? Are the other parents of the hundreds of children at Seattle Children’s Hospital not doing something right? Were we supposed to hold our hands a certain way, pray in specific direction, eat a special food, not laugh, not cry, not speak, only speak and think with positivity? TELL ME WHAT TO DO!!!!!

Are our children the forgotten, the not worthy? Are we as parents being taught a lesson or being tried for some crime? Why my baby? Why us?

My Mom is one of the best people I know. Honestly. She is kind, a good mom, a good wife, the definition of what a good Christ like person is. Void of judgment for others, and genuinely willing to do things for people no matter what. She’s a hospital Chaplain for god’s sake. I’ve always said that if anyone can get god to answer a prayer in the affirmative, it’s her. So when we found out Luna Bell was going to have issues, Mom started praying. And she never stopped. She prayed for lots of different things: Luna Bell to be healthy, me to be healthy, Kevin to have strength to support his girls, the doctors and nurses to have the wisdom to treat Luna Bell, Kevin and I to have strength and wisdom to be there for our daughter and to question things when they didn’t seem right, and again for our tiny little girl to be strong, to fight, to get healthy and grow and to be ok so she could come home.

So, when I see a post of the greatness of god and his choice to heal a child by some miracle, I bristle. I wonder why their kid and not mine. Why did god pick their baby to heal so quickly and not mine? Is this really divine intervention or just a case of right diagnosis, right treatment, maybe just not as sick as my daughter. As time goes on, I remind myself that not every baby or child has the same conditions, same diagnosis, same battle. Not every family is put in a place to learn to appreciate the little things, sometimes the very little things. Not every baby has parents who are strong enough to deal with an extended hospital stay, or multiple tries at coming off respiratory support or heart monitoring or medication without success. And many babies just aren’t as tough as my girl. She came out pissed that she couldn’t breath on her own and until she came off support, those tubes and hoses were her nemesis. She was a superhero every day and continues to be. She has taught me what it means to be determined, strong, focused, and patient. We were given a very special little girl and she is loved more than any other baby ever has been, we’re sure. As you will read in upcoming entries, our miracle was not a quick trip home; but a baby girl who knows she can do anything she sets her mind to, a mom and dad that got the opportunity to learn a lot about themselves, and fix a few things, so they could be the best parents for Luna Bell, and a family pulled together and grateful for the magic that occurs when a very special human joins the human race.

In the future, as Luna Bell decides what she wants in life and who she wants to be and do, I will be standing by her, cheering her on and saying to the world “What about my baby!!!”

The morning after. Waking up sore from my c section of about 32 hours earlier, and the the special torture that is a hospital bed, but determined to prove how well I was doing so that I could get out of the hospital and to my daughter’s side in her room 10 minutes down the street. After growing her and carrying her with me for the last 34 weeks, the fact that she was so little, and so brand new and already so far away from me was almost more than I could bear.

Soon a nurse came in to take my vitals, check my incision and help me to the bathroom. I began pumping the breastmilk I was beginning to produce and ordered some breakfast. I texted Kevin to see if he was awake and how Luna Bell was doing and fortunately he was awake and could give me an update. 

Our little girl had made it through the night and she was doing well under the circumstances. Seattle Children’s had set Kevin up with a room where I would be able to join him and we would be able to stay at the hospital for at least a few nights. He said they were doing ok, but they were anxious for me to be there with them.

The doctor on shift came to my room after a while and said that if I continued to do well, they could probably discharge me later that afternoon. To say I was disappointed would be a gross understatement, but what could I do? About 45 minutes later, one of my doctors came to my room. She said it looked like I was doing really well, so she was going to try to get me out of there by noon! She understood that my daughter needed me and I needed to be with her and there was no good reason to make either of us wait.

I let Kevin know the good news and when my mom and step dad got to my room the plan was made for them to take me to Children’s when I was discharged and they could meet Luna Bell then. In some ways it was the longest morning ever, but getting me ready to go seemed to take all my focus and strength, so the time went quickly.

Fast forward a few hours. We got to Children’s where we went through security and I was given a “Parents” badge and lanyard. When I put it on, I had no idea what a staple this would be in my life. A given, something to check to make sure I had with me at all times along with keys, phone and wallet. Kevin met us so that he could take us to Luna Bell’s room. Seeing him and feeling his arms around me and his hand holding mine was exactly what I needed. As anxious as I was to see my little girl, I was scared. What would the room be like? Would it be noisy from all the monitors and the ventilator? Would she be awake or sedated? Would it matter to her if I was there? Would I cry? Would she? Could she?

My legs and feet were swollen and painful, and my incision was somewhat painful, but I felt the strength of 10 men and the speed of a cheetah as I rushed to see Luna Bell.

We checked in a the front desk of the NICU who made sure we could go back to her room. Again, something new to us that would soon become a daily habit like putting on shoes. We rushed back and entered a large room filled with monitors and a large ventilator and two nurses attending to my very small baby in a warming bed. There, in the midst of all the noise and lights and organized chaos was my baby girl. 4 lbs 12 oz, 12.5 inches long. She had tubes and wires and monitors covering most of her body. She had a tube in her mouth so that she could breath, and it was taped to her face so that it didn’t move. She was asleep due to the sedative and the ventilator was causing her torso to move up and down in a forced motion, not the gentle rise and fall that should be happening. I stood there for a moment; afraid to touch her. Afraid to breath. Afraid. Two lovely nurses, Kristen and Bella, encouraged me to touch her, to talk to her. And explained what everything attached to her was. I gently put my hand on her head, as it was one of the few places she didn’t have something attached and told her I was there. Sang to her. Told her everything was going to be ok. 

But was it?

The day is a blur after that. But at some point, doctors; the attending and a few residents came to Luna Bell’s room to talk to Kevin and I about what was to happen next. While the details are fuzzy now, I remember one of the residents saying “ Over the next few months”. What? Months? No, my girl will be home by Christmas. We’re not going to be here months. I got angry. Doesn’t this woman know who my kid is? Who I am? We’re strong, tough, determined! Luna Bell isn’t that sick, we’ll defy all the odds and she’ll be home soon and won’t this doctor feel stupid. After they left I asked Kevin what he thought. He too was thrown by the use of the word “months” and like me, he was angry that this doctor, or this group of doctors, didn’t seem to know who my kid was. She was a little superhero and if she made it this far, she would continue to kick butt and take names and show all of us what she was made of. 

I mentioned a nurse by the name of Bella earlier. She would become an integral part of Luna Bell’s story. And on this first day, we had no idea how much we would come to rely on her, but her smile, soft voice and easy demeanor drew us all in and put us at ease. 

The next day was my birthday. I was 45 now. I was 45 with a two day old in the NICU. As we went through the day, Kevin convinced me to go home for a few hours. Get a few more things to make our stay comfortable and we’d have Mac n’ Cheese for my birthday dinner. The drive away from the hospital towards home seemed all wrong. How could I be leaving my girl behind? When we got home, I set about getting some things together to take back to the hospital. Clean pants, underwear, socks and shirts. Some toiletries and the piece de resistance; my cozy, fuzzy, purple bath robe that Kevin had bought for me the year before. I changed my clothes and put the robe on top of everything and laid on my bed for the first time since giving birth. We have a magic bed. You can raise the head and the legs and I did both. Kevin went to purchase Beecher’s Mac n’ Cheese and I laid on my glorious bed and responded to Happy Birthday texts and Facebook messages until I fell asleep for a while. 

After Mac n’ Cheese was consumed, we headed back to the hospital. A bit refreshed and renewed and ready for the next few days. After a long visit with Luna Bell, we headed to our room and tried to sleep.

This was the first night that I had a dream that would become a regular dream like an episodic television show. I dreamed that Luna Bell and I were laying in a large warming bed; face to face. Everything that she was attached to, I was too. I was viewing this from above, but feeling everything the me I saw was feeling. In his sleep, Kevin put his arm around me and I panicked. “NO! You’re going to pull my tubes out!” I woke up with a start and startled Kevin in the process. He help my hand as I told him my dream and assured me that I was ok and Luna Bell was too. But the image stuck with me the rest of the night. 

The next day was somewhat calm, more of the same. Standing or sitting with Luna Bell, pumping, eating, talking to doctors and social workers and genetic counselors and having blood drawn for testing. Seeing Luna Bell’s dark eyes open for a little bit, and hoping that she recognized us- or at least our voices. We sang to her and talked to her and I think Kevin read a book to her. The reality of what was happening was terrifying, but we really had no choice but to trust the doctors and nurses and know that they were doing what was best for her. 

Another sleep in the hospital and we woke up to Thanksgiving Day. We had some options for the day. We could spend the whole day at the hospital. We could go visit Kevin’s mom, sister, niece and brother, and we were invited to his cousin and aunt’s family dinner. Kevin was having a hard time convincing me to leave Luna Bell for a few hours but he made me realize that we needed to see people. We needed the hugs and encouragement. We needed to laugh. So we left the hospital after giving the nurses strict instruction to call or page us if anything happened. We were met with hugs and smiles and encouragement and food and a warm home. Kevin was right. We had needed that more than we knew. And when we did that thing that nearly every family does at the Thanksgiving Dinner table; I said I was thankful for family. For Kevin. For Luna Bell. And for modern medicine and that we lived so close to one of the best Children’s Hospitals in the nation. The fear I felt inside for the coming days, weeks, months was masked, I hope, by the optimistic tone in my voice and the smile on my face. I was so scared that next Thanksgiving my daughter wouldn’t be with us, and that maybe she wouldn’t make it through the next day. But for today, I needed to be thankful for being her mommy. I needed to be thankful for Kevin being by my side. I needed to focus on that something to be thankful for. 

The first day of our little girl’s life was very eventful. It began at 1:33am with Luna Bell being born, but not being able to breath on her own she was intubated and rushed to the NICU. She had chest tubes to drain the fluid from around her lungs and IV’s and monitors on every part of her 4 lbs 15 oz, 12.6 inch body. Kevin spent the night with her, curled up in a chair in a small NICU room, keeping an eye on our little girl. He texted me with updates, while I learned how to pump breastmilk, and texted friends and family to let them know Luna Bell had arrived. As they monitored her and did tests, the NICU doctors had many discussions with the neonatologists at Seattle Children’s Hospital, and it was decided that Luna Bell would be moved to Children’s via ambulance. A very serious doctor and Kevin came to my room to let me know what they wanted to do, and get my consent. Of course I gave it after they tried to explain the treatment they had planned for her, but my exhausted mind and body that hadn’t rested since the afternoon before, couldn’t seem to grasp what they were telling me.

Because I had just had a c-section not even 12 hours earlier, I couldn’t go with her. It had already been decided weeks ago, that anywhere she had to go, Kevin would go with her and I would follow as soon as I could, but we reiterated that to each other, and Kevin said that of course he would go with her. And as Kevin and I watched the nearly 2 hour process of getting Luna Bell ready to be moved, I was trying to be strong on the outside, but inside I was falling apart. My daughter was hooked up to monitors and IV’s, she had a tube down her throat with air being pushed into her tiny, fragile lungs to keep her alive. She had tubes in the sides of her chest to relieve the fluid that had formed around them in utero, and she was medicated into sedation to keep her comfortable and calm. And each of those monitors and tubes and IV’s had to be switched over to a mobile incubator so she could go on the first car ride of her life. One that they needed to make in about 10 minutes, because of the generator that powered the incubator and monitors and most importantly the ventilator keeping my daughter alive. The plans they had for her at Children’s were serious. They planned to put her on ECMO. https://www.chop.edu/treatments/extracorporeal-membrane-oxygenation-ecmo And as I watched the amazing transport team get her ready, I was forced to acknowledge that this may be the last time I would see my Luna Bell, my miracle baby, alive.

I sat in a wheel chair, Kevin sat in a chair that a very kind and helpful nurse got for him. He drank tea, I drank some ice water and we hardly spoke. What could either of us say? We were watching our little girl get ready for a trip that she might not survive, and if she did, she would be put on a machine that could save her life, or just be a rest stop on the way to the end. I was forcing myself to be positive, and while he may have been doing the same, Kevin came across confident that she would survive the ambulance ride and the ECMO would help her lungs heal and give her the best chance of survival, because she absolutely would survive and come home with us.

The nurse came over to tell us that the transport team was getting very close to having Luna Bell ready for the trip. Kevin and I held hands and kissed and he reassured me everything was going to be ok, that he would be there every step of the way and that he would let me know how things are going as soon as there was something to report. We went over to the transport incubator as they completed switching over the power, and stated they needed to go now. I told my little girl I loved her, for what might be the last time, kissed Kevin and they were gone.

I sat in the hallway, trying not to cry as a really kind nurse asked if she could take me back to my room.

Once I was back in my room, the enormity of the situation finally hit me. I cried. I cried that my little girl was suffering like this, that she might not make it, that if she did make it through the first 24 hours she would probably have a long road of healing in front of her, that I hadn’t even held her yet, that Kevin had to do this alone, that I had to do this alone, and that I still hadn’t slept.

About 10 minutes after Kevin left with Luna Bell, he texted me that they had made it to Children’s safely. And about 15 minutes after that, he called me to tell me that they weren’t going to do ECMO after all. Our girl was sick, but not that sick. They were going to re-intubate her so that the tube was more stable and they were putting together a plan for her. By the time I got there to see her the next day, they should have a better idea of the kind of care she would need.

Knowing that she was safely at Children’t Hospital, that Kevin was with her and that there literally was nothing I could do from my own hospital bed, I finally took a nap. It was short nap, soon interrupted by a kind, well meaning nurse who came in with water, medicine, and a little help pumping my breastmilk. This was the first I had slept in about 24 hours, but somehow it seemed impossible to sleep, when down the street, my daughter was struggling to stay alive.

Soon my mom and step-dad arrived. And no matter how old I get, there are times when I just want my mom. After a visit and catching them up on the latest, they headed for the hotel room. I was left alone again, trying to stay focused on getting myself physically ready to leave the hospital the next day, but wishing that I was with Luna Bell and Kevin. I finally was feeling the day. The pain of the surgery, the exhaustion of being awake for so long, feeling hungry and a little nauseous all at the same time, and longing to hold my daughter but also wishing that I could sleep forever.

At Seattle Children’s Hospital, they were taking amazing care of not only Luna Bell, but Kevin as well. They had set him up with a room just a floor up from our baby, and I would be able to join him there the next day and stay there for at least a few nights. Kevin’s cousin showed up to see Luna Bell and take Kevin out for a much needed dinner and a little breath of fresh air. Once Kevin was back with Luna Bell he called to let me know she was doing ok and that he couldn’t wait for me to be there the next day. As difficult as it was to be away from my daughter and Kevin, knowing that they were together was a huge comfort.

I fell asleep for a little while and woke up to a text coming through my phone. Luna Bell was doing well, and Kevin was visiting her after he had a little sleep as well. He told me he loved me and to go back to sleep, things were ok. I agreed to try to get some more sleep, but before I did, I looked at the time. 1:33am. She had made it the first 24 hours.

The morning that Kevin and found out that I was pregnant, he set about making me a healthy breakfast. But first, music. The first song that he played was “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO. A line stood out to both of us and we danced in the kitchen while the eggs cooked.

Now here we were, months later, on our way to the hospital to have our baby. Calls were made to mom’s to let them know we were on our way to have a baby, their grandchild, texts were sent to a couple of friends and I hoped that my water wouldn’t completely break, or Kevin’s car would be flooded!

We arrived at University of Washington Medical Center, Seattle, WA at about 9pm. Kevin grabbed a wheelchair in the parking garage and got me to the front door, where security was more than happy to point the way to the elevator to the 6th floor. We headed up to Labor & Delivery where a nurse was waiting for me and the sweet lady at the front desk welcomed me back! They got me to a room to do a quick check to make sure that my water was indeed breaking. When I stood up out of the wheelchair and water went everywhere, the nurse said “yep, you’re water broke! Change into a gown and we’ll take you to your room!” And with that, it was confirmed – we were having this baby soon.

Getting set up in a room where you are waiting for the single most important, most incredible, most terrifying moment of your life is strange. I still look back at that night and some things are a blur, but I remember getting set up on a big bed, getting all the monitors strapped to my belly and getting an IV started. I remember what seemed like gallons of amniotic fluid soaking the bed every few minutes and the most patient nurse in the world changing my bedding and making me comfortable and bringing me cheese and crackers and bringing Kevin Ginger Ale. I remember talking with the doctor about what might happen that night. It was decided that if I could have this baby vaginally, we would try for that, and if there were complications or labor was lasting too long, we would go back to the original plan of a c-section. We texted our mom’s and friends to let them know I was set up at the hospital and around 10:30pm things picked up speed.

I began to have contractions. The real kind. The kind that made all of those false labor contractions seems like a just really bad cramps. This is where I direct my next statement to all the ladies who have had contractions…What. The. Actual. Hell???? Holy shit. Seriously. My contractions started at and stayed at every two minutes until my daughter was born. All the years of yoga and dealing with mild panic attacks taught me to breath through things, so that helped a lot as did Kevin holding my hand, and encouraging me. But they were coming fast and furious and when the nurse asked if I wanted an epidural, I jumped at the chance! As of an earlier check I still had not begun to dilate.

The two most amazing men came into my room. The anesthesiologists. Medicine is an amazing thing, my friends. They set me up on the edge of the bed, monitors still strapped to my belly, and Kevin sitting in front of me holding my hands. The contractions were getting stronger and there was massive pressure building in my back. It was difficult for the anesthesiologists to get the needle in my back to get the epidural started between these mounting contractions, but they finally managed to get it started. As they did so, the pressure in my back gave way, there was a pop and a gush of fluid that almost took out Kevin’s silver Dr. Marten boots. There was blood in the fluid and the monitor indicated that the baby’s heart beat was slowing. The doctors got me on all fours – a spectacularly elegant position – and check my cervix. I had dilated 5 centimeters in less than 90 minutes. The doctor said that she was concerned about the baby being in distress and that we needed to do that c-section that we had talked about earlier. We needed to do it now! They threw a sheet over my partially naked, still on all fours figure. And the nurse threw a package at Kevin, told him to change and she would be right back for him. We said our ” I love you’s” and he promised to be right behind me and the team rolled me down the hall. I was scared, excited, nervous, kind of humiliated and as I rolled by another soon-to-be-mom, I said “good luck tonight” and looked into her nervous eyes “you’ll do awesome”. She said “good luck to you too!” in an unsure voice and that was the last I saw her. Sometimes I wonder how her night went. Did she have an easy delivery? Was her baby healthy? Did she have a boy or girl? Does she remember me?

In the OR they moved me from the bed to an operating table. My contractions were still coming strong, but the epidural was starting to set in. There was an urgency in the need for the epidural to take full effect and the anesthesiologists took turns poking my legs, hips, and sides to see if I was numb enough to get my c-section under way.

Kevin was in the room all of a sudden, holding my hand, kissing my forehead. It looked like this was the night we become parents! I asked him what time it was, and if I remember it was sometime after midnight. It was Sunday, November 18th. 34 Weeks, 3 Days.

I reminded Kevin of everything we had talked about over the past few weeks. If our little girl needed to be intubated to help her breath, Kevin was to go with her. If she went to the NICU, he was to go with her. Basically, if our baby was going to be away from me, Kevin was to go everywhere with her. He promised to stay with her – and keep me in the loop with everything that was going on with her.

Our team of doctors and nurses was finally ready, as was I. The baby was staying stable, but it was time to get her out into the world. Kevin held my hand, kissed my forehead and kept reassuring me, as much as himself, that everything was going to be ok. The anesthesiologists took turns making sure I was ok and the doctor got started. The only way I can describe having surgery while awake, but numb, is a little like being probed. Were there two hands in there or 12? After a few minutes of cutting and tugging and pulling and Kevin peeking over the drape a time or two, the doctor said the drape could be dropped…it was time to meet my daughter.

And then, all of a sudden, there she was.

From the pictures, I saw that she was covered in all the regular things that newborns are covered in, but the moment I saw her face, I heard the words of the ELO song Kevin played the morning we found out we were going to have a baby. All I could see was my beautiful little girl. My Luna Bell Everleigh. We had picked her name the day we found out I was pregnant, even before we knew she was a girl. She was destined to be born at night. A new moon for our world to orbit. Our little girl was finally here.

She was beautiful, but so incredibly pissed off. She was trying to get that first breath of fresh operating room air, but her little lungs would not expand enough for that to happen. The doctors rubbed her sternum to see if they could get her to breath, and she thought that kicking her little feet and waving her fists would help, but nothing was working. I was scared, and tried to encourage her, hoping that my reassuring mommy voice would help her. But after a few second of trying to get her to breath, they said they were taking her next door to be intubated. I told Kevin to go with them, as he was standing up to do just that. He kissed me. Told me he wouldn’t leave her side and that he would call or text me or come back to my room as soon as there was any news to give.

As difficult as it was to watch them take my tiny little girl away from me, knowing that Kevin was with her comforted me. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and he would let me know what was going on as soon as he could.

As the doctors stitched me up, tears ran down my cheeks. Tears from being so tired. From being pure emotions – fear, happiness, love. Tears because I couldn’t hold my newly born daughter in my arms. Tears because our families weren’t there to share in welcoming this new little human to the world. Mostly tears because my little girl needed help. A lot of help. I willed every god and every good thing in the universe to help Luna Bell. Please help her make it through this night. Please help her be able to breath. Please just keep her alive so that I could see her beautiful face one more time. Adrenalin started to course through my veins. Tiredness was replaced by strength, pain was replaced by a little euphoria that all the weight was off of my belly now, and my little girl had been born and well, lets be honest, the epidural was still hanging on pretty good and that was making me very happy! I waited for Kevin to call or text me from the NICU and soon I heard from him. Luna Bell was doing ok, but had been intubated, chest tubes placed to drain the fluid off of her lungs, and she was on medication to keep her calm and the doctors and nurses were taking good care of her. My nurse told me that she had heard from the NICU and as soon as Luna Bell was stable I would be able to go down and visit her.

Kevin came back up to see me and see how I was doing and soon it was time to go visit our little girl. I was still a little numb from the epidural, but I got into the wheel chair and the nurse rolled me down to the NICU.

As they took me into my daughters small room, all I heard was the hum of the ventilator and the beeps of the monitors and all I could see were tubes and wires and bags and the incubator. Somewhere in there was my daughter. They rolled me closer to the incubator, and there she was. Small, skinny but kind of puffy from the fluid she was retaining, but beautiful. Kevin went to the other side and we both put our hands into the incubator and put our fingers near her hands and she grabbed into them tightly. She was really here. She had made it into the world and she was fighting and trying to be strong. As I looked at Kevin and we then looked at our daughter, my heart filled. It filled with love for this little girl, for the family we had created, and hope that she was going to be ok. Maybe not right away, but soon. And then we would get to hold her, and take her home. It wouldn’t be long before we took her home, right? I hoped for the future as I gazed at my perfect little girl, and whispered the words that came into my mind the moment I saw her earlier that night, “Hey there with the pretty face, welcome to the human race.”

At 31 weeks and 1 day, I woke up feeling strange. When I went to the bathroom there was a little pink discharge and while I was in the shower I began to feel what felt like contractions. After a quick call to the nursing line and labor and delivery at UW, I was instructed to come in to get checked out. After getting checked out, getting hooked up to monitors for myself and the baby I was told that my contractions were probably just false labor, but they were going to keep an eye on me. Later in the day it was decided that they would do an amnio reduction to relieve some of the weight and hopefully reduce the possibility that I would go into labor even more prematurely than necessary. Not to go into too many details, but they took off 2 liters of fluid…2 liters. As I watched containers be filled with my amniotic fluid I couldn’t believe that I was carrying around that much extra fluid. After watching me overnight to make sure that I didn’t go into labor and that the contractions didn’t cause me to dilate and that they stopped, I got to go home. I felt better than I had in a couple of weeks and hoped that this would delay the possibility of going into labor early and make the next few weeks a lot more comfortable.

During the next couple of weeks, we had a fetal echocardiogram to make sure Baby Bean’s heart was strong and perfect. And fortunately, it was. I also had an echocardiogram to make sure my heart was strong and healthy as well. Everything was checking out, but the hydrops was still a big concern and a c-section was scheduled for December 6th. I called my mom to tell her to plan to be there for the c-section and we also told Kevin’s mom, sister and brother so everyone would be prepared.

The week of November 8th I spoke with my doctor and we agreed that we could do one more amnio reduction and hopefully that would hold me out for a few more weeks. It was scheduled for Sunday, November 11th.

November 10th was Kevin’s niece’s 1st birthday party. It was amazing to see her turning one, and I loved watching her trying to open her presents, and everyone showering her with love on her big day. I was pretty uncomfortable and found a place on the couch where I was comfortable as long as I didn’t move too much. The next day we went in for my amnio reduction and another 1 1/2 liters was taken off of my large belly. By the end of the day, I was exhausted, yet hopeful that I would be ok and I could hang onto our Belly Bean for just a little bit longer. I was at 33 weeks and 3 days.

On Tuesday, November 13th, I went in for my regular ultrasound-which showed that the amniotic fluid that had been reduced had re-accumulated, and then some- a doctor’s visit and Non Stress Test (Monitoring of the baby’s movements, my blood pressure and heart rate of both of us. My blood pressure, which is never high, was high, and the doctor was concerned about preeclampsia, so they admitted me to the hospital. Damn. This is not how this was supposed to go. Kevin went home to get some sleep and to get my somewhat packed “go bag” so I would have some of my own things. I woke up Wednesday morning to contractions again. This time I was scared. It was too soon. Kevin wasn’t there and I wasn’t ready. Thankfully as the day worn on, my contractions stopped and I didn’t start to dilate. I was in the hospital for observation until Friday, until my blood pressure remained normal for a couple of days and the contractions didn’t start up again. They gave me the second round of steroids to help Belly Bean’s lungs develop more quickly as it was still possible that I would go into labor soon-ish. They also had me meet with an anesthesiologist to talk about the epidural as well as sign all the content paperwork for a c-section, so that when the day came, we would be ready. I went home, anxious to take a shower, sleep in my own bed and hopefully take care of myself and Belly Bean long enough to keep her in for a few more weeks. At this point, we had reached the 34 week, 1 day mark. Making it to our goal felt like a great accomplishment, but I knew that staying pregnant past this point was going to be a challenge, but one I was up to if it meant keeping my baby safe and warm and growing for a little while longer.

Saturday morning I needed to run out for a few things at the drug store down the street. I wanted to put my “go bag” back together over the weekend and be ready for the big day. On my way back to the apartment, it became very clear that my short legs/large belly combo was no longer conducive to driving! I came to the quick conclusion that if I was going to continue to work either Kevin was going to have to drive me to and from work – or – Uber and Lyft were going to get one of their best customers of the year.

Taking a shower proved to be an exhausting chore. I looked at myself in the steamy bathroom mirror and barely recognized the woman standing there. My belly was HUGE. My face and shoulders and arms looked like the sheer weight of my belly was pulling down all the muscle and skin and what little fat I had. My cheekbones were very prominent and not in the “contour” “I’ve got amazing cheek bones” way – more the “I haven’t eaten in a month and maybe had a drug problem” way. I hadn’t seen my feet for at least 2 months and only fit into one pair of Converse low-tops. My legs were swollen and numb and in pain all at the same time from the 20 minutes I stood in the shower. And my eyes were tired. The kind of tired I had never been able to achieve over all my 40 years of insomnia.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this. It’s November 17th and my c-section isn’t scheduled until December 6th. Can my body keep this up? There is no way I can go back to work. How am I supposed to do this?” I asked all of these questions to the woman in the mirror and she had no answers. I told myself that I could and would do whatever it took to keep my girl safe. She would come when she came and as of today, I was 34 weeks and 2 days along. It was going to be ok. I talked to my baby and the woman in the mirror and hoped that somehow I could conjure up all the love and positivity to keep her safe and keep my pregnancy going in a way that wouldn’t kill me or at least wouldn’t make me wish I could be in a coma for the rest of it.

To get my mind off everything, Kevin and I went over to his mom’s to visit her and his sister, Meghan, niece Quinn (who had just celebrated her first birthday) and his brother Keegan. We talked and laughed and I watched Kevin play with Quinn. Several times Quinn tried to sit on my lap, as she would usually do, but tonight I had no lap left. I had knees. That was all that was visible while I sat. The distraction was just what I needed and I felt better than I had all day. At 8pm, I stood up to go to the bathroom and felt a strange sensation. I went into the bathroom, pulled down my pants and made the discovery that my water had begun to break. So I guess I had the answers to all my questions to the woman in the steamy bathroom mirror; I wouldn’t have to do this much longer, I didn’t have to figure out how to get my body to keep this going and I wouldn’t have to be put in a coma to finish this out. I wouldn’t have to do any of that, because I was having a baby…tonight! We had made it to 34 weeks and 2 days.

Somehow, while pregnant, I believed that I would instinctively remember every moment of my pregnancy; when and where every little moment occurred, but sadly, somehow, with the amnesia that follows childbirth, so go some of the details of the most intense moments of my life. I do remember that first flutter of my growing baby, I remember the way my belly felt as it grew (that slight tugging on the muscles and skin; and I instantly knew why pregnant women rub their belly’s-because it feels soooo good on those stretching muscles) I remember sitting at my desk at work and feeling that first real kick. That first solid hello from my little one! With excitement, I texted Kevin to tell him that our little one is now kicking “hello”! He was thrilled! And now, we had a way to tell that our baby is alive and well and thriving, without the help of an ultrasound. Every time the baby would kick, Kevin would try to feel it from the outside. He could hardly wait for the day when he could feel our little Bean move around, and when it finally happened, the wait was totally worth it! And the first time we saw movement across my belly, we laughed through our tears of joy. Soon, BellyBean’s activity became an everyday occurrence, and we felt reassured with every movement and every kick that our little one was growing healthy and strong.

Each ultrasound showed that we were correct in our assumptions that BellyBean was growing exactly on track. I was due December 27th and my OBGYN, in an effort to keep me from having a Christmas baby and so that she would be the one on call at the hospital to deliver my baby, we set my induction for Friday, December 21st–if I made it that far, because this baby was growing fast.

Full Disclosure: I am 5 feet tall. Some doctors or nurses may try to sell you on the actual fact that I am 4’11.5”, but that just isn’t true. I’m 5 feet tall. At the time I got pregnant, I weighed about 92 pound. Please save all the “weight shaming” and comments that I really should have or should be eating more. I’ve heard all the short, skinny girl comments possible: “well you just ever grow, did you?” “do you ever eat?” “I wish I was skinny like you…” “where do you find clothes you fit you, the kids section?” ” how can you possibly be healthy, being so skinny?” “You need a cheeseburger.”

My answers progressively get shorter with each year of age. I don’t find I need to explain myself. I don’t need to tell people that “everyone in my family is short. My mom is 72 and skinny too. I have a fast metabolism. No, I find clothes that fit just fine and they aren’t from the kids section. And I’m very healthy, thanks. And I had a cheeseburger last night.” My answers came down to pretty much; “nope. yeah. not really the problem you would think it is. I’m very healthy-how about you?”

If you have ever been pregnant before, or had a parter that has been; you understand when I tell you that once you become pregnant, the outside world does not respect your personal space, autonomy or privacy any longer. I work at a doctor’s office, and many of our patients are regulars, every 4-6 weeks or every few months. While 90% of them were happy for me, excited for regular updates and filled me in on stories of their own kids or grandkids, there was the 10%. Ahhhh, the 10%. Can I be honest? These people were assholes. Rude, invasive, know-it-all assholes. Because I’m fairly small, and my growing baby was hitting all the growth milestones perfectly, I was showing very quickly and getting bigger by the day. And I was all belly. The 10% would regularly ask if I was sure I wasn’t having twins. Was I actually farther along than I thought? Was the baby freakishly big? How big is the baby’s dad? And my answers started out as, “no, just one. No, I’m (insert however far along I was). No, the baby is right on track. And not really, dad is 5′ 10″.” Towards the end of my pregnancy, my answers got more aggressive: “Wow, I don’t know. I should ask my doctors if I”m having twins, it’s never come up. And, I might be farther along than I thought. You obviously know my body better than I do, so I should talk to my doctors and see if you are right. And one woman was particularly awful in her line of questioning, so I responded “Well, if the dad is who I think it is, he’s not a giant.”

Then there were the women, and a couple of men, who found it appropriate to grab my every growing belly. A couple of people that I knew did so, caught themselves and asked if it was ok. Then there was the lady in the grocery store, around my age, who exclaimed “OMG- you’re pregnant! How cute!”, and then reached for my belly. Using the shopping cart as a shield, I stepped behind it and gave her a “touch me and die” look. I don’t want you touching my belly or my baby once he or she is out here in the world. I don’t know you!

In saying all of this, I want to remind you, dear reader, or maybe inform you for the first time, that pregnant women are still people. They are not some freak show or member of a petting zoo, and unless they invite your touch, criticism or advise, please, please keep it to yourself. Share stories of when you or your partner were pregnant, share the wondrous stories of your grandchildren, but save the horror stories or tales of sick children for a later…much later date. Women who are pregnant are doing their best to stay healthy, learn how to deal with their ever-changing bodies, and protect the little life they are creating. They are too busy creating an ear or an eyeball to worry about what you think of how they look or what they should be eating, or if they should still be working. The first couple of times you offer unsolicited advice, you may get a kind response, but after that, you may get an answer resembling a kick.

At nine and a half weeks along, I had my first ultrasound. That magical moment I saw that little bean growing in my belly. Right there in black and white. In that moment, I understood this unexpected surprise was real. My eyes welled up at the joy of this amazing blessing and I couldn’t wait to tell Kevin about it, as he was unable to be there. I walked out clutching the first pictures of my little one and still couldn’t believe that this actually happening to me!

I went back to work and during lunch my phone rang. It was my doctor. I answered excited and nervous, and totally unprepared for what I heard.

I was nine and a half weeks along as I thought and the size of my growing baby was right on track. However there was something that caused concern. In measuring everything the radiologist noticed that the nuchal fold, which is at the nape of the neck, was thicker than normal. It could be nothing or it could mean that there were come chromosomal issues with the baby. After all…I was considered a geriatric mother. Anyone over 32 is, apparently. And that, quite frankly, is bullshit! Yes, I was 44, so that definitely put me as an older mom, but to call me geriatric is just mean!! I knew the chances of something being wrong with the baby were higher due to my age, but to hear that something could actually be wrong was jarring.

A week or two later I met with a specialist for older moms and babies who may be facing some issues. He suggested a blood test that would show if there were any chromosomal abnormalities with the baby. Kevin and I agreed to do that, and though we were scared, we decided that unless there was something so wrong with the baby that he or she would have no quality of life at all, we would be having this baby no matter what.

About 10 days later the tests came back; and with the exception of some anomaly on the X chromosome, everything was perfectly normal. The doctor said that we could do an amniocentesis to see exactly what the anomaly was, but we decided not to take the extra risk. In 4 weeks, at our next ultrasound, the nuchal fold thickness was gone and we were looking at a very healthy baby who was growing perfectly.

On Father’s Day, we made the announcement to all, that we were pregnant. We had felt an outpouring of love and excitement from all of our family and friends. And with that, this thing was real. My belly was growing, I was starting to make plans for my baby registry and maternity leave, and all the things that all moms-to-be do, but all the while I had a little something in the back of my head that was bugging me about that anomaly on the test. I hoped everything was ok. And then I somehow convinced myself that everything was. Besides, what could possibly be wrong?