January 2011... A hopin' and a prayin'

We are into the final weeks of our time with Samuel safe in my belly, with a c-section birth scheduled for Thursday, February 17. I savour every kick and roll, although the little bruiser can sometimes double me over with a punch to some organ that is not meant to be punched. We are "cautiously optimistic" at this point. He may die within hours or days of being born or he may live in the NICU and then the Children's Hospital for six months to a year before we can bring him home. My prayers are as they were back in September... for peaceful journey for our little boy, whatever that means and however long he has.

I am not officially on "bed rest" but it feels like that some days. I closed my counselling practice for now and, while it was tough with some of my clients to refer them or put things on hold, it is a good thing all around. I still give my kids breakfast and make lunches and take them to school. I still stay on top of the banking and laundry. I'm not much fun for chasing and wrestling but we go swimming at the therapeutic (read: warm!) salt water pool near our house and it's fabulous to play with my boys and not have to hold up my own belly. 

Too much being on my feet or walking makes it feel like things are falling out that should not be falling out - as evidenced by my most excellent sense of judgment when I went to Zoolights with Chris and the kids and then got to debate all the way home whether it was real labour or false, if we should go to hospital straight from the zoo or try going home. So I am in bed a lot trying to stay comfortable and, much more importantly, trying to stay pregnant to the optimal 39 weeks.

I have weekly OB appointments and ultrasound appointments now. I had another meeting with the Neonatologist and a tour of the NICU. The doctors are consistently quite encouraging at this point. It's like they know that I am in the home stretch and it is hard, that I know all the dark stuff and really just need a pep talk wherever I go. My favourite nurse at the clinic hugs me and tells me that I am looking beautiful and won't get any pity if I don't tone it down. The Perinatologists tell me I am doing a great job keeping him cooking and giving that lung the best possible chance at maturity. The Neonatologist is very excited that he is so big and fat because that means the rest of him will be strong and healthy. One of my OBs said that I can come in every day if I just need encouragement to get to the end. I soak this stuff up, but it is seeing my wee baby on the ultrasound screen every week that bolsters me the most, reminds me why I am doing this.

I am tired, achy, and scared. I've done "end of pregnancy" stuff before and it's not this. I am sure this is the cumulative physical and emotional depletion of the past many months. The polyhydramnios is severe but holding steady and baby is big and growing; the combination means that I am really big and have yet to get bigger. I caught myself one day thinking what every woman thinks at some point near pregnancy's end; thank goodness it's almost over. I sucked in my breath at that. When the pregnancy is over, there is another kind of struggle waiting for us. We don't know how Samuel will do and how long we might have him for. Me staying pregnant means he is safe and mine. And it gives him the best possible chance when he does make it to the outside.

How did I go from running 20-30 kms a week and resolving to stay fit and healthy throughout this pregnancy to spending hours a day in bed?! Who knew I was even CAPABLE of resting this much?! I am a busy, competent person! And now my parents have given up their winter in Arizona to come over a couple of times a week and entertain my kids and do the vacuuming and cook. People are bringing us food several times a week and taking my kids for playdates. And I don't even have any fight in me. The kindness still makes me cry but I can't turn it away like I once might have.

What activity I do plan is quiet visiting with friends and "nesting." I was finally able to pick out an outfit for Samuel with the help of Chris, Lori (shopper extraordinaire) and my mum. I'd been told by several people to have an outfit for him so that we could dress him and take pictures, and then have the clothes with his smell on them to take home if we lost him. I'd gone to the store several times and just ended up crying and leaving. But now I have a bag with a freshly washed shirt, pants, socks and hat, along with some receiving blankets that my mum made and two bears, one from my parents and one that the boys picked out for him.

We went for pre-natal (belly) photos - all six of us - with Julie Marwood. She thought it would be fun to have the boys paint handprints or messages on my belly towards the end of the shoot. So I brought all the stuff we would need thinking, "Julie, you have boys. Have you lost your marbles?!" After an hour of my boys bouncing off the walls of her studio, she didn't mention the paint idea. Funny, that. I will say, though, that my boys missed school and wore shirts with buttons and collars, which is a sign of great love coming from Daniel especially. So I know they understood the importance of those family pictures at some level.

We had a 3D ultrasound so that we could see him and have pictures of him that weren't the grainy black and white of 2D ultrasounds; I get one of those weekly to monitor the polyhydramnios and check on baby but it's become increasingly hard to see him there because of the fluid and baby's size and position. The 3D ultrasound was an extra treat. With my parents and all three boys in the room with Chris and I, it was like we were just there to spend time with him as we might after bringing our newborn home from the hospital. Felt very special to have that.

Here's what he looks like at 34 weeks gestation and weighing an estimated 5 pounds, 11 ounces.

Gotta love those chubby cheeks. And yes, that is a foot tucked right behind his hand. Clearly a flexible child. Given that cute little ear, the hair, the 10 fingers and 10 toes, we will try to ignore that the hand to the forehead and the expression on his little face are clearly full of attitude and exasperation.

We now wait for our son, continue to watch that he and I are doing okay, and hope that I don't burst before the c-section. I keep picturing that huge guy in Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life" - you know, the "better get a bucket" guy - who eats so much that he explodes when John Cleese feeds him a mint. Um, that won't happen to me, right?