have a baby

My worst nightmare came true. I went into premature labor at 24 weeks. The help hotline at Kaiser told me the labor pains were just Braxton Hicks and nothing to worry about. The cramps did not go away the next morning. I was checked into the hospital where the nurses and doctors pumped me full of anti-contraction medication and drugs to speed development of the baby’s lungs. I held out for 12 hours and had an emergency C-section. Our baby boy died shortly after he was removed from my womb. The pain of the C-section does not hurt as much as the emotional pain and the absence of my first child. I never thought that having a baby could possibly mean that I wouldn’t get to take him home with me. Or that we wouldn’t live happily ever after.

Took a maternity tour of Anaheim Medical Center. Wasn’t too impressed with the facilities or the staff. Hope our insurance will allow us to go to another? I’m also considering St. Jude’s Hospital, which is down the street, and UC Irvine, which is about 45 minutes farther.

My husband will be picking up an almost new changing table for $20 off of craigslist today. There are so many costs associated with having a baby, that my fun challenge is to find the things that I need for as little money as possible. So far, I’ve been lucky. I got a Pali crib and mattress both in very good condition for $120; a new Graco stroller and car seat for $109; a free vibrating chair that needs a cleaning; and a starter wardrobe from Ross at clearance prices.

Today marks the first day of my 23rd week. I felt my baby unmistakably kick me for the first time last week as I was reclining on the couch. He had been making tiny movements for a while, movements that feel like little gas bubbles or twitches, so I wasn’t sure till he gave a single, harsh kick. “Hey, I’m in here!” he says. Having movement that is independent of me feels like my body is just a container and that we’re both sharing it.

I found out that my former co-workers are throwing me a baby shower, even though it’s been a year since I left, and that really touches me. The high school where I used to work is a special place because of the desperation of its circumstances, its poverty and overcrowding. As a result, we teachers developed such tough bonds. We had nothing else.

I think that if I were given the choice, I’d wish that there were no way to determine a baby’s sex so that it would be a surprise on the delivery day. I kind of enjoyed carrying around a baby that was a big question mark. But…I figured since everyone working around me would eventually know my baby’s sex, then I should too.

My husband went with me to the sonogram appointment; I was really happy that he got to see the baby since he hasn’t been able to come with me to any of the prenatal appointments. It makes it more real for him. Our baby was hanging upside down in the womb sucking his thumb. He was also waving his arms around and being active. He looked so cute.

Initially, I had hoped for a girl, but the more I think about it, the happier I am that I’m carrying a boy. I have the sneaking suspicion that I’m going to love him beyond words.

My due date has officially been determined by Harbor-MacArthur Medical Center in Santa Ana to be November 21, 2007. If I deliver earlier than that, my husband will have his Scorpio baby. Otherwise, it will be a Sagittarius, like his dad, my twin uncles and my grandmother. Unforturnately, none of these people seem very blessed by the stars, so I’m hoping for a Scorpio baby myself.

Some nut who wrote the instructions for preparing for the sonogram wrote: “You must drink 24 ounces of water 1-1 ½ hours before your sonogram. Your bladder must be full.” I didn’t want to hold my bladder for that long, so I cheated a little. I drank about eighteen ounces of water before getting into my car and gulped down as much as I could on the forty minute drive over to the Kaiser Permanente facility.

By the time I was circling the parking lot looking for a parking space, my pelvis was tingling and I was cursing at the pregnant women who were slowly waddling their way over to the entrance and delaying my driving. I seriously doubted I would be able to get inside the building without whizzing all over the place.

The main reception area sent me over to the Imaging Reception area where there was a middle aged, chunky woman and a bald-headed man who looked like he hopped on motorcycles on the weekends and had tattooes all over his body. He looked sharp and out of place as a receptionist, the way a very masculine man would look out of place being forced to dress in a frilly pink apron and stiletto heels. The woman kept gabbing about something or other and delaying the line. I thought I was going to pee on the perfunctory brown office carpet.

Finally, the man motioned me to come over, and I thought, this is going to be embarrassing. I’m going to have to tell him that I need to pee really bad. He took my card and stared into the computer screen for a long time, as if he were reading my fortune in a jumble of tea leaves. Then he said, “Take a seat in the waiting room, and we’ll call you.” The waiting room was full of other people, half of them pregnant, waiting to get sonograms and other tests done. I panicked and thought, there is no way I’m going to be able to hold my pee for that long, even if I were going to be called up in five minutes.

So I said, “How long is the wait? You see I drank an amazing amount of water and I really need to use the bathroom.”

He said, completely cool, “They’re behind. It’s going to be another thirty minutes. I would use the restroom now and start drinking that water again.”

The sonogram itself was relatively easy. A woman in a semi-darkened room asked me to hop onto the examining table and lift my shirt to reveal my stomach and pull down my skirt and panties enough to partially expose my pelvis. She put some warm gell on the wand and clicked on the computer while she ran the wand over my ovaries and uterus and stomach. Finally, she shows me a picture of my uterus, which looks like a soft, rounded bird’s house with a rounded opening in the middle where something jelly-like and blobby was laying on the bottom. She pointed to its beating heart. In the informal sonogram I took on Monday, the baby was floating around. This time, it was settled on the bottom.

I’m feeling a little pregnant, nauseous and irritated. All I really want to do is lie on the couch with the windows open, the breeze blowing in, and maybe read or write a little. And in between resting, doing a little spring cleaning. I went through a funny sort of phase the week after I tested positive on the peeing stick. I kept imagining and feeling like my stomach was much bigger than it was. I bought some cute pregnancy tops and pants that I don’t need to wear yet. I can still fit into my own clothes, although I’m not going to wear my jeans anymore. I would rub my stomach and clutch it when as I slept or went to the toilet in the middle of the night. I noticed my husband rubbing his stomach when he came home from work and was casually chatting with me.

So far, no one seems to be able to tell that I’m pregnant, except me. I spent two days in my parents’ presence, wore my regular clothes, and they did not suspect at all. My protruding stomach must have been a delusion on my part, because I know that I’m ten, and honestly fifteen pounds, heavier than what I should be. How much of it is pregnancy weight gain, I’m not exactly sure.

Yesterday I went to my first prenatal visit. I filled out half an hour’s worth of paperwork about my health and family history. Ended up peeing into two cups and filling four vials full of blood, till my arm started getting pins and needles. I also had been felt all over, inside and out. But the true highlight of the visit was having the sonogram rubbed over my abdomen and having an image of my uterus and a tiny, tiny baby floating within its cavity show up on the the screen. Its heart, as small as a snowflake, was fluttering.

I don’t know when in my mind’s eye I imagined myself having a baby. It always seemed like it would be some time in the far future, even though I’m thirty-three already. And I expected that I would have difficulty getting pregnant, because I had been diagnosed with PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome). We had been trying for over a year now. So I am feeling really happy about this pregnancy.

At the same time, I can’t help feeling like the moment that I tested positive, like it was a moment of reckoning. My house isn’t even organized; I’m in the middle of still transitioning towards what I want to do with my life. And here I will have an eighteen-year commitment to another human being. It’s all a bit too awesome to think about.