As they prepped me for surgery when C. was born, a time so very frightening and dramatic, I recall murmuring to my husband, “Well, I guess we’ll probably only have two children, no matter how things work out, now… “
I don’t know for sure what was going through my head just then, but I imagine it was tied to the idea that we had always been one of those couples who wanted “two or three” kids. At that wild moment in time, I figured that one of two things was bound to happen: 1) this 24-week baby would survive and would have significant needs, thus making it difficult/impractical to have another child to care for OR 2) this baby wouldn’t survive and my possible third pregnancy would result in two living children.
Morbid? Perhaps, but it was a very intense, emotional time. This is just a peek into the wild thoughts that raced and swirled through my mind. I went into the OR fully expecting that I would wind up as a mother of two. One way or another, that was my “goal” at that point.
But C. made it. And beat a heck of a lot of odds. While it’s true that we brought her home on oxygen, an apnea monitor, and a feeding tube… while it’s true that she’s always received therapies and needed vision correction… realistically, by the time she was a year old, parenting her wasn’t all that different from any “typical” child. It certainly wasn’t terribly draining or time-consuming.
And I realized I wanted another baby.
Not too long after that, I was able to go off the anti-depressants and also the mini-Pill. I made quick work of dropping the weight I’d gained on those silly pills and felt oh-so much better about myself. I was neither “trying” nor “not trying” and, well, the result was that I did not get pregnant during 2007. And, really, I was fine with that. I was busy with my two little ones and feeling healthy and happy.
In 2008, I started blogging! I also started having issues with a lump that needed to be investigated. I wrote a lot more about that right here and, as you already know, I was unable to have the surgery upon which we had decided. Instead of laparoscopic surgery, I found out I would be getting a baby.
Awesome trade, in my opinion.
16 weeks pregnant with G.
Of course, because I had given birth at 24 weeks, I was never to be blessed with a cheerful, worry-free pregnancy again. Happy? Oh, yes. Yes, I was. But also, I was scared. I desperately wanted to make it further in this pregnancy. I feared going into preterm labor again, and since they simply had no idea what had caused it with C., there was really nothing I could do to even try to avoid it. I just had to hope. And pray.
That would have been stressful enough, to be honest. But, as I’ll tell you next week, I was about to have even more thrown on my plate… and the panic was about to set it.