A., of course, recovered just fine from the croup. I was able to reschedule my OB appointment and, blessedly, everything remained just hunky-dory with my health and baby’s. The stress I was feeling from the sudden loss of my husband’s job wasn’t taking any physical toll on me and I was super grateful for that.
Our days carried on and the months drifted by.
My husband, from the moment he learned about the fate of his job, had leaped to action. He took every opportunity he was given (resume reviews and interview skills, etc.) and would spend an entire work day’s worth of hours most days on the hunt for a new job.
And he was not picky. He applied for positions all over this country of ours. I have never been one to set real strong roots and my mom has always impressed upon me that, well, “you go where the job is.” When you’re without employment, you don’t have the luxury of getting all sentimental about it. You put on your big-girl pants and deal with whatever comes your way.
For us, that meant interviews all over this nation. When I was eight months pregnant, we had our first real “breakthrough.” My husband had made it past all the phone interviews and they wanted to meet him in person. That particular position? Happened to be less than twenty minutes from where my parents lived back in Connecticut. What are the odds??? Of the gazillions of resumes and applications, THIS was the one that was moving forward…
I didn’t tell my OB, but I hopped in the car to go along on that one. My poor husband. With a very pregnant wife and a newly potty-trained son, he had to make LOTS of stops. But it was lovely. I was able to see my family and his interview seemed to go well. It was definitely a bright spot.
Shortly after we got back to Indiana, he was again asked to come for an in-person interview– that time, in Oklahoma. It was with great anxiety that he left his 8 1/2 months-pregnant wife with two small children alone at home while he drove hours and hours and HOURS away. Even though the pregnancy was going smoothly (and, really, we were confident the baby would be okay born at that point, anyway), it was still scary…
Because, see, C’s birth had left more of a legacy than just a history of preterm delivery– it had also left me with a classical c-section in my past.
Classical c-sections run vertically, as opposed to the more common lateral cut. My external scar is actually very low and horizontal. But… internally? Up and down. They call that “cut both ways.” Sounds lovely, eh? Anyway, while more and more doctors seem to be open-minded and encouraging about women going for VBACs following section births, all the recommendations I have ever seen still caution against VBACs following classical sections. There is too great a risk of uterine rupture, apparently.
We had very legitimate reason to fear my going into spontaneous labor.
We knew I’d be having a repeat c-section– it was already scheduled. That bummed me out (for many, many reasons), but I am also a practical girl who has never believed that there’s some kind of superiority hierarchy when it comes to how our babies arrive– I want to see them arrive safely, and I’m not ignorant enough to believe there’s only one way that can happen.
Anyhow, I did NOT go into labor while my guy was in Oklahoma… I ate ravioli and watched “So You Think You Can Dance?” and missed his company. I attempted to water my 32 tomato plants in the 90 degree evening by hand since the garden hose wouldn’t reach… until Farmer Joe came next door and insisted I knock it off.
And I learned that even “planned births” don’t always go as planned…