Pregnancy and Parenting – LongLegsBigCity

Fast and Slow

May 21, 2025 2 Comments

I have learned a lot of things in the 10 months since A was born. Some things I have learned from experience, some from trial and error, and a good majority from Google and ChatGPT. I’ve learned practical skills, like how to dodge active parabolas of pee from an open diaper, and how long a bottle of formula can stay out at room temperature. I have also learned more abstract things, like patience, and SPEED.

I can say with confidence I have never moved as slow, or as fast, as I have in the last 10 months.

Let me tell you a story that inspired this post. About a month ago, I was on a glorious solo adventure to my favorite happy place, Trader Joe’s. I was at the checkout, chit-chatting away with the cashier, as one does at TJ’s, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw my empty basket falling off the side tray. Immediately without breaking conversation, I grabbed the basket to keep it from falling, but I was met with resistance. Turns out, there was a person attached to the basket, another Trader Joe’s employee who was collecting empty baskets. I reacted so quickly with my new cat-like reflexes, that it didn’t even occur to me that perhaps the basket was being intentionally moved. I started laughing and said to my new BFF, the cashier, “that’s how you know I have a mobile infant at home.”

I am QUICK now. Is A falling off the bed? Not on my watch. Is he trying to walk when he can’t quite yet and about to fall on the kitchen tiles? Not if I’m there. Is he trying to stuff my entire cell phone in his mouth as a teething toy? Ok, sometimes I am not quick enough with that one. My phone is covered in saliva about 20% of any given day.

I have become very fast, and I see EVERYTHING.

Sometimes, that speed comes at a cost. Example: last week, we were 10 minutes from bedtime, and I was trying to do all of the things that make noise, so I didn’t have to do them while he was sleeping. One of those quick-before-bed tasks is emptying the dishwasher because all of our things are glass and create loud noises when stacked in the cabinet. I am VERY fast at emptying the dishwasher. Too fast. This particular time, I broke a ceramic bowl. I have broken 5 or 6 things since A was born. Oops.

Other examples of speed? Preparing food in under a minute between when A is strapped in the high chair, and when he will unquestionably have a melt down because he doesn’t have food in his mouth within 60 seconds. Also an example of my speediness: folding laundry, making formula, washing all bottles, showering, putting the toys away, and watching an episode of The Pitt during one afternoon nap.

As I mentioned before, though, I have also learned to be veryyyy slow. I used to bring my phone when I would put A down to sleep. This was because I was breastfeeding and bored, but also because A didn’t know anything about phones. Now, phones are his favorite thing in the world (remember the saliva), so I spend a majority of my days hiding my phone from him and often from myself, where I can’t find it for hours. Anyway, my point is, I can no longer bring my phone when I’m putting him to sleep. That means every night, and twice a day for naps, I have at least 20 minutes of feeding a bottle while I stare at the wall, or close my eyes and just breathe. I don’t think I’ve done that in my entire life. I am a veryyyy on-the-go type of gal. I am NOT the breathe and stare at the wall type of gal. Well, I guess I am now.

I have also learned to sit and watch A while he covers his entire body, hair to toes, in food. I calmly pick up his spoon from the floor every time he drops or throws it and give it back to him. This goes on for about 30 minutes, 3 times a day. Every day. I honestly don’t know how I do it. I believe this is a superhuman power, worthy of commendation. I am thinking I should put it on my resume, although I may need to wordsmith it with a punchy action verb. I’m thinking, “Persevere and maintain serenity while child smears food on his person and the entire room 90 minutes daily.”

I am also now great at watching him watch things. Last weekend, I watched him watch the dryer for 10 full minutes. He was flapping his arms and squealing in excitement. I was sitting 5 feet away, phone hidden somewhere, watching him watch. One of our favorite evening activities is going to Lincoln Center and watching the fountain. Well, he watches the fountain. For many, many minutes. I mostly people-watch and judge the fashion of the opera-goers. Every night, and sometimes every morning, same walk, same fountain, same staring. When it’s raining and we can’t get to the fountain, we just watch the water feature in the lobby of our apartment building. For many, many minutes. Very slow. And I am thankful for every minute he is happy and squealing.

I won’t lie and say I never lose my patience. Sometimes I do. In fact, earlier this week after vodka sauce and avocado was all over the floor and I had picked up his spoon 13 times and given it back to him (without rinsing, who the hell got time for that?), I had to close my eyes and take 4 deep breaths. Every phase has difficulties, and my current absolute struggle is mealtime cleanups. But, eventually it gets done, and then we are back at the dryer or back at the box my espresso machine came in, flapping the box flaps up and down for 10 minutes.

I am sure someday I will remember these days fondly in all of their difficulties and slowness. I’ll wish that he spent more time crawling into my lap and covering my face with “kisses” aka saliva. For now, we just discovered swings last weekend, so that has been added to our repetitive repertoire. If you have other great ways to entertain an extremely active 10 month old, send them my way.

Parenting After Loss

8 Weeks with Baby A, 28 Weeks Late

May 14, 2025 3 Comments

Last week when I decided to write about my New England Road Trip, I looked back to see when I had last posted. Imagine my surprise when I realized I had written a blog in late September, but never posted it.

Actually, I was not surprised at all because I was functioning on about 4 total brain cells. Good news is, I still have the never-published content and before I start posting new alive-baby-parenting content (which I fully intend to do… I’m determined!), I figured I would publish my 7-month-old post. Next week, I’ll post more about my current thoughts – it will be fun to see how much has changed!

Whew! We are back on the blog. I will probably get 3 paragraphs written before I am once again needed as a milk maid, so this may be brief.

A is healthy and he is GROWING. And I do mean that in all caps. That boy eats and eats and eats, and he is packing on the pounds! He is almost 4 pounds heavier than he was when we left the hospital, so he has basically gained 70% of his weight in 8 weeks. Imagine if that happened to you? Yikes.

Being a new mom of a living baby is HARD.

There are a few things that no one really talks about, and since so many moms gatekeep this VERY important information, I am going to share it.

Breastfeeding is the devil, I don’t care what anyone says. I am 100% convinced that anyone who says it’s easy and they are “lucky” is lying. I don’t believe it is easy for anyone. There are far too many products on the market to ameliorate a myriad of issues related to it for it to be “easy” for anyone. I believe that people get used to it, but I don’t believe that it’s just fine.
Another fact that was gatekept: newborns are LOUD AF when they sleep. I don’t know who came up with the term, “sleeping like a baby,” but NOT MY BABY. I asked a mom friend (hi Randi!) why my child sounded like he was in horrific agonizing grunting pain every time he slept but appeared peaceful and she called them “gremlin noises,” which is exactly right. My son is a bridge troll. Supposedly it gets better with time. TBD. I’ll tell you this, it’s impossible for ME to sleep through, no matter how calm he looks. This brings me to my next point,

Being a new mom of a living baby is HARD. But being a loss mom of a living baby is harder. I know way too many ways for him to die.Every little noise sends me into complete panic. Yes, he LOOKS calm but IS HE DYING?! The answer in my brain is YES, NO QUESTION. You should see my 4 am Google searches. They almost all start with, “is something wrong if…” or “is it normal if…” or “is my 6 week old dying if…”

My husband and I have been experimenting with all different types of sleeping arrangements, different rooms, splitting time in the night, splitting rooms, switching sides of the bed, having family come to help, etc. We have been playing musical chairs with the couch, our bed and the guest bed. So far, nothing has really worked to reduce my anxiety besides just me removing myself from the rooms our baby is in. My husband’s been taking nights completely solo, even though he has been back at work for over a month. While I hate that he has to do that, I need to make sure I’m awake and alert during the day when I’m alone with A. It has definitely been a balancing act, and again, I’m so lucky to have a supportive partner.

I won’t even get into the “mom guilt” associated with not being able to sleep in the same room as my child, but that could be a whole other post and I’m already on borrowed time – valuable time that I could be sleeping!

Oh yes, another point I wanted to raise. I LOVE FOOD. But I had never been faced with the question, “if you had one hour and you could either eat or sleep, which would you do?” If you asked me 3 months ago, I would have said eat. Not anymore. Eating has been a huge challenge because my answer to that question is always “sleep,” and it wins every time. But I know I need to fuel my body and I’ve been asking some mom friends for their easiest, “eat this over your child’s head while feeding them” snacks because I have been struggling to figure it out. As an always-chubby-kid, never once in my life did I hear a doctor say they were “concerned about my rapid weight loss,” which is what my nephrologist said to me last week. HA! Someone please call my childhood pediatrician. Anyway, I’ve stocked up on protein bars and pretzels and cheese slices and trail mix, and other things I can easily munch on. Another reminder here not to comment on a woman’s body, because every time someone says I look “great for just having a baby,” it reminds me how I am struggling to find time to both care for my child and eat food.

For some reason I thought that babies would take a lot of naps, probably because the internet says so. What they didn’t say was, your baby will only take naps ON YOU, on your chest, with you 100% ramrod still and barely breathing. God forbid you have to get up to pee: cue meltdown.

OR, the other option, they’ll nap in a carrier, strapped to your front, while you are walking. God forbid you stop walking: cue meltdown.

Depending on his nap of choice, I either get <2000 steps for the day, or >16,000.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the cuddles, and he smells like a newborn, which is the best smell ever, (sometimes mixed with poo), and I feel so incredibly lucky to have him in my arms. I just thought I’d get more done. Alas, there is a season for everything, and this season is not the one for productivity!

I will be on the blog whenever I can manage, but for now, you can find me covered in bodily fluids (some mine, some his) and on the floor, saying things like, “What do you see? A wall? Cool!”

Photo for reference. Me, eating a taco bowl over my sleeping baby’s head. Very normal. Also, he was 15 weeks here, so you can see this trend didn’t stop.

Parenting After Loss

Another First Mother’s Day

May 11, 2025 No Comments

Here we are, my very first Mother’s Day with a living baby. But… it’s not my first Mother’s Day.

In 2022, I was 1 week away from my wedding when Mother’s Day hit. It was the furthest thing from my mind. I called my mom, of course, but Mother’s Day wasn’t a big thing in our house growing up, so we didn’t have any huge tradition.

Later in 2022, I became pregnant with Maliyah, and in March 2023, I became not-pregnant. But, no living baby. All before Mother’s Day, 2023.

Was Mother’s Day 2023 my first Mother’s Day? Did I become a mom when I got pregnant? Did I become a mom when I went through labor and delivery? Or did I not become a mom because I never had a living baby in my arms? Mother’s Day 2023 was not only extremely depressing, but very confusing. I hid from the world. I remember I called my mom early in the morning to make sure I didn’t forget, and to get it out of the way so I could hide in my apartment all day. I was terrified to see intact families with alive children at a restaurant, or on the sidewalk, or in the card aisle of Duane Reade. Actually, that’s not true. I went to the movie theater and got a bucket of popcorn and THEN hid at home and ate it by myself in bed.

Then in 2024, I was around 29 weeks pregnant with A when Mother’s Day rolled around. Was 2024 my first Mother’s Day? I was visibly pregnant, but I still had no confidence that I’d be bringing home an alive baby. I received a lot of “Happy Mother’s Days.” It was extremely weird and depressing yet again, because no one recognized me the year prior. I felt just as much a mom in 2024 at Mother’s Day as I felt in 2023. In 2023 I had no living children and I had been 25 weeks pregnant earlier that year. In 2024, I had no living child and I was 29 weeks pregnant. What was the difference?

And now, it’s 2025. And again, I struggle to decide if it’s my first Mother’s Day. People seem to think it is. I have a living baby. (I am writing this 2 days in advance, but I hope he is still alive Sunday). I went through (another) labor and delivery in the past 12 months. I think now, to the whole population, there’s no question I am a mom. But the question remains, was I before? It’s confusing.

Here’s what I know: It’s hard being a dead baby’s mom. It’s hard being an alive baby’s mom. They are both exhausting. One because you’re busy doing nothing but crying all day long. The other, because you’re busy doing nothing but trying to prevent another person from crying all day long. But only the latter is recognized by Hallmark.

I am torn between which is “harder,” but I know I do a lot now for A every day. Early wake ups. Late wakeups. Clean ups. Wipe downs. Stroller walks. Carrier walks. Cleaning toys. Cleaning poop. Cleaning floors. Cleaning bottles. Rocking. Crawling. Mimicking Pterodactyl sounds. It’s a lot, and I appreciate being recognized for it. On Mother’s Day, yes, but also on other days. Chris got me flowers on Friday. They are beautiful. Part of me wants to go out to brunch at a restaurant with my alive baby, and just be a normal alive-baby-mom for normal Mother’s Day. I wanted that so badly for so many years. But part of me feels weird forgetting about those years like they didn’t happen. I’m also thinking of all of the other non-visible moms hiding in their homes from the Duane Reade card aisle. Part of me is still them.

When A was born, I received a gift of “My First” bibs, with all of the holidays including Mother’s Day. This whole week I have been looking forward to wearing matching outfits, me in a dress, and A in a romper, and putting him in his “My First Mother’s Day” bib for photos. Again, it’s definitely his first Mother’s Day, but is it mine?

Then Wednesday, I started thinking about what that same photo would look like with Maliyah in a matching dress, standing on her own, running around while I held Amari, who still can’t quite stand without support. How strange I could have two kids. How strange I DO have two kids, but only one who is here for photos. I’m waiting to feel like a normal mom. Some days, I feel like one, but on holidays like these, it’s hard not to feel different.

I’ll end by saying happy Mother’s Day to everyone who believes they are a mom, whether or not you are recognized by strangers, families, Hallmark or anyone else. I see you and I celebrate you and your strength.

Parenting After Loss

Alive-Baby-Mom

September 18, 2024 2 Comments

Here are some things I love about being an alive-baby-mom:

Looking at him every day and realizing he’s alive.
Looking at him every day and wondering who he looks like. So far, neither of us, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d be mildly concerned.
Looking at him every day. (Sensing a trend?)
Taking a million photos and knowing my camera roll is full of cuteness.
Comparing him from weeks prior and watching him grow. He’s so alive!
The looks I get when I wear him in the carrier. Everyone on the sidewalk smiles or makes little pouty faces at me and says, “aww he’s brand new!”
Wondering what his personality will be like, and when he will mimic our facial expressions.
Matching outfits, or semi-matching. Many more to come, I’m sure.
His tiny little fists when he’s hungry. TBH that’s how I feel when I’m hungry, too.
Walking past playgrounds and thinking about days I’ll be there playing as opposed to how I used to walk by and wonder if I’d ever get to go there and play.
How he grabs on to anything and everything, especially Maliyah’s necklace or the collar of my shirt, less cute when it’s my hair.
The hilarious newborn-mom Instagram reels. Maybe they’re funnier at 4 am while I’m up feeding, but they’re pretty dang funny.
I’ve always been a night owl, but I can finally get to sleep before midnight! Even before 10 some nights.

Here are some of the less glorious parts of being an alive-baby-mom:

Sleep deprivation
Constant grimey body, covered in who knows what
Having your cleaner come over and realizing that you have used your shower once since the last time she cleaned it.
Extreme exhaustion
Every part of your body aching from holding, burping, holding, walking, holding, feeding, holding
I’m not even going to get into the boob problems. Save that for another time.
The fact that it takes hours to get anywhere, and sometimes you just don’t get anywhere all day
Watching Instagram stories of other people doing things out in the world and wondering if you’ll ever leave the house again

But, he’s alive. And the new adventures are just beginning. I cannot wait for him to start smiling at us, they say it will happen SOON. And then, I can’t wait for him to actually recognize/see me and smile when I get close to him. More exciting days are coming!

Pregnancy After Loss

Welcome to the World Little Bro!

August 21, 2024 7 Comments

He’s here!!! I have an alive baby (calling him “A” for now), and he is outside of my body. It is insane. I still sometimes wake up in shock.

I have so much to say but:

I have no time to write it down
I’m way too tired
I probably make very little sense due to #2.

I knew I owed you all an update, and I have gotten a few thinly veiled “…how are you doing??” texts because people are afraid to ask pointedly, “are you and your baby alive?”

Here are a few short updates in bullet form because sentences are hard:

Labor and delivery went extremely smoothly. I think that was a gift from Maliyah because she knew I couldn’t handle any extra complications. We only had one very short scare (which of course sent me spiraling and sobbing), but otherwise everything was quick and uneventful.
I have definitely cried far more than A has. He was born with so much hair and I keep saying I think saltwater makes it grow because the first few weeks I was basically crying on it constantly.
The grief of being in the same hospital with an alive baby was a LOT. Even just being discharged should have been joyful but it was complicated. Discharge for normal patients is at 11 am. This time we left with a group of new parents with babies in car seats, and a bustling hospital lobby. It was so starkly different from being discharged at 10 pm on a Sunday night, empty handed.
Things are BUSY with a baby but also extremely NOT busy. It’s hard to explain but if you ask me what I did in a day, I’ll say both “nothing” and “oh my god I’m so exhausted.”
I do NOT know how single moms do it. Because my husband went back to work after 2 weeks and he still comes home at night, and it is a CHALLENGE. And twin moms??? Good grief. I don’t know how. I said “moms” mostly because of feeding. Which brings me to my next point.
Breastfeeding??? What in the literal f&^% how come no one is talking about this unique form of torture???? It hurts if you do it, it hurts if you don’t. Everything hurts. Boobs. Shoulders. Back. Neck. Brain.
The stress of feeding is exacerbated by the fact that A was a little small. He was fine, and didn’t need any time in the NICU, which I was extremely grateful for, but he was almost a full pound smaller than I thought he’d be. I know the growth scans can be wrong, but I was thrown off. I immediately went to, “he’s starving. He’s dying.” Spoiler alert, he was not starving. But the adjustment of my expectations, especially when I am LONG LEGS BIG CITY and he was “tiny bean,” was hard.
I thought that the solo assignment was the pregnancy and the “keeping an alive-baby alive” was the group project portion. Why does breastfeeding make it feel like an extension of the solo assignment? I was not prepared for that feeling of, once again, being solely responsible for keeping him alive.
Being a loss mom makes this extra hard. On bad days I think, “my body already killed one baby, why wouldn’t it malfunction, not produce enough food, and kill another?” On good days I think, “there’s formula and he will be fine.” And then my husband can help.
Last year, I became acutely aware of just how tied my physical and mental health are. The body keeps the score. This is once again a reality with sleep deprivation. A social worker I spoke to said, at some point, you need to prescribe yourself sleep. It’s like a medication, you need it, your body needs it, and lack of it is cumulative. I can literally watch how my lack of sleep impacts my blood pressure and it’s true, sleep is necessary. We’re working on it.
Related… blood pressure. It’s stressful to have a human rely on you! I have been back to the hospital once since discharge, 7 days post-partum. Talk about continuing re-traumatization. Again, they took my blood pressure in triage. Again, it was severe range. Again, I had an IV put in. Again, they had the blood pressure cuff going off every 15 minutes. Again, they had to put the pulse ox on my middle finger because it had lighter nail polish. And this time, I was thinking, “now if I die, A has no mom.” Cue more tears. Thankfully they seem to have everything under control now and I’m a different dosage of meds and monitoring everything extremely closely at home.
I had a loss mom ask me how loving A is different than loving Maliyah and how I could love anyone more than Maliyah. It was such an interesting question that was difficult to answer with my currently-limited mental capacity. But the main answer is… it’s so different. With Maliyah, I always felt like she knew I loved her, and she couldn’t tell me otherwise. I had no way to reinforce that thought either way, so I just had to believe that what I was doing/saying/writing/feeling was enough. With A, it’s like… is it enough? Does he KNOW? If he does, why is he crying so much? There’s a live feedback loop that always makes me feel like I’m not doing enough.
My main struggle at the moment is trying to find a community. I love my loss moms so much. I loved my Pregnancy After Loss weekly support group. And now, I’m alone. I’m still a loss mom, but now I have what so many loss moms desperately want so I am not fully in the group anymore. And I am definitely not a normal mom. I’ve tried a little bit of convo with other moms and it’s good to know some of our worries are the same, but sometimes mine feel so much more serious because I immediately go to full catastrophe mode. Like A was small, and I could have just put him in newborn-size clothes, but I was terrified the fabric would somehow ride up over his face and he’d suffocate. I couldn’t sleep at all until we got him preemie clothes and a zipper swaddle (these things are life-changing).
Also related to not relating to moms, it’s really difficult for me to ask for or listen to advice. I know moms with living kids know better, they have done this before. They have feeding tips, sleep tips, etc. But I should have done this before. I should know what I’m doing because I should have an 18-month-old. But I don’t, I have a newborn and I never got to do any of this with Maliyah. Any time moms say, “this worked for me,” I hear, “I know better because my baby lived.” And the hard part is, they’re always right. I don’t know what I’m doing. This is new to me. But it’s hard to hear because I know how my story should have gone. It’s a lot of mental work to push down my thoughts of inadequacy and instead accept advice and tips.
At our first pediatrician appointment 3 days after A was born, the doctor said, “you’re both new at this, you’re both learning.” I try to channel that energy and remember that we are figuring this out together.

A is sleeping right now, which means I know I should be sleeping too, so I’ll finish this post off with a shoutout to my husband. He has been exceeding my expectations at every single turn. He has been watching out for both my mental and physical health. He was the one who pushed us to go back to the hospital when I needed to. He is the one who advocated for going to a post-natal retreat so we could relax and ease into this new life, and learn crucial skills. He has purchased (and assembled) all of the baby stuff in the house to make sure we are as well-stocked and comfortable as possible. This included finding a service that delivered preemie size diapers within an hour. He has been changing diapers and feeding A like a champion, and sleeping in shifts despite already being back at work. As I said before, I do not know how single moms do it, and I’m so grateful to have a partner in this and in everything. A few days ago, I said to him, “you know, I still love Maliyah,” and he said he does, too. We’re in a new chapter of our story, and I’m so thankful to have had him in my previous ones, and I’m excited to have him in my future ones as well.

Pregnancy After Loss

It’s the Final Countdown

July 24, 2024 3 Comments

Here we are. The final days of this pregnancy.

I apologize in advance for the stream-of-consciousness format of this blog, it is more of a brain dump than a thought-out post. This is the type of thing that usually goes in my journal. I have many pages of thoughts there too, and I’m sure I’ll add to that tomorrow, the day before I go to the hospital.

I want to start here: I am so glad that I have an induction date. Knowing there is a time at which I will no longer be pregnant is a godsend. We haven’t really told anyone my exact induction date, because I have enough stress in my mind about it. I can’t handle the other stress of people checking in, calling, and “seeing” how I am. Here’s how I am: STRESSED OUT OF MY MIND.

Here is a list of my worries:

Worry 1: The baby will somehow die inside me before my induction date. I am so hyper aware of his movements, and I live in constant fear that he is moving less, more, or differently. The main issue is, he tends to move in the morning or at night, so that leaves MANY hours midday where I am in a sheer panic.
Worry 2: I will go into spontaneous labor before my induction date. This is a fear, but not one of my top ones because I know I will just proceed immediately to the hospital. Do not pass go, do not collect $200 (more like pay $200,000 in medical bills). I have a friend who was scheduled for a c-section the same day as me, and she had her baby a week earlier. Her baby is doing great, so this helped allay this fear slightly.
Worry 3: Labor will take a long time because I’m being induced, and because it took 31 hours last time.
- Note: my fear is not the time I will be in labor, but the fact that the longer amount of time I’m in labor, the more stressed I will be, which will raise my blood pressure, which will then force them to put me on magnesium sulfate again either during or after labor. Note on the note: my doctor warned me about this, and said I should be very vocal about my fears and my severe white-coat-hypertension so they can get ahead of it. She also recommended pain meds as soon as possible for this reason.
- Second note, I’m not super afraid of mag because I was on it for four days last year, but it’s not fun. It means no food, it means nausea, it means feeling like your face is on fire, but your body is in hypothermia. It also means full body shivers, again, not the worst thing in the world if it prevents seizures, but not a good time.
Final Fear: I will die. I suppose this is rare because I’ll likely be in the hospital already and hopefully, they will be watching me carefully, but knowing it almost happened a year ago, it seems naïve to assume it won’t happen again.

Even with those worries, I’m still glad I have an end date. I feel like I have been pregnant for three years. I HAVE been pregnant for three years. I was pregnant 3 months of 2022. I was pregnant 2 months at the top of 2023. Then I was postpartum. The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists considers 3 months to be “postpartum,” also known as the “fourth trimester.” But some people consider individuals to be postpartum for as long as 12 months after birth. Then I was pregnant again for two months at the tail end of 2023. And I have been pregnant for 7, almost 8 months of 2024. I am ready to be DONE. Having an end date is good for my mental health.

That said, having an induction date looming is extremely nerve-wracking and intimidating. The idea that there is a legitimate countdown makes the minutes of every day move at a glacial pace.

I have been trying to create distractions for myself. Here are a few things I have done:

Laundry. Just when I think I’ve washed everything, I find more things to wash. Couch cushion covers. Our entire linen closet of extra sheets and towels. Purple Bear. Every eye mask we own.
Online shopped. It just so happens that Amazon Prime Day AND the Nordstrom Anniversary sale took place the week before my induction. If that wasn’t the universe saying, “Emily, you did the right thing by not buying a single thing for this baby until the last minute,” then I don’t know what it was.
Attempted to clean the area rugs we have. This was a fail, and the viral vacuum I bought from Amazon will be returned.
Checked social media constantly.
Scheduled dates with Chris and friends, including a comedy show, dinner, and multiple ice cream dates.
Finished the Medium and Hard Sudoku every day from the New York Times.
Went on walks if the temperature got below 84.
Watched Love Island.
Wrote this post.

A lot of websites say to have your hospital bag packed and ready by the front door at around 32-34 weeks. I couldn’t imagine needing one, so I never packed one. Yesterday, at 37 weeks, 4 days, I finally started putting things in a bag. As I have been saying to people, within a week, this baby is coming out, dead or alive. So, I guess I should have a bag. Then again, last time I went to the hospital thinking I’d be there for 2 hours max, get some BP meds, and go to sleep at home. That evening, I brought a Stanley cup of water, my phone charger, one pair of contacts, and my Kindle. I was there a week. I live close enough to the hospital that my sister and husband were able to go pick up stuff for me. This time, knowing that, I’m not worried about forgetting anything.

People talk a lot about buying/bringing a “going home outfit” for yourself and the baby. How confident! I’m not sure my baby will be going home, nor am I sure I will be. Body bags for both of us are the “going home outfit” that floats around in my mind on my bad days. But last week I finally considered the other option, and got a cute outfit for him. Worst case scenario, he’s dead and I lost $9.99 and guess what, that’s the least of my worries.

It’s crazy to me that people plan their hospital stay. They assume things will go well and that they’ll be out in 2-3 days. This is still a mystery to me. I kind of assume we will face some complication or another (hemorrhage, emergency c-section, random postpartum blood pressure spike…) that will force me to stay there longer than the initially planned time. For that reason, even though I know it’s fine if I forget things, I am bringing whatever will make me feel comfortable or slightly less uncomfortable. I know they give a toiletry bag with travel supplies, but I want MY shampoo and MY facewash. What if I’m there for 6 days again? If facewash makes me feel more human, then I’ll bring it. Let them judge the size of my bag. I really DGAF. This is also why we have kept the exact dates of our hospital stay a secret. The pressure of giving updates is too much, especially if things are tenuous and the stay is longer than originally planned.

My mom asked me yesterday if we finally “thought we were going to have a baby.” I answered this easily: “yes.” The real question is… do we think we’re going to have an ALIVE baby. And my answer to that is, I’m still on the fence. It’s so hard to imagine things going well. Yes, even now. Somehow, he needs to get from inside my body to outside, and not kill me in the process. Every single night we say goodnight to him, and every single night we say, “please don’t kill your mama.” While we are so close to the finish line, for normal people, they may say the hardest part is yet to come. For me, this ENTIRE thing has been a hard part. I kept waiting to feel assured or hopeful, and that time never came.

I’m hopeful that being in the hospital will help. I’m hopeful that hearing his heartbeat on a monitor will calm me. Last time, when Maliyah died and they took the monitors off me before inducing labor, it was both a relief because they kept slipping off my stomach, and completely devastating, because I knew there was nothing left to listen to.

This time around, I’ve been having weekly non-stress tests (NSTs) for almost two months, and I find that I am the most relaxed hooked up to those monitors than any other time. Hearing his heart beating, and knowing that if anything goes wrong, I’m in the exact right place, there’s nothing like that sense of peace. Almost every time, I nearly fall asleep because it’s the one time I am calm. I am hopeful I will feel that way when I show up at the hospital for my induction.

One of my biggest worries that is unrelated to this pregnancy is that people will forget about Maliyah. I’ve talked about this in a few prior posts, first in the one about Invisible Grief, then again in No, It’s Not my First. Not only is this a concern for after he is born with friends and family talking to us as “new parents” or saying, “you’re going to be parents!” (already happened many, many times), but we also thought about this extensively for our stay in the hospital.

Chris and I attended a Childbirth for Pregnant After Loss Parents class, and one of the things they recommended was a sign for the hospital room door. I was hesitant to make one, because I know doctors and nurses rarely read my chart, so why would they read a door sign? That said, my support group coordinator (also a nurse) said it can be helpful for staff, and it may make me feel like at least I’ve done everything I can. Even if it only saves me retelling my story one time, that may be worthwhile. In what is bound to be a stressful situation, it made sense to try and reduce the stress any way I could, so we made a sign based on a few examples from the class and from PAL friends I met in my support group. I also felt that having a sign on the door could be a moment for passive education. Last year in the hospital, every time Chris was in the hallway he was congratulated by other dads-to-be. Of course I can’t blame them, how would they know? But I do think it’s a moment to have people recognize while they walk down the hall that things are not always unicorns and sunshine, and maybe they will think twice in the future.

Speaking of the hospital, I also wanted to make sure I had something of Maliyah’s with me in the delivery room. It feels so strange to know I’m walking into the same hospital, on the same floor where I delivered her, but without her. We decided to bring laminated copies of her feet and handprints with us, as well as the jewelry I wear all the time (a ring with hers and my birthstone, and a necklace with three diamonds for the three of us, and her name engraved on the inside). I hope to get a photo of this baby’s hands next to hers, so we can introduce him to his big sis. While it’s gut-wrenchingly sad to know that they will never meet here on Earth, it felt really important to me to have them be together in some way at the beginning of his life.

This post has gotten very long. I guess I had a lot of thoughts. I am hoping this blog post closes the chapter of PAL blogs for at least a while. My brain and body need a break, and I need to move on to new worries. Every time I mention to a non-loss mom how I can’t wait to not be stressed anymore, without fail they say, “you’ll just have new worries!” Quick tip: don’t say that. Also, I obviously know that. I will be worried about keeping this child alive forever. But at least after he’s out of my body, it won’t be solely my responsibility, and I may have some visual clues. I cannot wait to share the responsibility with someone else.

See you on the other side…

(Written at: 37 weeks, 5 days)

Pregnancy After Loss

Hot Girl Summer

July 17, 2024 2 Comments

SURPRISE! Somehow, it’s July. But the real surprise is, SOMEHOW, I’m still pregnant. This was unexpected. I guess for a normal person it would not have been unexpected, because of the whole, “takes 10 months to make a baby” situation of the human species, but for ME? Unexpected.

So here I am, sweating my face off, heat wave after heat wave, and… baby is still cooking.

Don’t get me wrong, this is extremely good news.

My expectations of the summer were either: 1. have a second dead baby in a row and be absolutely devastated waiting for a bus to drive through my window or 2. Have a VERY early baby in the NICU and live back and forth from the hospital or I guess bonus #3. Be hospitalized and on bed rest for as long as we can keep this baby in.

But alas, there was a sneaky #4 I had no expectation for: still be pregnant, living at home, and working at my job, business-as-usual.

So that leaves me here, with hot girl summer, or as I should call it, “no-plans-girl-summer.”

I made no plans for this whole season because of the aforementioned 3 ways I saw this summer going down, but I also made no plans because I’m scared to leave the radius of 10-minute-Uber-to-hospital, and also because going to shows/Central Park/outdoor events etc., means lack of available of bathrooms. Also, did I mention it’s been routinely over 100 degrees on the heat index? No thank you.

I have settled into a comfortable routine of:

Wake up in air-conditioned bedroom
Take meds
Transition to air-conditioned living room
Work on laptop
Go to air-conditioned gym if I can handle the walk there and back
Watch tv in air conditioning
Go to sleep back in air-conditioned bedroom

Plus of course the 3-4 doctor appointments per week, which, depending on weather and time of morning, I am transporting myself there in an air-conditioned Uber, or an air-conditioned bus.

I must admit, it’s weird to watch people have summer plans all around me. There are people at lake houses, people on family vacations, people on wine tours, and of course 90% of my Instagram is back and forth to Europe to see Taylor Swift. Then there’s me, thankful to be cool, home, and pregnant.

Monday, I went to see my nephrologist and she seemed completely floored by how uneventful this pregnancy has been so far. She finished my appointment by saying, “your job right now is to do nothing. Don’t go doing something stupid like traveling to the Hamptons for the weekend, and getting stuck having this baby in a small hospital on the island.” This made me laugh harder than I had in weeks. She clearly does not understand my anxiety that barely allows me to travel downtown for fear that an ambulance wouldn’t take me to the hospital of my choosing. I will heed her advice and I will not be traveling.

The weird part about staying home and having no plans, is that most people are in a frenzy right before they have a baby. There are so many things to do! Paint the nursery, put together the crib and changing table. Assemble the stroller, host the baby shower, do the maternity photoshoot. (Funny sidenote, my sister-in-law asked when I was doing a maternity shoot and I cackled. I said, “when he’s alive.”)

For all of those reasons, people sometimes take off work before giving birth to “nest.” Nesting is for people who know (rightly or wrongly) that they are going to be bringing home a living baby. I am not one of those people. I am not sure, and I am sure as hell not ready. But I am ok with that, and I’ve come to terms with it.

I don’t want to sit around a house I have completely changed for the impending additional occupant, while I have no certainty this baby will make it out alive and think about all the things I do or don’t have, for a baby I may or may not have.

Since 34 weeks, I’ve been slowly putting little baby things here and there around the apartment. I consider it exposure therapy. I refuse to buy diapers, but I do have a fully-assembled baby swing in my living room. It’s a bit anxiety-provoking, since it’s sitting there empty, but it’s helping me wrap my brain around the possibility of having someone in it. At 34 weeks, 4 days, we picked up a bassinet from Buy Nothing. It is in our bedroom. That one was very difficult. For a few days, it was hard to walk into the room and see anything else.

I’ve also been working on a few need-to-do items on my to-do list, mostly around keeping this baby safe and healthy. Since I know that is my absolute #1 priority, I have been swallowing my fear and anxiety, and doing the scary tasks anyway. For example, I took a 4 hour online-CPR class for infants. Last year, I signed up for an in-person class, and the next week I had to write them to cancel. While I think hands-on experience is better than an online class, I was a bit relieved when I saw I was too late for the live classes and they were all booked up. I can’t imagine myself in a room with normal moms-to-be who are doing this class out of a sense of obligation, not because they actually know babies who have died from SIDS. I have also begun researching/interviewing pediatricians. Again, I didn’t do this because I wanted to, but because my doctor told me to, and because I know I will need a doctor who understands how important it is for me to keep my son healthy.

The whole “buying stuff for the baby” is still an issue for me. I have found that second-hand things are far easier for me to stomach. The idea of going to a store and walking through a baby aisle with happy and naïve moms-to-be, the idea of having this baby boy specifically in mind while I pick out an outfit and picture him wearing it, I just can’t do it. I see a cute “going home outfit” and I imagine him dead in it. I know that sounds horrible, but it just is what it is. So, I have trouble with purchases.

Here are some things we have: a lot of second-hand clothes, a secondhand baby swing, a secondhand bassinet.

Here are things we don’t have: diapers, wipes, a stroller and a car seat.

For some reason, the items in the latter category seem like a hurdle the height of Mount Everest. For diapers, if he’s dead, who will I put diapers on? For strollers, stroller shopping is the last thing we did for Maliyah before I went in the hospital. We decided on one and then never got to buy it. I just can’t bring myself to get one. And the car seat is the hardest one of all. It’s the one thing required by the hospital for you to take your little one home. But what if we don’t get to take him home? Buying a car seat seems so overly confident, it seems like tempting fate.

I know it’s close to the time when these things are necessary, but the advantage of 1 day delivery and living in NYC is, it’s not actually urgent. It feels like it when I see people on social media, but it’s really not. By the time I leave the hospital, if I have an alive baby, everything will have been delivered (pun intended).

So for now, I will do nothing. I will stay inside in the air conditioning, I will drink water, and I will go to my doctors’ appointments. I will wake up every day, lay completely still in bed until I have reassurance that he is alive, then I will thank all of the gods in the universe, and then I will distract myself. I am getting VERY good at Sudoku.

(Written at: 35 weeks, 6 days)

Pregnancy After Loss

Milestones

July 9, 2024 1 Comment

motivational simple inscription against doubts

Last week in therapy, I told my therapist I was 28 weeks pregnant and she said, “wow that’s amazing, so you made it to your goal!” I started laughing and I said, honestly, I’ve made it to a lot of my goals, but I keep moving the goal post.

Later in the week, I had a similar conversation with a friend who was a college athlete and she told me that my mindset was an athlete mentality of taking things one step at a time to mentally push through hard things. That’s exactly how I feel. First hurdle: AFP test. Second hurdle: Maliyah’s gestational age. Next: 7 months. Next: 30 weeks or “still be pregnant on my birthday.” My absolute ultimate goal is to make it to July, which gets closer every day, but I’ve also come to a sense of peace that it may not happen and that’s also ok, because my REAL ultimate goal is a living, healthy baby.

But this post isn’t about simply gestational age milestones. First of all, that’s boring, and second of all, every single day is a milestone for PAL moms. Shit, every single minute feels like a milestone on some days!

Today I wanted to talk about other milestones. There have been a lot, and there are many more to go.

Let me start by saying, much of this post is an ode to myself. Just like my “Proud of Myself 2023” post, I am proud of myself for each and every one of these things. To a non-loss parent, some of these things may seem inconsequential. But for a loss parent, each one of these was like Everest and sometimes the mere thought of scaling the task took my breath away. I’m not seeking congratulations, affirmations, compliments or well wishes. I’m writing this to open the eyes of those who may not realize how small things seem HUGE, and how important it is to recognize small wins.

Interestingly, I had a conversation about this (recognizing wins) in therapy this week, too. I go to a lot of therapy. I was lamenting all of the things I haven’t been able to do (create a registry, have anything related to a baby in the house, call our baby by name) and all of the things I have had to scale back on (going to the gym, hanging out with friends). My therapist spent a full three minutes reminding me of all of the things I have done, how far I’ve come, and suggesting that maybe, just maybe, I was setting the bar too high for myself to ensure I’d never reach it and set myself up for failure. It’s possible. I have high expectations!

Me: I quit law.

Therapist: …After you graduated law school and passed two bar exams and got a job at a law firm that was a terrible work environment.

I guess she has some good points.

So anyway, I decided to dedicate this week’s post to my personal achievements relating to this new baby. The first milestone happened before I was even pregnant.

My first milestone for myself was following Pregnancy After Loss Instagram accounts. The thought of entering another pregnancy was daunting. The idea that I would willfully engage in the content was a huge step in and of itself for me. Long before I took a pregnancy test, I was favorite-ing inspirational quotes about “one day at a time” or “different pregnancy, different outcome.” I was hoping that by swiping by these mantras on social media, they would somehow mind-meld into my thoughts. Osmosis works, right? It’s how Chandler thought he was a strong, confident woman (there is ALWAYS a Friends reference). I’m not sure if any of it worked, but the mere following of accounts that mentioned alive babies, or ongoing pregnancies, as opposed to following solely loss-parent accounts and muting anyone with a child, was a big step for me.

The next milestone came in the form of feeling movement from baby boy. With Maliyah, I had an anterior placenta, so I didn’t feel movement until much later in pregnancy, and I was never able to feel her from the outside. This also meant that Chris was never able to feel her moving. The first few weeks of movement for this pregnancy, I was in a bit of denial. First, it started a lot earlier! I wasn’t sure if I was making it up. For a while, I ignored it. Then eventually, I would put my hand on my stomach at night (another mini-milestone) and see if I could feel him kicking around. Eventually, I knew I could. Again, I waited a few days-weeks until I said anything. Then, I told Chris. When I finally told him and let him put his hand on my stomach, that was a massive milestone for me. The idea that we were both in on this, and we could both fall so so so far, was something that took me a long time to reckon with.

Some people are excited to be a cute pregnant person in cute pregnant-people-clothes. They take photos holding their bump, they make little hearts with their husband’s hands. They purposefully wear form-fitting clothes. Not me. Not me one bit. If I showcased my pregnancy, that would mean acknowledging it. Worse, that might mean someone would TALK to me about it. That was/is the very last thing I wanted. I imagined the day that strangers would approach me on the street and ask when I was due. When you are just trying to make it one day at a time, that is a LOADED question. But eventually, I didn’t fit in my jeans. And it was getting too hot to wear leggings every day. Also, leggings are tight, and the bruises on my stomach were more and more pronounced as my blood volume was increasing. I needed clothes. I held out as long as I could, but eventually, I dove in and purchased some maternity clothes. I talked about this in support group, and someone suggested that perhaps it was easier to think about buying something for me as opposed to buying something for the baby. That reframe actually helped me a lot. Whether or not this baby survived, it was hot, and I needed to wear clothes. I wasn’t jinxing the baby by having clothes, I was just… living in a world that requires clothed people. I decided I would become an “overalls girlie” because having no waistband means having no pressure on my stomach bruises. Thank god for Amazon returns because my tall self needed to try on a LOT of shorts overalls before finding a couple that worked. #LongLegsBruisedCity. If you thought I’d be including photos here, you’d be wrong.

The next huge milestone I looked forward to was having our baby boy surpass the weight of his older sister. She only weighed 634 grams when she was born, or 1 pound and 6.4 ounces. I didn’t have a scan for this baby at the exact gestational age of Maliyah’s birth (25 weeks 4 days), but I did have one a week prior, at 24 weeks, 4 days, and he was already 728 grams, or 1 pound, 10 ounces. This was huge news for us. Trust me, I know most moms aren’t jumping for joy at a baby under 2 pounds, but the fact that he was growing bigger was a sign that things were already going better. That measurement put him in the 58th percentile, which was MASSIVE as far as we were concerned. No wonder I needed maternity clothes!

Our next milestone was one I put off for a long time: picking a name. Chris was all in on choosing names. Last time, we used an app called Baby Names, which is like Tinder for expecting parents. You tie your account to your partner’s and then you swipe left or right on names and it alerts you when you have a match. The idea is fun, it’s gamified, and it’s easy. But… it’s only really fun if you think your baby will be alive. It’s not a “fun” task to pick a name for a baby you still believe will likely be dead. Chris had more confidence than me. He also probably remembered how hard it was for us to pick a name last time, so he thought we should start the process early. He redownloaded the app and told me to, too. He purchased the upgraded account so we could filter different names by national origin, celebrities, all sorts of things. I put off downloading the app, and put it off some more. I wasn’t ready to call this baby anything other than “baby.” Or “maybe baby.” Finally, after much cajoling I downloaded the app and forced myself to swipe a little bit every day. As you read in the post about our “maybe babymoon,” we picked some front-runners. We have a name we have been test-driving in the house. By we, I mostly only mean Chris. We picked a name, but I can’t bring myself to say it. I cannot acknowledge him by name because what if…

I’m working on it. Let’s call it a milestone-in-progress.

The final milestone I’ll mention for now, was when I decided to tell my coworkers I was expecting a baby. I put this off for a WHILE. When I was pregnant with Maliyah, we had some worries about her before things went south for REAL for real. So I put it off. I didn’t tell my work until I was 22 weeks pregnant. I waited for our anatomy scan, and once that was clear, I thought we would be smooth sailing. I told the whole staff on a zoom meeting, with all cameras on. 3 weeks later, to the day, I checked myself into the hospital and my supervisor had to un-tell the staff.

I swore I would never make that mistake again. I thought I had waited a long time last time, but this time, the idea of telling anyone at 22 weeks felt like tempting the universe in a huge way. I needed to wait longer. And I could not imagine looking at anyone’s face while I said it. I assumed I would see either sympathy or excitement, and I didn’t want to see any of it. I didn’t want to be forced to react to any of it, either. Also, I am now so keenly aware of many others’ silent struggles, and I wanted to minimize the pain that I might cause them as much as possible. I decided I would wait until absolutely necessary, and then I would send an email. I wrote and rewrote that email 5 times. Then, I asked Chris to proofread and approve it. He told me it felt “cold.” It was. I didn’t want warmth in return, I didn’t want ANY response in return (in fact, I even said that). I wanted to simply make an informational announcement. I made Chris stand next to me while I sent the email. My heart was racing, I got zone minutes on my Fitbit. But I did it. Then, I immediately went to the gym and locked my phone in a locker, which has become my standard way to avoid the world and human interaction.

I am on to the 4^th page of this blog. Those are a lot of milestones to celebrate! Again, I will reiterate that to some, these things may seems small. So what, I followed an account on Instagram? Obviously, I would let my husband feel our baby move. Of COURSE I told my coworkers I have leave coming up in 3 months (hopefully). But none of those things were easy, small, obvious or straightforward. To me, those things were huge. I hope to have more milestones soon… as my therapist would say, even a tiny step forward is a step forward.

(Written at: 28 weeks 4 days)

Pregnancy After Loss, Travel

Babymoon?

July 1, 2024 1 Comment

Chris and I just came back from a week-long trip to the Catskills. When he was asked at the time of reservation if we were celebrating anything, he said it was our Babymoon. Was that true? I guess so. We probably wouldn’t have gone away for a week in the middle of earnings season if it wasn’t for the thing growing inside me. We also probably would have gone somewhere much further than a 2-hour drive away, if I wasn’t too nervous to step on a plane or be anywhere far from a hospital. I also am terrified to leave the state, since it seems that every other day, there’s a news story of pregnant people dying in other places. Anyway, we went on a babymoon. Maybe.

I really don’t know why I hate the term. I guess it’s just the confidence factor. Like “we are on vacation because soon we will have another person to bring with us!” Will we? I don’t know. No one knows.

We didn’t take a babymoon with Maliyah, although we talked about it with a lot more confidence. But we never got past 25 weeks with Maliyah. Most people take babymoons much later! Maybe that’s why they have (false) confidence. This time, I just knew that once I hit the third trimester, my anxiety wouldn’t allow a trip. Ironically, before we booked the trip, I wasn’t sure if my doctors would be ok with it, so we decided to clear it in advance at 23 weeks. My main doctor seemed a lot more confident than me, in fact, she said she thought it was a GREAT idea. i.e. she knew I needed something to lower my stress and distract me.

So that’s how we ended up in the Catskills in a crazy luxurious lodge with only 5-7 other guests on any given night.

The entire property only had 14 rooms, including three stand-alone treehouses, and they were all suites. We were there during the week, and during a low season, so we were upgraded for the entire week to the second largest room in the place (thank you husband and your credit-card-churning-hobby). It was insane the size of this place. We had an indoor AND personal outdoor fireplace. We had an indoor and outdoor shower. We had a hand-painted claw foot tub and double vanity. We had a separate sitting room and minibar. We also had random animal sculptures around the room including a bear perched on the corner of the 4-poster bed. The bougie log-cabin aesthetic was so cozy and fun. It really felt like we were thousands of miles from home, even though it was a relatively short drive from the hustle and bustle of the largest city in the country. The “room” itself was actually the least impressive part of the place, if you can imagine.

The grounds were breathtaking. Our room was directly on the waterfront of a reservoir, and we had a dock, hammocks, chaise lounges and a jumbo Jenga right on the water. Unfortunately, it was a bit too cold to spend long periods of time out there, but I did spend some time journaling midday when the sun was highest. I also spent lots of my time walking around the grounds and trails, either listening to an audiobook, or listening to nothing at all (besides my more-laborious-every-day breathing up hills). Every evening, dozens of deer took over the grounds. It was a common sight for us to pass 10 or more on our way up to the main lodge for dinner.

The best part about this being a lodge, but also being a 5-star resort, was that there was impeccable wifi everywhere. That meant that I was still able to have therapy and attend a support group, and Chris was still able to work. Thankfully, he didn’t have to work at all the first two days we were there, but after that, he had a comfortable work set up, and I had lots of down time to read three books, go on walks, and of course explore the many activities I could do solo. More on that later.

When we first booked the vacation, they listed all the activities that were included on the property, but they also offered individual activities if we chose to partake and wanted privacy. One of those activities was horseback riding which was a hard no from me, but some of the others like archery and stargazing sounded fun and pregnancy-safe. However, when we arrived at the property and noticed that there were basically no other guests, we realized we didn’t need to book private activities, because basically all activities were private.

Our first full day there, we saw that archery was on the lodge schedule. We both had been intrigued by archery, since we had done it as kids, but not in 20+ years. We decided to take our chances with a lodge-wide lesson, and said we could always ask to have an individual lesson later if it was packed. Well… we were alone. 100% alone with our instructor Anthony who was an amazing instructor AND photographer. (See photos below of our Katniss and Peeta moments.) Once I realized I could only wink my right eye and switched to shooting leftie, my aim improved exponentially. Anthony said he would call on us for the next zombie apocalypse. High praise. As we were getting tired (it’s a massive shoulder workout!), another couple arrived (also pregnant!). Perfect timing.

Our home-away-from-home was 10 minutes from the site of Woodstock, which was very exciting for me as a child of boomers. I told Chris we needed to go visit Bethel Woods, which has an entire museum dedicated to 1960’s and 1970’s music, the soundtrack of my childhood. We had so much fun exploring the hippie bus, learning about the last-minute location change, and hearing about the artists who turned down the opportunity to perform (talk about having regrets!). Unfortunately, the main grounds weren’t open yet for the season, so we couldn’t explore, but it mostly looked like beautifully landscaped fields, probably much cleaner and more manicured than they were when 890128930 un-washed music fans overtook the grounds for a week. I also texted my mom while I was there and learned that she unknowingly drove through the area while Woodstock was happening! I love learning new old stories about my parents.

While it was fun to leave the resort grounds for a few hours, we primarily stayed on the campus. Our main goals were to relax, spend time together, and try to keep my stress low while getting through the 25 week, 4 day mark with baby 2, also known as the day I had Maliyah. That meant that we mainly hung around, went on walks, and played games at the Rec Center. They had pool (Chris was far superior), jumbo Connect 4 (I out-strategized him), shuffleboard, curling, and cornhole. They also had a LOT of fire pits. It felt like everywhere we turned there was another one, and on our very first night, the groundskeeper set us up with a private fire and a s’mores kit with branded chocolate disks. It was delicious, but I always forget that being fire-adjacent means I need to wash my hair. Thankfully our massive room shower had multiple shower heads for very clean hair.

Chris had to work on a couple of the days, but I kept myself busy. I went to the gym, I went on hikes on a few trails, and I did a solo crafting activity where I painted my own bird house for the staff to hang up on one of the trails. See the little hearts on each side of the door for my babies?

On our final night, they brought in a resident astrologer who came with his massive telescope, and walked us into the low reservoir for star-gazing. He pointed out constellations, specific stars, and he had a special app on his phone to line up the telescope exactly with many of the celestial beings. He personally felt he was cheating by using the app, but I had no idea something like that existed! We saw neighboring galaxies, we saw the red-orange hue of Betelgeuse, a red super giant star, and toward the end of the night, the moon rose high in the sky and we saw every tiny crater. It was unbelievable.

Besides the major relaxing vibes, I’d say the star of the show for the week was the food. It was absolutely incredible. Not only did it feel like we had an on-call private chef because there were basically no other guests, but everything we had was amazing. Ok, I hated the quail but that’s my fault, I was trying to be too adventurous. Of course they also had many mocktail options, all included!

Room service was available 14 hours/day, and since there were no other guests, it appeared at our cabin on a golf cart nearly instantaneously. After our Bethel Woods adventure, we ordered late lunch to the room, and I was even able to ask for the turkey club sandwich, which I have been sorely missing while being pregnant, and they heated up the meat for me so I could eat it! Every single change to a menu item we wanted, they did and they didn’t bat an eye. One night, we were stuffed after dinner, but decided we wanted to have dessert later, and they said no problem, they’d deliver it right before the kitchen closed. So, while Chris and I discussed possible baby names with the in-room fireplace blazing, room service delivered a massive banana split sundae that we ate in bed. Talk about decadent!

I will admit, I see a lot of people go on babymoons to far-flung places and beaches, they get tans, they feel completely comfortable getting on a plane, they don’t worry about blood clots or proximity to level 4 NICUs, and they don’t panic about fresh fruit or contaminated water in other countries. It makes me jealous. I wish I had that confidence and naivety, and those uncomplicated circumstances. But that isn’t my story and that’s ok. What we wanted to achieve, time together, and a low-stress environment at a distance I felt comfortable going, we did. And we had a great time. We maybe even decided on a name…

(Started writing at: 25 weeks, 6 days, finished writing at 29 weeks 3 days)

We did not buy this… because Chris thought it was ugly and I was too scared to jinx anything.

Pregnancy After Loss

Crossover Day

June 25, 2024 No Comments

white clouds with sun piercing through it

It’s Crossover Day: the day I have been both dreading and looking forward to since I saw two lines on a pregnancy test.

At this exact gestational age last year, I checked myself into the hospital, only to be discharged 6 days later with no baby.

I’ve wondered for many months how it would feel to be here again, and the only word I can put my finger on is: weird. It feels weird. Not good, not bad, not really nerve-wracking (ok… a little nerve-wracking), but it feels strange. It’s kind of like déjà vu, but actually not. This pregnancy has been so different than my last one.

I was having dinner with Chris last night and I brought this up. He asked what I meant by “different,” and the best way I could describe it was that last time, I felt like my pregnancy was going on in the background of my life. Yes, I was growing a human, but I was still going about my life business-as-usual. I had the same friends, the same activities, I was following the same people on social media, I was still focused on work, I was still going to the gym, and I was still hanging out with friends. On the side, I was watching YouTube videos about what to add to your baby registry, and I had doctor’s appointments about every 4-5 weeks, but that was just going on in the periphery.

This time around, my pregnancy IS my life. It’s the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last thing I think of when I go to sleep. My friends group has changed. I rarely leave my house. My morning and evening centers around my meds routine and taking my blood pressure. My main focus in my life is reducing stress. My Instagram is flooded with loss-mom-content. My social calendar is mostly non-existent, but when I do have things to do, they are scheduled around my frequent doctors’ appointments and scans. Almost every conversation with Chris eventually veers into “do you think the baby is ok” territory.

My entire life is this pregnancy. And finally, tomorrow, I will be the most pregnant I’ve ever been. Well, that’s not entirely true, Maliyah lived for 48 hours after I checked into the hospital, but tomorrow will be my most-pregnant-not-hospitalized day. Hopefully. I don’t foresee any emergency hospital visits, but you never know. 25 weeks and 2-4 days has been in my mind for months.

For crossover day, we are currently in the Catskills. The main reason we picked this week was because my office was closed. Also, of course, I knew crossover day was coming and I needed a distraction. After we booked the trip, I told Chris we’d be away for crossover day, and I fully expected him to be surprised. I feel like he is able to compartmentalize much better than I can, so I figured he hadn’t thought about the timing, but I was wrong. He said of course he knew that. I asked him if it made him nervous to be away from a hospital (because it definitely made me nervous!) and he said no. He said no, because we had a scan 2 days before we left, everything looked perfect, my blood pressure has been great, and we have no indications of things going south. But still, I’m nervous.

We also picked this week because it’s nearing the time I will not feel comfortable leaving the city anymore. I know for my mental health, I will need to be within 15 minutes of a Level IV NICU at all times. Also, I will need to be within New York State, because every other state continues to make headlines for killing pregnant women.

A few weeks ago, someone asked me how far along I was, and I said 20 weeks. They were surprised, and they said, “wow! 20 weeks already? Time flies, doesn’t it?” I looked at them dead in the eyes and said, “no. time does not fly. Time is crawling.” I thought 25 weeks 2 days would never come.

I have been jealous of my loss mom friends who had earlier losses and therefore had their crossover days many weeks ago. I know this makes no sense; I didn’t actually want Maliyah to die before she did. But when you have an early loss, you get past that date in a subsequent pregnancy sooner and sometimes getting past that date brings along with it some peace and confidence. For me, 25 weeks and 2-4 days was soooo far away from that initial positive test. There were many months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds to get through before this moment. And they did NOT fly by.

Two weeks ago, I spoke to my mom on a Friday afternoon, and she asked me what my plans were for the weekend. That question stopped me in my tracks. The weekend? I had completely forgotten it was Friday, and I had literally 0 plans. By the way, I am completely fine with 0 weekend plans, it was just remarkable that I hadn’t even considered the two days ahead of me. I was so extremely laser-focused on the current moment in time and getting through it, that it had not occurred to me to make ADVANCE plans.

I mentioned in my post about the danger zone that everyone has different points at which they feel confident in their pregnancy. For a lot of people, 24 weeks is that point. Many doctors call this “viability,” or when a baby has a chance of survival outside the womb. But that chance is not great, and I was already past 24 weeks when Maliyah died. Also, “survival” could still mean immense complications. The numbers are: 40% of babies born at 24 weeks’ gestation survive, 50% of those born at 25 weeks, 60% of those born at 26 weeks, 70% for 27 weeks, and 80% for 28 weeks. The countdown is on.

As I approached crossover day, my anxiety was ramping up. I could tell by my heartrate when I took/take my blood pressure. It’s a vicious cycle, I’m nervous it will be high, I get stressed about taking it, the stress and anxiety makes it high, and then I’m more stressed and nervous because it’s elevated. Being out of town and far from the hospital doesn’t help. I see that my pulse is nearly 100 before I’m going to take my blood pressure and the moment I’m done, it goes back down to 75. I can’t seem to get a handle on my stress, and I know it’s crucial to do so, which only makes me more frustrated. The loop continues.

I am hoping I will feel less stressed once we cross this threshold of 25 weeks 4 days, and once I am back in the city in proximity of emergency care.

I keep hoping and hoping to front-load the growth of this baby, in case we need to take him out early, so he has the best chances. So far so good. We’ve already hit a few crossover milestones (more on milestones coming soon). He is officially bigger than Maliyah ever was. And he’s probably 2 pounds by now, which is a weight Maliyah never hit. At our last scan when we found out he was 1 pound 10 ounces, I turned to Chris and I said, “2-pound babies live.” Would I like him to be 3 pounds? 4? 5? Even 6? Yes! But being across the 2 threshold is already giving me some hope. I would not say I’m “confident” in any way, shape, or form, but my hope is slowly growing.

I remember vividly being in the hospital last year and begging for additional days or weeks, and now, I’m getting them (hopefully). I am thankful for each day more, and I hope there are many of them.

I’ve used the word, “hope” 7 times in the last three paragraphs. Maybe if I type it here some more, I’ll internalize it!

Hope… hope… hope… hope… hope… hope… hope… hope… hope… hope… hope… hope…

(Written at: 25 weeks, 2 days)

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