Baby Basics

I sat in the cushy glider on Wednesday night, rocking gently, looking around, knowing I would be the only woman in the room without a baby bump. Slowly, the obviously pregnant women and their male counterparts filled up the gliders on either side of us. They tried to be inconspicuous as they eyed Dylan, Justin, Jimmi and me, wondering why we would be attending a Baby Basics class at Babies "R" Us. "Don't worry!" Jimmi said when my face told him exactly what I was thinking.

Is it too late to leave?

I wondered if the two women who were setting up to run the class would ask me questions. I wondered if I'd be put on the spot. I wondered if they would inquire about my relationship to whatever baby was coming soon, as it clearly couldn't be mine. I pulled at my oversized sweatshirt, which I'd worn on purpose, to try and make it puff out in the midsection. That worked for about three seconds until it deflated back down to my flat stomach. 

I really want to leave.

The class finally started about five minutes after schedule. The blonde instructor introduced herself and her brunette colleague then suggested we go around the room and give some information about ourselves and why we're attending the class. Well, I guess that was a good thing. At least it would put an end to the curiously confused whispers and stares. "Who wants to start?" she asked with a smile. Suddenly, we were all back in the fourth grade as everyone averted their eyes, lowered their heads and attempted to become invisible as soon as the teacher asked for the correct answer to the impossible math equation on the board. "Anyone?" asked the instructor, desperately. Silence filled the air. Finally, I decided to just get it over with and speak up, "I'll go first since it's obvious I'm not pregnant and you might be wondering what I'm doing here." The instructors faces showed both relief and genuine interest as I began my explanation, "I'm Suzanne, this is my husband, Jimmi, and these are my boys, Dylan and Justin. We're having a baby in May through a gestational carrier in Minnesota." Eyes widened across the room and I could almost see the questions forming in their minds. I brought my monologue to a quick close and hoped no one would pry into the details. The other women told us their names and their run-of-the-mill pregnancy specs: first time pregnant, due in April, having a girl, blah, blah, blah. 

"Ok, let's begin!" chirped the blonde instructor, bringing out a baby doll and sitting in on her knee. I was slightly confused, as I'd expected there'd be a doll for each of us to use as practice. I quickly realized we were preparing for more of a lecture than a hands-on experience. I wondered how long the boys would last. That's when a discussion of immediate skin-to-skin contact after birth arose. I slouched down into my seat, hoping the floor would swallow me up. Our leader looked in my direction and asked, "Do you know if you'll be in the room when your baby is born?" Oh, how I hate that question. "As long as we make it in time," I answered truthfully. "Well," she continued. "Maybe you can let the doctors and nurses know you'd like some skin-to-skin contact right after the birth. You can just take off your shirt." I smirked as the sarcastic remark traveled from my brain to my mouth without being filtered, "Sure," I said. "If Jimmi gets to see another woman naked I guess it's only fair they all see me as well." Since my audience had only met me a few minutes earlier, they weren't sure how to take my sense of humor, but the blonde instructor replied with a smile, "That's right! Make it a free for all!" I could've added to the fun but I chose to cork my mouth and allow the class to continue on to feeding. Here comes the guilt, I thought to myself as the breastfeeding chat began. But, to my pleasant surprise, the leader turned to me and mentioned the best bottles for the least amount of gas while offering her formula picks as well. I lifted my head a bit higher and felt like slightly less of a Mommy Failure.  But the next topic shot me right back down again, "Did you know your baby can recognize your voice at this point?" 

Not mine, I thought. 

"When she's born your voice will be soothing because it'll be familiar." 

Not mine, I thought. 

"Try this out. When your baby is born, let your husband hold her and then say something from across the room. Your baby's head will turn toward your voice." 

Not mine, I thought. 

When the class came to a close I thanked the instructors and Jimmi, Dylan, Justin and I left Babies "R" Us with just enough information to refresh my memory of newborns and give my men the minimum gist of what to expect. 

I woke up on Thursday morning, excited for our 28 week pre-natal appointment which Jimmi and I would be attending via Skype. I logged on and waited impatiently for the numbers on the clock to change. One by one, slowly, slowly, until finally it was noon. No call. Lyndsay shot me a text to let me know the doctor was running behind. We both waited, states apart, for Dr. C to arrive. Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty, then sixty. Still nothing. "I'm starving!" Lyndsay texted. "I hope he gets here soon." As time ticked on, I was mentally canceling plans for the day in my head. I guess I could always go food shopping tomorrow. I don't really need gas that badly. Do I have time to shop for a dress for my baby shower? 

Ring!

Finally! "Jimmi!," I called to my husband, "It's time!" He rushed to my side. An hour and twenty minutes after our scheduled appointment time, we were about to begin. I clicked the video button on the Skype screen and Dr. C's smiling face appeared. "Hi, Suzanne! Hi Jimmi! So sorry to keep you waiting," he said then moved his laptop so we could catch a glimpse of a very pregnant Lyndsay. "So, Lyndsay's labs look great. She had her glucose test this morning for gestational diabetes and everything is fine. I'm gonna wheel in the portable ultrasound machine so you can see the baby," Dr. C explained. "I'm sure you know there hasn't been any more bleeding, so that's a good thing." I nodded, "Yeah, that was fun," I snickered sarcastically. The doctor aimed his computer at the ultrasound screen as Lyndsay positioned herself on the exam table. We could see a blur of white but not much else. "There's the face," he said. "Can you back away from the screen a bit?" I asked. "We can't make out the picture." Dr. C readjusted the machines, "Is that better?" Unfortunately, it wasn't. "Not really," I said as I moved my fingers off the keys I'd need to capture a screenshot. I could tell we weren't going to get a clear picture anyway. "Let me try something else," said the doctor. He left the room and came back with a young woman he introduced as a resident. He then handed her his laptop and instructed her to hold it, "over there" to remove some of the glare. She did as she was told and he started the ultrasound again. "Ok, the baby is moving its hand up and down and opening and closing its eyes. See that?" he asked excitedly. Lyndsay answered, "yes" at the same moment I answered, "no." Dr. C had the resident move again. "I can see that he's practicing breathing, which is really great at this stage." I ignored his incorrect pronoun and asked, "You can see that?" Dr. C grinned, "Yes, very well. Looks great!" I hoped they couldn't detect the pain in my voice as I asked, "Can you please print out some pictures and give them to Lyndsay for us? We really can't see anything at all." He agreed and then tried to give us something that would make us feel like we were involved in our baby's life, just a little bit.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

We heard our little Aria's heartbeat on and off as he chased her around with the doppler to catch the sound. "He's an active little boy!" Dr. C laughed and I had to correct him this time. "Unless something's changed, she's a girl!" A shot of fear flew through me, wondering if Dr. C had seen a newly formed penis on the screen.  I heard the painters upstairs working on the hints of glitter and bling in our baby's room and I imagined having to go over it all with a giant roller dipped in blue. The ultrasound machine was turned off after the doctor was finally able to get a reading of 136 beats per minute then he moved on to measuring Lyndsay's growing abdomen. "Twenty-nine centimeters," he announced, "Perfect! I'll see her back in another four weeks."

We ended our call and I turned to Jimmi, "I wanted to see her blinking her eyes and practicing breathing," I whimpered. He hugged me, "I know. I'm sorry." I tried to be thankful that we're even fortunate enough to have a biological child, but each experience we miss tugs at my heart a little bit more. 

I'm having a baby but I've never felt her kick. My husband has never rested his head on my pregnant belly. My baby has never heard my voice. I've never read her a story. She's never heard me sing her a lullaby. When my baby is born she won't know me at all. What if I can't soothe her with my voice? What if she feels abandoned when Lyndsay, the only "mother" she's ever known, is no longer there for her? 

I'm going to be a total stranger to my own child. 

The Phone Call at 4:00 AM

Last night, while Lyndsay and I were texting back and forth about books and guessing when Baby A will finally make her appearance into the world, I realized I hadn't written a blog entry in awhile. I've always been pretty clear about the fact that I wouldn't blog about nothing, so if nothing was happening, nothing would be written. But it's been about two weeks and I really felt like I needed to keep you all in the loop somehow. So, before I went to sleep, I planned on using today's New Jersey snow day to write a blog entry called, "Uneventful" to gush over how happy I am that I don't have anything to write about.

That was before the phone call.

Buzz! Buzz!

I opened my eyes to see the darkness of my bedroom. I know I have a tendency to sleep pretty late when I have no reason to wake up. The blizzard had started at about midnight and the boys were spending the night at their dad's house. I hadn't set an alarm so I had no idea what time it was. But the blackness told me the sun hadn't started it's glowing ascent yet. Why am I awake?

Buzz! Buzz!

Why is my phone ringing? What time is it?

Buzz! Buzz!

I propped myself up on my hands and stretch over to my nightstand, where the light on my vibrating phone alerted me that Lyndsay was calling…at 4:00 AM. It took my mind about three seconds to register the obvious fact that, unless she wanted to chat about swollen ankles in the wee hours of the morning, obviously, something was very wrong.

I cleared my throat and tried to shake the sleep from my cloudy head.

"Hello?" I croaked.
"Suzanne? It's Lyndsay," she said, sounded firm, yet calm.
"What wrong?" I asked, not really sure if I wanted to know the answer.
"I'm in the hospital."

My heart sank down deep into my chest.

She continued, "I started bleeding last night and they have me on a monitor now. I'm having some slight contractions and…"

I couldn't focus. All I knew, at that moment, was that my daughter seemed to be in trouble and I needed to get to her as quickly as possible.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

I had briefly forgotten about the Nor'easter that was currently dumping 16 inches of snow all over New Jersey, making all methods of traveling to Minnesota impossible.

"Is the baby ok?" I tried to keep my voice from quivering.
"She seems ok now. They had some trouble finding a heartbeat at first, but I have the monitor on now and her heart is good. They're measuring contractions, too, and they checked my cervix. It seems to be closed."

I guess that was mostly good news.

"They told me if her heart rate starts to dip I'll have to deliver so they gave me a steroid shot to help her lungs mature, just in case."

Ok, THAT wasn't good. I looked over at Jimmi, who was in and out of sleep, and figured I'd explain after I hung up. He'd only be able to hear my side of the conversation anyway.

I didn't know what to say, "I'm stuck here in a blizzard," was all I could get out. And then, "Was there a lot of blood?"
Lyndsay was still calm, which was so helpful because if she freaked out, I would've freaked out, too, "It was at first. I woke up with my underwear completely wet with blood. Now it's just a smear or two when I wipe."

I know people can "spot" when they're pregnant, but completely bloody underwear didn't give me the warm fuzzies.

"And you're having contractions?" I asked.
"Yeah, small ones," Lyndsay confirmed.

I quickly calculated Baby A's gestational age in my head. Sunday will be 27 weeks, which makes today 26 weeks and 4 days. She's viable outside the womb, but she'd have a long and difficult road ahead if she were to be born now. Unfortunately, I know all too well what we'd be in for at a 26+ week delivery because my friend in California had her baby 48 days ago, at about 26 weeks. I've been following her progress through a Caring Bridge journal and, while she's mostly doing well, it's a scary and very hard situation for everyone involved. Tubes and monitors and nurses and doctors and being told when we can and can't hold our own baby are not part of my ideal birth plan.

"So what now?" I asked Lyndsay.
"They said I'll be here for at least the next six hours for monitoring. I'm so sorry I called so early but, if it were me, I'd want to know what was going on."

She's apologizing to me? Is she kidding?

"Don't apologize! I'm glad you called. Keep me posted."

I hung up the phone and it was too quiet. I turned to Jimmi, who was still only half awake, and attempted to keep the tears at bay, "Lyndsay's bleeding. She's in the hospital. I want to go there and we can't!" My husband put his arms around me, "Don't worry. Everything will be ok," he managed before slipping back into dreamland.

But sleep never found me again, as much as I tried. I tossed and turned and tried to ignore the agonizing pounding in my chest. My palms were sweating and my heart was breaking. What will I do if my baby is born and I can't get to her for days? What if she doesn't make it? What if I never have the chance to feel her warm, little body in my arms? What if…

Oh, shit!

A new thought entered my already cluttered brain. In December, the last time we were in Minnesota, we spoke to the social worker who had made it clear that she wanted our legal paperwork in order and in her office by the time Lyndsay reached 24 weeks, just in case of an early delivery. The paperwork, to which she was referring, is our Declaration of Parentage. It's basically the magical document telling the world that, legally and biologically, Jimmi and I are Baby A's parents. All decisions regarding the baby, medical and otherwise, will be made by us. It also allows me to be known as "Mommy," even though Lyndsay will be the one giving birth. I had started hounding my attorney to get on top of things upon our return from Minnesota, which would've been almost the 20 week mark. I had e-mailed her every week following to check on her progress, which she insisted was on track. At week 24, I reminded her that the paperwork was requested promptly and she insisted everything was fine. Now, here we are at 26 weeks and 4 days, and it's not fine. If Baby A is born now, we will legally be considered strangers.

I attempted to push the anger aside and closed my eyes again. But it was no use. I kept my phone in my hand as I watched my bedroom shades go from black to brown to outlined in a ring of light. At about 8:50 AM, I texted Lyndsay for an update:

"How's everything?"
"Just heard from a doc, finally. I'm going for an ultrasound at 9 (10:00 in NJ). After that I will know more."
"Still bleeding?"
"I don't have it like I did. Just some when I wipe."
"And her heartbeat is still strong?"
"Yep. Baby is all good! They said whatever is going on isn't affecting the baby."
"Ok. Are you ok?"
"Yeah. I'm ready to go home."
"I'm sure. Let's hope everything is OK and they'll let you do that. Still having contractions?"
"No. That has gone away."
"Ok. Maybe it's just a fluke thing and she felt like giving us a little scare to keep us on our toes. She's grounded!"
"Poor girl. Not even born and grounded already!"
"Thank you so much for taking such good care of my baby."
"It's my job," she wrote back, followed by a smiley face.

I decided it was time to let my mom know what was going on. I considered calling her at 4:00 AM, but what would that have accomplished? Then she'd also be awake, scared and feeling helpless. Letting her get some sleep seemed like a more appropriate decision.

My dad answered the phone and I could no longer hold back the tears, "Lyndsay's in the hospital! She's bleeding!" I cried. I could hear the concern in my father's voice as he answered, "Oh, no. Let me get your mother."

"What happened?" my mom's voice was steady but scared.
"She's bleeding and they don't know why," I whimpered. "She called me at four o'clock and I've been up since then. I can't get there!"
"Why didn't you call me?" my mom asked.
"Because you wouldn't have been able to do anything and then you just would've been awake and worried, too." I answered reasonably.
"At least I could've tried to comfort you," she said with the same concern for her baby as I had for mine. "And I can't even get to you now," she added with a pained sigh.

Who would've thought the snow in New Jersey, and not Minnesota, would be such a problem?

"So, what's happening now?" she questioned.
"Just waiting for an ultrasound in a little while and we'll hopefully know more."

My mom instructed me to keep her posted and we ended the conversation. My hand was still on my cell phone, ready to pounce on any call or text from Lyndsay.

I figured I should send my attorney and Tina at The Surrogacy Experience emails to let them know about the situation. Tina had already heard from Lyndsay and assured me that other carriers have had the same issues and, with a little rest, were back on their way to complete their healthy pregnancies. My lawyer skipped the return email and jumped straight to a phone call, which I appreciated, since Lyndsay had just texted me to let me know the social worker had paid her a visit to confirm my fears that, without a court ordered Declaration of Parentage, she would have full control over the life-saving decisions if Baby A were to be born now.

"Hi Suzanne," she said in her New York City, power-tone. "I got your e-mail and I'm going to prepare a document that will give you and Jimmi power of attorney if the baby is born before we can petition the court to have you recognized as the parents. That will allow you to make medical decisions for your daughter. Does she have a name? I'd like to put it in the paperwork." I wasn't sure why that was necessary, but I answered her question, "Aria. A-R-I-A." She paused a moment, then repeated my baby's name back to me, "Aria. That's beautiful." I smiled at the thought of my little fighter and then she asked, "Is there a middle name?" I nodded, though she couldn't see me, "Eileen. E-I-L-E-E-N." I heard her entering the information I had given her then she continued, "Ok, so, Lyndsay will need to sign the document, which will give you and Jimmi the power to make decisions for Aria's healthcare, but it won't actually recognize you as the parents yet." Yeah, that was the part I was waiting to hear. She explained what I already knew, "Luckily, we can have Lyndsay attest to the fact that Jimmi is the father and her husband can sign off that he is not the father, so at least you'll have that much. But, because you're not the one giving birth, they won't consider you the mother without a court order."

Awesome!

She finished her explanation, "If the baby is born now, we'll have to petition the court in Minnesota to name you as the legal mother. I have a signed affidavit from the doctor and all the documentation to prove that, so it shouldn't be a problem. But if, for some reason, the judge won't allow it, you'll just complete an adoption in New Jersey."

No! That's what I was trying to avoid when I insisted on this paperwork getting done early. I do NOT want to have to adopt my own daughter!

I wanted to be clear about what she was saying, "So, I'll have to adopt her but Jimmi won't?" She was very matter-of-fact, "Yes, that's right. But, don't worry! It's an easy process. They'll wave the home study, in this case. You'll just have to be fingerprinted." Was that supposed to make me feel better or worse? This is MY baby! I've been after her for MONTHS to get this document in to the hospital in Minnesota just, in case something like this were to happen. Now I might have to take a backseat to Jimmi and Lyndsay, who would be considered Aria's parents, until the New Jersey courts checked my background to make sure I'm qualified to parent my own daughter? Ridiculous! But, "Ok," was all that passed through my stressed and saddened lips.

Time was ticking by and I still hadn't heard from Lyndsay about the results of the ultrasound. It had been over an hour since our last text, which informed me that she'll need to stay overnight, no matter what, because the doctor wanted to get a second dose of steroids into her, just in case, and a half an hour since the scan was supposed to begin. I was still gripping my phone, the only line I had to my baby, tightly in my hand. I saw 10:30 pass, then 11:00. At 11:19 I texted my mom, "It's taking too long." To which she replied, "Hang in there." From past experiences with tests and scans, I know all too well that, when they take longer than expected it could be because something is very wrong. Finally, at 11:22, Lyndsay texted me asking to call her in her hospital room. My heart was beating so loudly I wasn't sure I'd even be able to hear what she had to say.

"Hello?" she answered.
"Hi, it's Suzanne," but she already knew that.
She got right down to it, "The ultrasound looked fine. The baby is ok, the placenta is fine and they said my cervix it closed up tighter than Fort Knox."
I giggled and she went on, "They really don't know what's causing the bleeding but it's turning brown so they think that means it's stopping. It's possible that I was a little dehydrated from being sick this week so they gave me IV fluids. It's also possible that one percent of my placenta might have gotten bruised and broken off, causing the bleeding. But they really can't tell because everything looks fine now."
This was all good news but I couldn't put my mind completely at ease without a real reason to attach to the bleeding.
"Oh," Lyndsay remembered something else, "the tech said her femur bone is really long. I asked if that was a problem and she told me it means she's gonna be a tall baby."
Great. I can see her now as a leggy blonde! Jimmi's definitely being punished for his past indiscretions.
"So, anyway," Lyndsay finished, "I just have to hang out here so I can get the steroids for her lungs at five in the morning and then, hopefully, I'll get to go home. They're gonna move me from Labor and Delivery into a Postpartum room in a little while. They said it'll be quieter. I'll let you know where I am as soon as they do." And that was where the conversation ended.

I'm not gonna lie. As much as it sucks that Lyndsay has to spend her day or two off from work in the hospital, I'm happy that she's being closely monitored and the doctors aren't taking any unnecessary chances with my daughter's life.

Then I thought about Lyndsay's husband, Josh. He had rushed her to the hospital in the middle of the night, stayed with her until the early hours of the morning until he had to drive 30 minutes back home to relieve his mother-in-law, who was watching the kids. Then he got the kids ready and off to school  and he was planning to pick them up and bring them to the hospital to see Lyndsay afterward. I understand that this is what a good husband is expected to do, but this man deserves some extra recognition for the fact that he is doing all of this for his wife, who isn't even carrying his baby. I texted Josh, "Thank you so much for everything." His reply, much like Lyndsay's, was completely oblivious to the incredible and unbelievable thing he and his wife are doing for us, "No problem. That's my job!"

It's almost 7:30 PM, now, in the snow-pocalypse that was once New Jersey. I just heard from Lyndsay, and everything seems to be status quo. Hopefully we'll have an uneventful night and go back to our uneventful pregnancy, followed by an uneventful birth, sometime around May 18th.

Halfway There

Pregnancy milestones are major events that occur during the 40 long weeks of gestation and help expectant parents get through the agony of time that seems to drag on and on until they actually get to meet their little bundle of love. I've found that "my" pregnancy this time seems much longer than when I was carrying Dylan and Justin so many years ago. Maybe it's because Baby A is not actually growing inside of me or maybe it's because we found out Lyndsay was pregnant within days of the embryo transfer instead of the normal 6 or 8 weeks after conception but, whatever the reason for time standing still, I'm grateful for each milestone we've hit.

After losing the twins, Baby B and Baby C, so early on in this journey, my anxiety level has been understandably high. I'd had two normal pregnancies in 2000 and 2003, so the thought of a miscarriage with the triplets hadn't really crossed my mind. The range of emotions I felt during the 8-week ultrasound, which revealed three babies but only one beating heart, was almost indescribable. The only thing that kept me from having a total meltdown was the fact that Baby A's heart was still pumping away and she needed my strength. She needed me to be her mommy.

When Lyndsay reached her twelfth week of pregnancy I thought I'd relax a bit. Getting through the first trimester is a huge milestone because the risk of miscarriage drops tremendously. But my brain was still on overdrive after finding out that the second trimester doesn't officially start until week 14. And then we hit that mark! The second trimester began and I forced myself to chill out a bit, not only for my own sanity, but for Jimmi's as well. Everything seemed to be moving along as planned and there wasn't much to do but wait for our next pre-natal visit at almost 19 weeks. 

But I had to do something!

As I've mentioned before, it's very hard to be pregnant when you're not actually pregnant. I needed it to feel real. What could I do to get excited about this baby who, for now, is only in my head and heart but not actually in my body? 

We could register!

So, for the last few months, Jimmi and I have been back and forth to Babies R Us, adding items, little by little, with the magical scanner. Find, want, scan, beep, done! But it's not an entirely painless process. When we go there I purposely dress in baggy sweatshirts and keep my jacket zipped to avoid questions or looks of confusion as to why an obviously not pregnant woman needs a baby registry. I know I'm not the only one who's been in this position and I'm sure the employees are used to working with adoptive parents and possibly others who are using a gestational carrier, but I just want to feel like a "normal" expectant mom for the hour or so we'll spend in the store each week. And, yes, I'm still parking in the Expectant Mother parking spots because, well, I think I qualify! 

So now what?

The registry is basically finished. We're in the process of getting her room in order. I've gone through and hung up all of the beautiful baby clothes that have been given to us by friends and family members, not to mention the ones I've bought myself! Lyndsay tells me that Baby A is kicking up a storm every day and, while it makes my heart melt to hear it, I can't actually feel those signs of life. What else will make me feel like I'm actually having a baby?

"20 week bump" was the caption on the photo Lyndsay sent to me this morning. And there, in plain view, was a gloriously protruding belly, full of MY baby! She must've been reading my mind because I was just reading about our newest milestone on Baby Center. 

"Congratulations!" read the headline, "You're Halfway There!"

We've made it to the midway mark! Twenty weeks down and 20 weeks to go! Well, if this is anything like Lyndsay's last two pregnancies, we might actually have 21 weeks to go, but we'll cross that bridge in May. I guess now is the time to start really preparing. We can sign up for infant CPR and infant care classes. We can really start getting her room decorated. We can almost see the light at the end of this long and winding tunnel.

We will accomplish our next major milestone in a month and it's probably the biggest one yet. At 24 weeks Baby A will be viable outside the womb. Believe me, I'm hoping she stays in there where she belongs until May but, if for some reason, she decides to push her way out of there at 24 weeks, her chances of survival with a TON of medical intervention and a very long stay in the NICU are good. But an even better milestone happens at 28 weeks. At that point, if Baby A is impatient like her mommy and needs to come out and greet her awaiting public, her chances of survival with minimal lasting health issues are even greater. When we were pregnant with triplets the doctor kept telling us that, once the pregnancy reaches 28 weeks, everyone breathes a little sigh of relief. That number has stuck in my mind. But, obviously, having a baby that early is not ideal. 

Here's to hoping Baby A makes it safely to each major milestone over the next 20 weeks and stays put until she's a pudgie, pink, perfect princess ready to make her red carpet debut in May of 2014.

Happy New Year!

12 Weeks

Buzz! Buzz!

The vibrations startled me out of deep thought and I reached around my desk to find my phone. It was a text from Lyndsay.

Click!

A side profile of a surprisingly protruding, pregnant belly greeted my eyes, accompanied by, "12 wks." I stared at the photo for a second then responded happily, "Wow! There's a baby in there!" But it isn't just a baby.

It's MY baby!

I knew today would mark a huge milestone in Lyndsay's pregnancy with our baby. Hell, I'd circled the date in my calendar months ago after scouring the Internet for a week-by-week schedule of our pregnancy, based on our due date. Today, November 3rd, was a big one. 

"Congratulations!" read the words on the online tracker, "You have completed your first trimester!"

And that's what everyone thinks about 12 weeks of pregnancy, right? The first trimester is done. The riskiest part is over and it's basically safe to announce the impending birth to the world now. Well, I guess that last part is true for those who haven't been broadcasting every detail about it in a blog since before conception. But here's the thing. While endlessly over-searching pregnancy online, I stumbled upon an interesting inconsistency in trimester calculations. According to more recent data, the first trimester of pregnancy comes to an end at 13 weeks, not 12, and the second trimester officially starts at week 14. 

What?!

Yes, that's correct. Everyone assumes that, since the human gestation period is estimated at 9 months, each trimester would naturally last three months. Wrong! A full-term pregnancy is technically 40 weeks. I've never been great at math but even I can figure out that 40 divided by 3 is roughly 13 1/2, not 12. 

Shit!

So, it looks like we're still in the first trimester. Honestly, this IVF stuff makes being pregnant feel like an eternity! Knowing everything as it develops, from conception to transfer to implantation, makes the time drag on and on. At least at the beginning Lyndsay was going for blood tests and ultrasounds every few days then every week or two, so I always had something to look forward in the immediate future. But now that the pregnancy is moving along "normally" it feels like everything is at a standstill. For me, at least. Lyndsay's last appointment was on October 24th and her next one won't be until November 25th! In the meantime there's nothing that actually makes me feel like I'm having a baby other than just talking about it or looking at the ultrasound photo. And even that doesn't make it feel real yet. 

It's strange being pregnant when you're not pregnant.

With so much downtime between appointments and the fact that my own belly isn't growing (from anything other than french fries and ice cream) it's almost as if it's not really happening. Yes, my mom and I went to look at cribs and crib bedding last week. That was exciting but, after the owner of the store checked out my perfectly flat mid-section and suspiciously asked how I was feeling, I felt obligated to explain to him that I'm not the one who is carrying my baby. Don't get me wrong. The man was still very happy for me and didn't act like my situation was any different than the bulbous-bellied woman's in the glider across the store. But I still couldn't help feeling inferior as I watched her rub her distended abdomen lovingly while testing the rockers.

But I guess all I can do now is wait and live vicariously through Lyndsay. I won't be in Minnesota for her next visit with the doctor, but they'll Skype me from the appointment, which is pretty cool. The next time I'll actually see her and her baby bump in person will be for the big anatomy ultrasound in December, just a few days before Christmas.

And now this impatient, control freak has nothing left to do but to be patient and relinquish control. 

A Baby, or Not a Baby: That is the Question.

My hands were shaking as I finished packing my overnight bag yesterday. I closed the zipper, kissed Jimmi goodbye and gave the dogs a quick pat on the head then I took the car along the same path I'd taveled to Newark Airport, just two weeks earlier. I'm not gonna lie. I contemplated changing my flights, which were scheduled for the exact same times as the last trip, in the hopes the switch would change the bad luck we'd had when we found out two of our triplets had passed away.

But I didn't.

I arrived at the airport with only an hour to spare before flight-time and checked my email in the parking lot, just as I'd done previously. Nothing from United Airlines about a flight delay. Ok, that's a good sign. I breezed through the security line and chilled out in the United Club for a half an hour until 1:33, just one minute before I was supposed to board the plane. Not like they ever start on time anyway. I lazily walked over to the gate and found a small line and a United representative checking boarding passes and sending passengers down the gangway. No way! They're actually boarding? "Excuse me?" I said to one of the line-standers. "Do you know what boarding group they're on now?" He nodded, "Group two," he replied. That was my group! Wow. Perfect timing! I strolled right past the line, handed my pass to the gate agent and shot down the long, narrow path leading to the tiny Express Jet headed for Minneapolis.

This was going way too easily.

I checked my seat assignment and the "4B" brought back memories of the beginning of my last trip. The trip from Hell. It was the same row. The row I'd purposely booked because it was close to the front of the plane, but for who knows what reason, was bumped to 9B as soon as I got on. Fingers crossed for this time. I slowly stepped onto the miniature aircraft, careful not to hit my head on the ceiling, and I immediately noticed the stench wafting through the aisle. Oh my GOD! Someone stinks! Not cool. If you know you're gonna be trapped in a cramped tube with a bunch of strangers, wouldn't you think deodorant might be appropriate? Ugh! I continued the few steps to Row 4, where I saw the empty aisle seat that was assigned to me. Yes! I tossed my bag above and happily plopped down into my seat and "fastened my seatbelt low and tight across my waist." But the green cloud of doom was looming around my nose so I around, trying to locate the culprit. I sniffed the seat in front of me. No, not him. Then I turned and sniffed behind me. Nope. I leaned into the aisle and casually sniffed 4A. Axe fresh! Oh no. No, it can't be. I slowly turned to my right and got a clear whiff of 4C which sent my gag reflex into turmoil. That smell was coming from right next to me! And, in case there was any doubt, 4C lifted his arm to adjust his vent just as my face angled at nose level. 

Oh, shit!

Let me try to explain the size of the seats on this airplane for a minute. Small would be an understatement. My right leg and 4C's right leg were basically dating at this point and my elbow was playing a game of "Whose Arm Rest is it Anyway?" with his elbow. I leaned into the aisle and noticed the flight attendant sniffing around and making a face of disgust. I leaned over a little more and nonchalantly covered my nose with my hand. I couldn't even look in 4C's stinky direction! 4A noticed my obvious dilemma and let out a giggle, "I'm so sorry for you." He said with sarcastic sympathy. I shrugged and leaned over even further. "Don't be," I quipped. "because I'm gonna be in your lap in a minute!" Just then the flight attendant came down the aisle and I stopped her and quietly asked with pleading eyes, "Are there any empty seats in the back?" Yes, I would rather sit in the back than next to Sir-Stinks-A-Lot! She understood exactly why I needed to move, "We're still boarding, but if anything is left when we're done, you're welcome to it." She continued down the aisle and 4A said, "I'm sorry, you can't move." I was confused. "I need you here as a buffer!" he laughed. As the seats filled, my situation was looking hopeless. And then I saw the flight attendant nod in my direction and I jumped up so quickly I banged my head on the ceiling above. Without looking at my offensive neighbor, I grabbed my coat, wished 4A good luck and dashed back to the empty seat in Row 10. I breathed in the fresh air and happily opened up my Sudoku book. 

And that's when the coughing started.

9A, directly in front of me, decided it would be a super idea to get on a plane where everyone is breathing recycled air when he was clearly dying of tuberculosis. The painful hacking began as the flight took off and didn't let up for the entire two and a half hours. I wanted to spray him with Lysol and  bathe myself in Purell or something. But I was trapped! Each time he coughed I cringed, but there was nothing I could do but sit there and breathe in the germs he was so generously sharing with me. Oh well. At least he smelled nice.

When we were finally on the ground I made my way thought the airport to get my rental car. I was experiencing a major déjà vu, liked I'd just been there. Oh, right. Because I had. The same socially awkward rental agent greeted me and I one-worded him in the hopes of avoiding uncomfortable small-talk. But it didn't work. After asking me three times if Kane was spelled with a K, he inquired, "Are you here with the circus?" Ummmm...What? My face told him I had no idea what he was talking about so he made things a little more weird for both of us, "Have you ever had a desire to be in the circus?" he queried. I shook my head while asking myself if this conversation was really happening. Then he closed with, "Neither have I. I'm scared of heights." 

Ok then.

I was finally released from Crazy Town and sent off to my Mazda 3 with my, hopefully working, GPS. The doors opened and the bitter cold Minnesota air stung my face. Damn! I quickly found the car, entered Lyndsay's address into the navigation system and off I went. Surprisingly, I made it to her house without an issue and was able to spend some time with her, Josh and the kids before everyone went to bed.

But sleeping was another story.

I was too nervous to sleep. The intense fear I was feeling can only be compared to the night

before I get my CT scan results. I always wonder if it'll be my last healthy night. If the next day will change my whole life again. If I'll die soon. But this time I wasn't worried about me. I was worried about my baby. The only baby left of my triplets. Baby A. It was such a shock to know I was having three babies then to see two of them on the screen, lifeless and on top of each other. The only thing that saved me from a real breakdown was the hope of Baby A's beating heart. She was still holding on for us. She was still alive. But that was two weeks ago. The doctor scheduled us for the upcoming ultrasound to check on her one more time before the first trimester is over. Yes, she seemed ok last time, but we've all seen how quickly these things can change. And, to top it off, another issue was rattling around in my paranoid mind. You see, right before the start of the freezing week, Lyndsay and Josh's furnace stopped working. That's always the way those things happen, isn't it? The new furnace was expected the day I arrived but, of course, someone messed up and it never got there. Luckily, the gas fireplace in the basement was working hard to keep the entire house warm, so the situation wasn't as bad as it could've been. Lyndsay also mentioned something at dinnertime about the carbon monoxide detector needing new batteries and I didn't think anything of it until I was nice and cozy on the inflatable mattress, in the finished basement, by the fireplace. That's when the anxiety kicked in. As Lyndsay has told me many times, I Google too much, which makes me worry too much. I'd read stories about people falling asleep with gas fireplaces going and being asphyxiated in their slumber. But that's only when the ventilation system isn't working, right? I could hear the hum of the fan and it was clear that the fireplace was fairly new and in perfect working condition. Nothing to worry about.

But I still couldn't sleep.

Finally, after fighting sleep for fear of not waking up, I gave into my ridiculous thoughts and turned off the fireplace. It was pretty toasty down there anyway, so I figured it would be ok. I quickly passed out a few minutes later. But that was short-lived. I woke up shivering at 2:30 AM, and realized if I was cold Lyndsay, Josh and the kids must be freezing! That was not ok. I hopped up, turned the fireplace back on and fell back to sleep.

My alarm woke me at 7:00 AM. Yes! I'm alive! I got dressed and headed upstairs. We needed to leave at 7:30 to drop Hunter off at school then Lyndsay, Hallie and I were off to the the clinic for an ultrasound and a follow-up appointment with the non high-risk OB. I tried so hard not to worry about what we may or may not see during the ultrasound but visions of the twins I will never meet kept overriding the positive thoughts. I just needed it to be 9:30 already. Finally, Lyndsay's appointment pager buzzed and we jumped up to follow the tech into the ultrasound room. My heart was pounding so loudly I figured they could probably hear it. Lyndsay got up onto the table and I situated myself in the chair. It was a different technician than last time so I introduced myself, "Hi. I'm Suzanne. I'm the baby's mom." She gave me a twisted stare and Lyndsay clarified, "I'm just the carrier." The tech's face showed understanding as Lyndsay threw in, "We're not a lesbian couple!" The tech laughed and assured us she didn't think we were "together" as she squirted blue gel onto Lyndsay's growing belly. My knee was bouncing up and down uncontrollably and I felt like I was about to vomit. Please, let there be a heartbeat. Please. As she moved the machine back and forth and up and down, I could see the two gestational sacs come into focus. Yes, both sacs were still there. I caught a quick glimpse of Baby A as the tech zoomed over her and moved on to measure the sac holding what was left of Babies B and C.

But I didn't see a flutter.

She seemed bigger than last time but I didn't see a beating heart. The tech started to measure Sac 2 and I interrupted her, "Can you please show me a heartbeat on Baby A? I need to see a heartbeat and then you can do whatever you need to do with everything else." She understood why I was asking and she apologized and quickly moved over to Sac 1. I saw my little Baby A, who actually looked like a baby now, but still nothing was beating. "I don't see anything," I squeaked. The tech was calm as she said, "It's moving all around, so I'm sure I'll find it!" I couldn't see the baby moving at all. Maybe she was just trying to postpone the bad news. And then she hit the zoom button and the most beautiful and amazing movement of a beating heart greeted our eyes. "There it is!" said the technician and I burst into uncontrollable sobbing. "One-hundred and sixty-three beats per minute. Perfect!" she told us after clocking the rhythm. I started to text Jimmi but decided a phone call would be more appropriate. "Hello?" he answered anxiously. "She has a heartbeat," I bawled into the phone. "Really?" I could hear my husband's combination of relief and excitement when he heard that his baby was alive and growing. "I just wanted to tell you that," I said. "I'll call you back." I watched as the technician continued looking at the tiny little princess on the screen. It was too soon to tell the sex but since Lyndsay and I kept referring to the baby as "she" the tech was curious, "You know it's a girl?" I explained, "We only put girls in!" She nodded and said, "Well, she's measuring at ten weeks and six days." I responded, "That's two days more than she actually is. That's good, right?" She smiled, "Yup. And here are her two legs," then she moved some more, "and one arm...and another arm." Wow. "You can see both arms and legs already?" She nodded again and turned the wand a bit to find the best angle for a photo op. "Oh my God! Is that her nose?" I asked when I clearly saw my daughter's profile for the very first time. "It sure is!" the tech confirmed as she printed a picture. "I wish I could see her moving like last time," I sighed. As if on cue, Baby A uncurled her body and gave us a little show, "Is she stretching?" I asked in disbelief. "She sure is!" said the tech, who obviously loved to see the excitement of her patients. When the ultrasound was over I was handed a two-foot long sheet of about ten photos of my baby and Lyndsay and I went off to her appointment with the doctor.

I know it was real before but, for some reason, today the pregnancy became official for me. As the doctor told us during our appointment, "There are no guarantees in this field, but so far, everything looks great."