The incompetent mother...

I've never been rolling in self confidence, but I'm sure we all agree that baby loss is a killer for any that you might have.  Confidence in anything, not just in mothering.

But as the date of my baby's induction is drawing near, there is a particular area that I feel myself struggling with, in the preparation of my head space.  That is that, having now carried three full term babies, having birthed two and about to count three, I'm as experienced as many in the whole deal.

My sister is a beautiful mother.  I look up to her, and feel that I will never live up to her mothering standards.  Yet it surprises me every time I need to reprimand myself, that she has three children.  No matter what happens I also will have birthed three full term babies.  

I'm often intimidated to some extent by mothers of more than one.  My MIL is even one.  I expect that she will start her insinuations and hinting wen I bring baby home, on how I should be doing things.  I remember te first morning home with baby Toby... Shane came in to wake me and told me that I had to eat breakfast before baby woke to be fed.  He is lucky to have lived.  I tackled him later and sure enough, his mother sent him in.  I couldn't tell you how many times she told me to eat, drink, sleep whatever or my "milk will dry up".  I'm ready for that one this time.... I breastfed Toby for two years.  She bottle fed all three of hers.

I mean, we all walk in different shoes.  Although I (will) have borne three babies, I haven't had the same opportunities to ease them.  But I need to stand tall and remember that I too am mothering three children.

At the pointy end.

Firstly, I'm thinking about ending this blog once baby comes along.  I don't publish here much any more.  I don't think anyone reads here any more.  I have been thinking about it and I don't like having my laundry just sitting around out there in cyberspace.  Ill miss it, but for the therapy it's given me, being in blog land, it's also caused me a bit of grief.  If you are reading, and perhaps would like to stay in contact, please let me know.

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So, here I am, getting close to the pointy end of my pregnancy, once more.  I'm tired.  And if you ask my husband I'm simply cranky.  The girl version of it though of course is that I am nearing the end of a long and difficult journey.  I'm tired and I'm hormonal.  No matter how this pregnancy ends, my family is complete.  There will be no more.

I am the type of person who is easily walked on.  The one who always has to change things to suit the other people.  Perhaps people who know me in real life would say bullshit, I don't know.  It does sound like a bit of a woe is me story.  But I'm the person who arranges a party that no one turns up to.  Or I decorate for and the guests bring their own and re do it.  No matter what I do, I feel like it always gets re done to suit others.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful because God knows just how much I know I'm blessed with his little one.  And we all know how baby loss and infertility takes away your control.  I'm really feeling it now though, and it's killing me.  All I want is for my final birth experience to be the way I want it.  I don't mean the uncontrollable, obviously.  Instead I feel like simply a pawn on someone else's chess board.  And the closer I near to the end, the more I'm trying to allow myself to relinquish control, because it seems the only thing I can do, so why stress over how I want things to go?  The few people I've spoken to in real life seem to not understand what I mean.  They are also the people Jo throw great parties that nobody criticises or rearranges.

Quite honestly, this pregnancy has been the easiest.  I've not had a leg cramp.  I've hardly had reflux.  I've been quite mobile throughout, could lay on my back until recently.. No swelling.  No carpal tunnel.  That kind of thing.  When I say easiest of course I mean in relation to my other full term pregnancies.

But at 31 weeks I discovered my OB was going away, leaving no locum, and that my next scheduled appointment was at 38 weeks.  Unimpressed I can tell you.  Unimpressed.  She may be THE best OBs in our city, but her manner and treatment sometimes leaves a lot to be desired I'm afraid.  Anyway, We also that my placenta had gone completely previa, covering the cervix.  Due to the high risk of haemorrhage and associated risks to baby and myself my OB 'banished' me from home.  We live on a large property 50km from the nearest town and at least 1.5-2 hours from a regional hospital, so I wasn't allowed to stay here, and I was given the 'choice' of finding somewhere to live in the city for a couple of months, or going home to my parents, which put me further from my hospital and doctor, but closer to a fully equipped hospital, so that's where I went.

Relocating is never  as easy as it sounds though.  I had to pack to prepare for being away from home possibly 7 weeks.  I also had to pack a hospital bag for me.  One for possible labour and bub, and one for Toby to cover the entire time.  Including making arrangements for thins like bill paying and banking. At my parents there is no mobile service and no Internet.  I had to arrange how to get my clexane injection daily.  That kind of thing.

But relationship pressures too.  Shane didn't really understand why I had to go down there when I was still going to be on a farm, a (shorter) distance from hospital.  The hospitals here aren't equipped to deal with preterm birth or complications.  My family's farm is also small, surrounded by neighbours (600 acres as opposed to 18,000).  Shane wanted to simply get his parents down to stay with me, and couldn't understand why that didn't cut it (besides the issues above, thy would struggle to deal with me if something went awry, plus his father is invalid and has difficulty getting around.  Oh god help me it would be terrible to have to deal with).  I don't mean to paint a poor picture of Shane of course... As I said, he struggled with really comprehending.  Pressure I didn't need.

Being with my family was great in that my mum especially was very helpful with Toby.  But a toddler in someone else's house is hard work, so the days that she wasn't there were very trying for me.  I missed my bed.  Toby is getting too big for his portacot, but is not yet in a bed (I tried but I wasn't up for the persistence of him getting out!).  These sorts of challenges.

I also started having some heart issues where my heart was racing noticeably, sometimes around 140 or so bpm which was making me woozy and nauseous and difficult o function (shower and dress, dress Toby etc).  It would settle after a while and then I was fine, especially if I was able to sleep.  An ECG showed an abnormal rhythm but it was all put down as normal pregnancy type palpitations.  I still get it happening every day, but mostly I can manage them by taking it easy when i Know it's coming.

In the second week I had an appointment with an OB down there, just as an antenatal appointment.  He did a quick scan and couldn't see the placenta being a problem, so sent me for a better one just o be sure.  The placenta was (now) 2.7 cm away from the cervix, so I was allowed to come home.  Much to Shane's happiness.

On the downside (well, there are ups, but just not so for my sanity), my inlaws decided to stick to their original plan (try we're coming down to look after Shane in my absence.....) and come down anyway, to look after me as well.

Whilst i Really appreciate having the bit of help, or the opportunity to take a lie down in need, it's very much wearing thin for me after 9 days, with probably another 2.5 weeks till baby arrives and not to mention whatever thy are planning to stay afterwards.  I've learnt that there is no point trying to fight it. My husband seems to be happier here.  Perhaps he feels better that Toby and I aren't at home alone.  Cheers to him.  However, he gets home from work around 6-6.30 and his outside chores have been done by his mother (dogs and chooks tended and wood brought in).  Dinner lands on his favourite - always something he likes to eat (I don't cater for his fussiness), and never a dish on the sink.  They are in bed by 8.30 at the latest.... Bliss for him.  I on the other hand have them with me every waking hour. I hav nowhere to escape.  I can't even talk on the phone in private.  She oversteps the mark in many thins, but then doesn't want to upset me in others.  And bless her, she creates so much extra work for me.  Simple things like having iron every.single.item and hang it in our limited hanging space.  I can't find a thing.  There is never anything in the washing basket - she does "just a small load" every time an item of clothing comes off.  Anyway, not meant yo be a whinge session... It's just going to be a long and stressful few more weeks.

Oh, and I'm not used o being told what I should do and when, or reporting in my every movement (I took Toby to town yesterday to go to the playground and the supermarket and was questioned as to which playground, how long I would be there and what time I would be home.  I understand her worrying but I am almost 43 years old...

Oh, I've also ad my appointment with Fetal Medicine which looks good for no laryngeal issues, though never a guarantee.  And I will hopefully get results from the Fetal MRI tomorrow.  That was not something fun - I had a full on panic attack in the tunnel whilst on my back and struggling to breath.  Thankfully they managed to do it then on my side.

I me with the midwife from my OBs office last week too, for an antenatal appointment and broke down in tears trying to explain to her wht all the tricky notes on my idle meant - who I'd seen, when and why.  Thank goodness, as a fellow baby loss mam, she was amazed I was even holding it together and rang my OB overseas to tell her I was a mess presumeably.  My BP was up again so I had o be BT'd for PE, which I'm presuming I not hav as nobody has contacted me (I don't think I do anyway - just one more thing to worry about).

Must leave my saga there and write more later...

The switching point.

Baby loss is a major turning point. But sometimes its just the little things that might barely be noticed.

One of those little things is hat my husband does around the house to help me. Let me say that I don't mean this to be a whingey post, but rather just factual. It is what it is. It always had the potential to become this, and just needed a catalyst.

My husband does little to help me around the house. You've read my IL whinges before. My MIL has no hobbies and her purpose in life is to care for her boys. She gets up with the birds, does several loads of washing a day, has the ironing board up before the sun has peeked over the flat and willingly cooks a different meal for everyone at the table. But she also demands no respect for it. My husband and his brother will never use manners with her, an speak gruffly and abruptly. She doesn't correct them but jumps to bid their demands.

When he and I met I demanded his place in the house be of more equality. I was working full time. Long hours. Driving for hours each day. He cooked a couple of times a week, an helped me wash the dishes. His job was to mop the floor. And he helped where I asked.

Not now.

I ask for assistance and get told that he will. Later or tomorrow I can ask again. And again. At some point of course it turns ugly. Because at what point does asking become nagging. And he knows too that at some point ill do it myself. I don't cut ally know how intentional that is. But I'm no longer up for the fight so I ask once or twice and then do it myself.

But it's not fair.

I've gone over and over it all in my head. I think the change happened when we lost Ciaran. Prior to tht I'd had work issues and finished abruptly on stress leave. After twenty years of working in a managerial position, long hours and lots of responsibility, I was lost. I felt guilty too. And I started to take the housewife duties on as my mother would. That I was the housewife and this was now my job.

Then Ciaran died, and the guilt deepened. But I also didnt have the strength to keep enforcing the rules. We were both in the deep throes of grief. Just trying to do our business.

Now? It's my husbands job to go to work each day. That's about it. Everything else belongs to me. And because its the way he was brought up, it's an Impossibility to change. I'm not saying its right. But I've had to learn to accept a certain amount of it.

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This week has been a full on week and my head space totally consumed. I've desperately been trying to get our taxes done and ready for the accountant. I'm talking about the 2011-2012 year! Yes, I'm behind, and my excuse is that moving twice in that year plus having a baby is enough to deal with. And now its the challenges of finding and sorting receipts with a toddler "helping". As well as finding the head space because its complicated.

It's my job, not Shane's. it's more my line of work. I'm the brains in the family he says. So I can't hand it over. But he doesn't under stand that I need him to take the toddler so I could get it done. He can't get his chores of feeding up his dogs etc with Toby, done. But the expectations of what super mummy can get done with Toby around are huge.

The other thing is that he is finally on my page about the low paying job he is in. We are skint. My "reserves" have all but been eaten away by IVF and the fact that I haven't returned to work since Toby was born. So we've made a plan to try to move closer to my family. It won't happen over night. The job opportunities are bigger there, and hopefully the chance to ear more reasonable money. But step one of the plan is to buy a new investment property, sell my existing one, and have a view to moving in ourselves in coming years. So he's all excited about viewing a house this weekend..... With no idea of the head work I've had to do! Not only did I put an extra dimension to getting the tax done, but I also had to speak with my own agent to get the sale ball rolling, negotiate times with the new agent, crunch numbers, speak to the bank and fill out a million enquiry forms with information still tightly packed in boxes. And it's all so borderline, it might never fly!!

In the middle of it I've had two vet trips (100km return each) plus an impromptu trip for new tyres tha according to my husband was urgent and couldn't wait another minute (300km return). Tonight we head south for the house appointment in the morning, and suddenly find out there's a big bike race in the area and all roads between my parents and the town we need to be are closed!! Nothing is simple. We will probably stay at my sisters instead... But I feel bad for that because they have no bathroom (only the ensuite) at the moment due to renovations, and my niece has to give us her bed for the night. Not to mention its not a visit - we will arrive late and leave early.

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So, amongst all of this, my house is bedlam and I am overwhelmed. I made a deal with my husband that I was taking a day to get the tyres, he was in charge of catchin up the dishes.....

So he did the plates that would fit in the rack instead. And got a new pan out to cook his dinner.

Helpful? Yes. But it wasn't the deal. Or my understanding of it. Laziness. And I can't be fooked with the fight, so he wins, and he'll continue to say I'm just grumpy all the time.

But last night I played on the Bra.xton Hicks. They're worse doing things like standing over a sink,me here my belly weight is forward. So, he told me not to worry about the dishes.... That he would do them when we get home on Saturday night.

Pfffft yeah.

But ill do them today. They're driving me nuts. He should have done them. If I left them till Saturday night, I know they won't get done until Monday. He'll be understandably tired. We have a busy day and 400km drive home. Sunday his excuse will be that he has too much to do outside, of his chores. Which is true, but hey.

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On several occasions I've canned the new house idea. But in truth, if we don't do it, if I don't make it happen, I'm cutting my own nose off to spite my face. I miss my family and closest friends. I look forward to having just that bit of support. A babysitter I can trust if I need one. Even jus for a mental health moment!!

I hope the sun shines on us.

Life is simply made up of...

.... Exclusive clubs and societies, I've decided. I was thinking that it applies to the "now" but when I look back, it always has been. It's just that those exclusive clubs weren't quite so exclusive.

I mean.... For a long time I was out of the "marriage" club. Everyone else had a husband or partner to take along to events, but I was the third wheel. Or if I asked someone to do something with me, they always had to refer to their husband before committing. It used to drive me round the twist but it was also a not so subtle reminder that I didn't have anyone who cared if I was hanging out with them.

But move on through all those clubs and into our current statuses. There's of course the 'dead baby' club. Well, if you're reading here, I most likely don't need to explain that one further. But my point being, until you're in the club you have no idea what it's like, or that its forever. None. No matter how much you try, or imagine. You won't get it, and hopefully never will. It's a good thing.

But then there's the 'rainbow baby' club. Not everyone gets granted access. So, again, not everyone gets it. I wish they did. Because its bloody hard work. I think so anyway.

Rainbow babies are splashed across my facebook page these days. Bloggers from "my own time". It's great, because we get each other. We understand that even though a rainbow brings so much healing, we still hurt and miss our babes that aren't with us. And we get that parenting a living child is darn hard work on so many levels. And also that we have an added level that tells us that anything that sounds like we're complaining (lack of sleep, children not eating, husbands not helping - so many things) will be deemed ungrateful.

And now there are more rainbows on their way. So it really reinforces te club - we grieved through the same period, our rainbows were born around the sae period, and now we are tackling a subsequent rainbow pregnancy whilst running after toddlers. Together.

But I'm so conscious of my friends who haven't been able to travel the higher road (yet). Sometimes I hope I've been blocked on fb, rather than cause hurt. I struggle with times where I don't want to post anything online for fear of rubbing noses in it. But still other times that say tat this is my life now. My entitlement to enjoy my son and my pregnancy. And on another level, if I ate a different look at it, my son iS my life. I don't have much more to talk about.

And yes, right now I'm refraining from littering facebook with my toilet training efforts. He is my world.

So there is no escape from clubs.

On miracles and us.

Apparently they happen. Should I just say it? I can't hide it in real life much longer. People are already recognising that there will be another.

Toby will be a big brother. One way or another now. Hopefully, all will be good news. For the next six months and beyond.

We're still somewhat in shock. After the miscarriage in October, we used our last frozen embryo with no success.

I had an appointment for early Feb to see my FS again to talk about going forward, but in realistic terms we probably couldn't find the funds to go again. It was a stress to me. I wasn't ready to stop trying. The miscarriage had once more changed things for me.

In December, I noticed that I had fallen into the exact same cycle as the one we had conceived Ciaran. To the day. Us girls know these things. Dates and stuff.

I admit it passed through my mind, in feelings more than words. I wondered in some form if we could be blessed. If the cycle was going to be 'ours'. But really, I was teasing myself. After four years of trying, trying, trying there was no hope left in me. That's a lie, but there was certainly LITTLE hope left.

Our TTC efforts these days are half hearted. We're old, tired and worn down. We're sick of disappointment. It's easier to not try.

The cycle was odd. Frustrating. I'm a 28-30 day girl. I O 'on time' every month. I'm predictable, and its all way too obvious for me to truly 'go with the flow'. But this time? I wondered if there was an early O. Never before seen. I wondered at normal O time, just what was going on. I cursed the D & C that seemed to have messed up everything.

At Christmas I had a few champagnes. I don't drink while TTCing, so I've been pretty teetotal for the bet part of five years. Then by CD28 I was cramping. AF was on her way. MIL was visiting. I had. Few vinos with her for the first couple of evenings.

Then at 3am in the morning of CD30, still cramping, we were all awake. It was a horrible hot night. It suddenly dawned on me that I was hungry. Very. And that the last time I was hungry like that in the middle of the night, was pregnant with Ciaran.

On a whim I got up and POAS and the second line was up before I could even put it down for the wait.

So there you have it folks.

It's still hush on fb. We'll 'come out' soon. We just need to get through our next scans.

I just don't...

.... Know where to start, really. It's just an update post because its been so long, and its Christmas, and its the beginning of a New Year and all.

2012 was really a follow on from 2011. The highs and blessings versus the smash down lows. 2011 ended with Shane losing his job, which in turn meant our house, as we live in employer provided housing. It meant that even when he found a new job, we had to spend thousands moving house, for the second time in six months. Talk about putting us on the back foot before we'd even put a foot forward?

Everything is working out ok here. The pay is low, but they pay overtime which most places don't, so that helps prop it up. It'd be nice to get ahead a little, but its not going to happen. I'm still spending. Slowly. We have no cupboards in this house, and its a long, expensive, slow project of buying suitable furniture, cupboards that work in THIS house, and storage solutions. The location has benefits and pitfalls. We are halfway between three towns, but we are 40 minutes drive from anywhere. Shane is happy enough, and the boss is happy with him. I can relax a little there.

I'm feeling more settled, and I'm very gradually sorting through the unorganised tumble that had become our life. It will take a long time, but most days I see progress and I'm not so often overwhelmed. It's tough though, with the blessing that is a rambunctious little boy who is a handful. God bless him.

But then there's been the whole IVF stuff. Trying to start in April when Toby turned one. But delay after delay. My thyroid issues meant being referred to an endo, which took months to get into. Then waiting for the meds to start to kick in.

And then we finally started and joy of joys, fell pregnant with number four straight away.

A little girl.. Did I tell you that? Thank you universe, for the tease. Not that I want a girl any more than a boy, but how sweet to know what could have been.

I opted for a D & C. It never sat well - I am one to believe that my body knows best. It went well, but I'm still paying the price. After two births and a previous miscarriage my body snaps back 6 weeks post partum. This time it's all over the shop. Never mind, it was the best decision at the time, and I would probably do it again.

The genetic testing results came back via our FS, and I was very upset. She writes a shocking letter, and she apologised for it. Her letter read that the tissue tested may have been mine (as it was XX) and what the chromosome issues were (balanced translocations) but that they could make up a "normal" person. For twenty four hours I cried because I thought I had just been told I was a freak. Seriously. I didn't tell Shane for hours, because I was so embarrassed. And shattered because it felt like our child(rens) deaths were my fault. We already know that what happened with Ciaran came from my side, but this was too much.

The next morning I rang the geneticist at the big city hospital who has the family case. She shrugged it off, but eased my mind by saying it sounded like a straightforward "incompatible with life" translocation.

We had subsequent genetic testing and we are both "perfect" in the genetic sense!

But the thing is.... That "tease" of a pregnancy has put me in a worse place. It's three months since the procedure, but in so many ways I feel worse than I have in years. It's different to losing Ciaran, obviously. But it has brought a lot of bitterness to the surface. I'm angry about it, but I'm not sure who or what at, so it's hard to "get out". I struggle more with depression now than I did then, and I think I'm moving forward closer to ADs. Not that there is anything wrong with them, but so far they haven't been for me. I still need to be sure we have completed our family though for my own peace if mind.

So there's the million dollar question. I'm not ready to accept that Toby won't have a sibling. He needs someone to play (and fight!) with! It doesn't sit well for me. But then I'm at the stage of not knowing when to stop. It will most probably not be a choice. Suddenly with the burden of our latest loss, and the delays along the way, I'm feeling my age. I'm weary of loss. I'm weary of grief. But there is no rest from the burden.

I'm 42 in 6 weeks or so. It's suddenly starting to hit me, the extra challenges that come with having babies (or trying) at this age. It adds more weight to what I carry.

And speaking of weight, tanks to the extra dollop of depression, along with a side of prednisone (to fight off the natural killer cells while I'm cycling under IVF), I've stacked it on. Seriously. And rather tan being spurred on to do something about it, it depresses me even more.

We used our last embaby before Christmas but to no avail. My body went all out of whack, and I didn't hold much hope for it anyway as it was from our first stim cycle, rather than Toby's. i didnt talk about it, not to anyone IRL or on my blog. I'm past the public stage on that. i need to deal with the disappointments (or even excitements) myself now before i cone clean. and its just not something that needs to be discussed anyway. I had my ovarian reserve tested and the number came back as fair to good for my age. We will meet with the FS to discuss what she thinks. We are so much older than our last stim cycle.

But the big question is money. We're all but out. It will be scratching and scrimping to try again, and possibly not even a choice. But we will see what the FS says, before I stress about finding the dollars or not.

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Christmas was ok. Enjoyable. I'm a bit precious, as I said, and need some space, but not too much. It's a fine line. Toby was spoiled rotten, and we got a lot of enjoyment from his enjoyment. He was one of the three wise men at the Carols By Candlelight, and melted my heart in his get up!

Santa was way too good. Again. But I can't help but think tat there is another little boy who I can't buy for, and that makes me angry.

New Year was quiet. Sleeping actually! What happened and when did I get old?

This kid.

This kid. He drives me insane, cracks me up and amazes me all in one.

Let me tell you.

We have pretty much no cupboards here. Imagine it. It'll give you grey hairs. Now put a (much loved, and known blessing) toddler in the equation who grows an inch a day and has go go gadget arms.

Today he discovered he can get into two new drawers, that have bits and pieces in them that desperately need a clean out but I struggle to know where to put the pieces! So.... My "girls" hammer. Screws and nails. That kinda stuff. And no easy way to lock off the drawers.

But five steps behind his daddy today, he went to the drawer. Took out a Tape measure. Just like his daddy. Came and measured the coffee table. Just like his daddy just did.

The look of earnest and concentration. Priceless. As they say.

Ten minutes later? He was skipping his way around the dining room. Skipping? Well, it took me a little while to work it out but this week at music we skipped. Mummy skipped (oh what a sight) an Toby held my hand and was dragged along. And now? Three days later, he skips. Melt my heart.

I miss my four year old and the things he might be doing.