When I was in Anchorage with Bre several months back, getting Maddi’s social security number, I picked up a couple pregnancy journals. The first one, I did it for Maddi all about my pregnancy with her. Ironically, I worked on most of hers during my pregnancy with Danny. Today, I started working on Danny’s.

It’s kind of funny how I found out I was pregnant. Bre and I had been living in an apartment together in Kenai. It was this really trippy, bomb-shelter, underground apartment. Tiny, studio apartment.

I had some pregnancy tests leftover from when I lost Jacey. And I don’t even know why we decided to take them, but we did. Probably because they had the droppers to put the pee on the test so it was kind of like a science experiment. I remember Bre saying something like to that effect.

We took the tests and left them in the bathroom. I don’t really remember what we did after that, but we got distracted. We ended up going on a walk down to paradisos and getting chicken wings, and later that evening, Bre went in the bathroom and next thing I know she calls out to the living room, “Umm… Sam? You know you’re pregnant, right?” I went in there and sure enough, my test was positive. I asked her “You sure that ones not yours?” and she just laughed at me and said “I’m sure.”

I don’t remember what went through my head. Shock? Maybe it was because I didn’t really think I was pregnant. I had logical reasons to suspect, but after what happened with Jacey, I was for sure there was something horribly wrong with me and that every little sign and symptom was just my imagination working overtime. After all, you can’t get pregnant so soon after losing a baby… can you?

I was filling out the journal, and the prompt was “When I found out I was pregnant, my first feeling was:” and I just stopped for a moment.

My first thought wasn’t even a thought. It was a swirling cloud of eighty thoughts hitting me all at once. I couldn’t even logically separate the thoughts or isolate them and figure out what I was feeling. All I was feeling was the emotion and feelings behind the thoughts. I couldn’t put words to them. I couldn’t say happy, sad, scared, excited. I was just feeling the intensity of it all instantaneously and simultaneously. It was all very confusing, and very frightening.

I feel guilty for that. Shouldn’t a mother-to-be’s first thoughts be something more special, or hell, even slightly less plural and a great deal less contradicting of each other? I felt guilty knowing that my first thought wasn’t something the typical response from elated new mothers. I felt guilty for not jumping for glee and exclaiming for everyone to hear “Oh my gosh! I’m going to be a mommy!”

I felt guilty because if I had to pick, my first thought was:

“What if this baby dies too?”

I never really thought of it like this. Not until today. Not until I started filling out my pregnancy book for Danny. I never made the connection before. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to, or maybe I just avoid thinking about it and so the obvious didn’t jump out at me like it could have? It’s hard to see something if you spend your life pretending its not there. The allegory of the cave.

When I filled out Maddi’s book, my answers were pretty simplistic. Happy, excited, typical expectant mother dribble. The only thing less than “a baby story” typical in Maddi’s book was that she wasn’t planned. But everything else was.

“We were so happy!” “I couldn’t wait to find out if you were a girl or a boy.” “Daddy and I wondered what you’d look like.” “I gained a lot of weight.” “Everyone was so happy.” “I fell in love with you when I saw you at the first ultrasound.” “I couldn’t wait to meet you face to face.”

As I continued filling out sections of Danny’s book, I kept seeing how vastly different my entries for him were compared to my entries in Maddi’s book. Maddi’s book was full of what I call, “sunshine and rainbow” statements. And with Danny’s… I may not have wrote them, but I realized that every positive feeling I had about the pregnancy, was shrouded in fear.

I wasn’t picking out names. I wasn’t ooh-ing and ahh-ing over all of the cute baby clothes. I wasn’t having planning special ways to share the joyous news. I wasn’t excitedly awaiting my first doctor’s appointment so I could catch my first precious glimpse of my baby on the ultrasound.

I was wondering if my baby would even get a legal name. I was wondering if I’d ever get a chance to put my baby in cloth training pants. I was wondering how long I needed to hide my pregnancy until it was “safe” so I wouldn’t have to endure the heart-wrenching pain of explaining that my child died everytime someone unsuspectingly asked how the pregnancy was going. I was terrified of my first ultrasound because I was afraid they would tell my my baby was dead.

Everything I did terrified me. For even the simplest actions I took, I would rationalize and debate every possible consequence or reprecussion there could be. Making even the simplest decision was enough to throw me into tears because no matter what choice I made with anything, I was, in my mind, convinced that something horrible would happen. And no matter how healthily I lived, somehow, somethng would go wrong, and the end result would be the same.

I would have another dead baby.

It didn’t matter to me that I had Maddi, not for argument’s sake. The fact I had a healthy child and pregnancy in the past meant nothing. It wasn’t credible evidence in my arguments with myself. It was a fluke. Somehow something happened and I got lucky with her, but never again. The mindset I was in, was that I had only a one in a trillion chance of having a healthy baby. I hit it once with Maddi, and there was no way I could beat those odds a second time. I was doomed.

Only now, after filling out some of the sections of that book, do I realize how much I took for granted when I was pregnant with Maddi. I was “depressed” that they couldn’t tell me if she was a girl or boy at only 12 weeks. I was pouting about looking pudgy instead of pregnant. I don’t think that the thought that anythng could possibly go wrong with my baby or pregnancy even crossed my mind. The potential for something terrible happening wasn’t even on my radar. How naive and stupid I must have sounded. How naive and stupid I was. If only I had been aware of the terror pregnancy can truly bring.

Even now, I worry. I’m not pregnant, nor do I intend to become so for a while, but whenever I even entertain the thought of having another baby in the future, or daydream about it, I’m filled with fear. I want more children, more than anything in the world, but even if Dan were to tell me tonight, “Let’s try for another baby.” I don’t think I could. Even with as much as I bug him and whine and pout to him about how I want another baby… I don’t think I could go through with it. I’m so terrified of something going wrong, something happening to my baby, that I don’t know if I could put myself through that again, and if we hadn’t gotten pregnant with Danny immediately after I lost Jacey, I can’t say that I would have tried to have another baby. It’s one thing for me to say I want another baby, and to genuinely want another, which I do, but it’s completely different to jump from talking and wanting, to actually doing. I really want more babies, more than anything in the world… But I’m terrified. Even just thinking about it now. It terrifies me. To the point I just want to cry. I’m so scared of it happening again and I don’t know if I could handle it. I really don’t.

So, I am completely and utterly unmotivated to do much of anything for my schoolwork… Mostly because it’s an art project that we’re supposed to do, and I’m broke. I can’t do a decent art project if I don’t have the correct supplies, and I can’t get the right supplies, if I have no money to buy them! It’s all one giant frustration. We’re supposed to make some kind of native art or something… I think… I’m going to dig around for some glue, and use a paper towel tube, and some left over scrap booking paper and yarn to make a rainstick with rice inside it. It might be a little elementary, but it will be fun, and it’s “in the style” of native artwork. So, maybe she’ll give me an A for effort? I’m too broke to buy anything right now.

Meanwhile, we were going to go to anchorage tonight after Dan got off work, and get a hotel for the night, so we can go to his uncle’s funeral tomorrow, but we’re broke. So we’re just going to leave early tomorrow morning, go to the funeral, and drive home afterward. It’s kind of weird that they waited so long to have the funeral, but I’m not too entirely sure how all of that works, so who am I to determine what’s long and what’s not. Dan’s uncle was only 50 years old though, I’m really hoping Dan looks at this and starts taking better care of himself.

I’m still using the evening primrose oil, one capsule, three times daily by mouth, and three capsules at night vaginally. And I’m drinking my three cups of raspberry leaf tea a day. I’m getting used to the taste. I’m not a very big tea drinker, but I’m starting to like it. It tastes a lot better with honey than with sugar mixed into it. So far it seems to be helping, as my Braxton Hicks are a lot stronger than they were. We’ll see at my appointment on Friday!

Meanwhile, Maddi is being a pill. She’s going through this phase where she thinks she needs to throw all of her freaking food on the floor. It dosen’t matter if she was begging and whining for food before I gave it to her, the second I put food in front of her in the high chair, she thinks she needs to throw it! And she knows what she’s doing is wrong! I’ll say “No!” and “Don’t throw your food!” really stern, and she just looks at me and does it anyways. This has been going on for a couple weeks… Probably closer to a month. Today, she threw her lunch on the floor, so I swatted her hand, put the food on her tray, and told her not to throw it on the floor. She looked right at me, and threw it again! I swatted her hand, picked her up and put her in bed for her naptime without lunch. I know it sounds mean, but obviously, if she’s throwing her food, she’s not hungry. Needless to say, when she got up from her nap, and it was dinner time, she ate EVERYTHING on her tray. So, I think that’s the approach I’ll take. If she throws it, she gets down from her high chair. I don’t make her food, and buy her food just for her to waste it because she wants to be a brat. It’s just so frustrating! I hate to make her take a nap with an empty belly, but she CANNOT keep doing this! Food is for eating. Not throwing!

Meanwhile, Dan has showed some interest in becoming a lawyer, and personally, I think it’d be a GREAT career choice, our lawyer is from https://www.pewlaw.com/ and he has always admire all his work. That boy can win any debate under the sun. Heck, he’s won debates FOR smoking, and AGAINST going to college, which is crazy, but it just goes to show, he’s got talent! He’s very good with words, and very good at arguing, which can be frustrating for me sometimes. That’s one thing that irritates me about him, almost anything I say or believe, he wants to hear my argument for it, or my evidence. I don’t plan on debates. Personally, I don’t like debates. They frustrate me and I hate participating in them. I’m not clever and witty and quick like he is. But I do think those very same characteristics that annoy me, would make him an AMAZING lawyer. We’ll see if he decides that’s the path he wants to take. Whatever decision he makes, I’ll support it, so long as it’s something that he really wants to do, and something he can help support his family on.

I think I’m getting the end-of-pregnancy-grumpies. I’m like seriously cranky and I can’t help it. I’m trying not to be, but I am! It’s like… everything makes me go GRRRR! I can’t wait to meet this little guy. I need to issue the kid an eviction notice or something! I would love to have my LUNG CAVITY back to myself and quit having to share it with a roommate who refuses to pay any rent, but insists on giving me indigestion, cramps, braxton hicks, nausea, etc, etc. He he he. As miserable as the end is, I loved being pregnant (well, mostly up until the point I couldn’t breathe anymore..) but this will be my last baby for a long time.

I don’t plan on having any more kids until after I finish my nursing degree. I don’t know how many I plan on having after that. I might have more. I might not. I’m really not sure. I’d like to plan on it, but I don’t know. I might decide that I have different priorities and goals by then. We’ll just have to wait and see. I just know that I need to have a good degree before I have any more babies. I need to be able to provide for the two I have. When I can do that successfully, then I’ll consider having more. Until then, I’m done. Shutting down the baby-making shop.

Meanwhile, I have the most amazing song stuck in my head. I used to listen to it all the time when I was sixteen or seventeen, and I’ve been obsessed with the band ever since then. “Okay, I believe you, but my tommy gun don’t.” by Brand New.

“Wouldn’t stop if I could.
Oh, it hurts to be this good.”

Such a hot song. I love it.

“Oh, we’re so controversial
We are entirely smooth
We admit to the truth
We are the best at what we do
And these are the words you wish you wrote down
This is the way you wish your voice sounds
Handsome and smart
Ooh, my tongue’s the only muscle on my body
that works harder than my heart”

What can I say? Hearing all these old songs I used to listen to back in the day kind of brings on an inspiration in me. They make me wonder, if at that age, where I am now, was what I saw myself doing at this age. It’s an interesting thought to ponder… Sometimes I think I’m doing well, and 20 year old me, isn’t a disappointment to 17 year old me, and other times, I wonder if I could do better. It varies depending on my mood.

Anyways, I really should do my homework now.

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