In response to popular demand, and the need for more detailed guidelines than "not pink," we have created a few baby gift registries. They are by no means the be-all-end-all lists of what we want or need, but they're a start. If somebody finds a cute outfit at the thrift store and washes it a few times, that's cool too. But we really do love the Burt's Bees stuff.
In other news, we had the 18-20 week ultrasound at the hospital last week. Everything still looks good, but they want to follow up in a month to look at whatever they didn't get a good enough look at the last time. My blood pressure is in question, so I've been monitoring that at home in addition to a delightful 24-hour pee test and blood panel. Results to follow. Getting the progesterone injection has been a bit of a bureaucratic nightmare involving second-party distributers, third-party pharmacies, lost paperwork, and lots of waiting on hold over the phone. I think we finally have all the bugs worked out, and I'm supposed to go in for a shot in the butt every week for the duration. Cervix still looks good; we have another ultrasound this week to check it again. Blood pressure follow-up is next week. If our insurance didn't cover all this, we might well have been tapped out by March.
I'm told they usually deliver people in my circumstances around 36 weeks, which would be the week of March 15, the dog's birthday. I'm seeing some very cute birthday snapshots in our future.
Our 16.5 week ultrasound today promoted "Baby Julian" (aka "Baby #5") to Baby Johanna. I'm happy; Dave is understandably a little disappointed, but he'll be over it in about two minutes. It's made it a little bit more real for me. Up to this point, I haven't had a chance to feel pregnant; I've felt like I have a strange degenerative syndrome.
Nothing appears to be seriously abnormal, so thank goodness for that. My cervix is behaving itself so far, but they want to see me again in two weeks just to make sure it stays that way. The progesterone seems to be doing its job effectively.
Oh, and this time I have placenta previa. If it had to be something, it might as well have been that, because it doesn't change our plans at all. We were already definitely having a caesarian because of the classical incision they did on me before, so another reason labor could be life-threatening is purely academic.
I used to imagine I would enjoy pregnancy. I was going to scrupulously take my vitamins and eat lots of wholesome fruit and veggies. It was going to be fun and exciting.
Well, I officially hate it. It has been nothing but miserable and traumatic ALL FIVE TIMES. I thought the worst was finally over, but we had a spectacular relapse on Tuesday, and I've been vomiting six times daily ever since. I essentially starved until noon yesterday just to make it stop, and it seems like today will be the same. I try to take my vitamins, but they tend to make me sick. Food makes me sick, water makes me sick, being hungry and thirsty makes me sick. All things being equal, I'd rather vomit on an empty stomach than otherwise, so I just don't eat or drink at all. Fruit makes me sick. Vegetables make me sick. Juice makes me sick. The smell of my shampoo makes me sick. Showers make me sick, but not showering also makes me sick. Brushing my teeth makes me sick. My own pulse makes me sick. The only thing that seems to stay down is salty corn puffs, but they give me high blood pressure, which is also undesirable. There is no winning.
I did not sign up for this. I was willing to be sliced and diced and stapled back together again. I was willing to risk miscarriage and uterine rupture. I was willing to be fussed over and violated by extra tests and shots and whatnot. I was NOT willing to be desperately sick for three to six months. The plan was that the Zofran would work and I would be semi-independent and at least able to eat properly. That failed spectacularly, so now I am essentially a shut-in. I'm lucky if I get off the couch. The dog has started giving me long earnest looks, wondering if napping all day and going to bed early is going to be the rest of our lives. I can barely make my own food, and now even that seems like a wasted effort. If I am going out, especially to church, I have to starve myself first so that I know any vomit that happens can fit into a paper cup I keep in my purse. The only thing that can make this situation any worse is the onset of autumn hay fever, which occasionally gives me chronic bloody nose, and always makes vomiting a truly epic experience of sinus pressure. I'd be chugging liquid Tylenol to cope with the headaches if I thought I could keep it down.
I know other women have it worse than I do, and I've heard of some risking liver and kidney failure just to have children. More power to them, but I am done. I hate going to bed at night, and I hate waking up in the morning. If I could finish this experience in an induced coma, I would. Once this kid is out, one way or another, I hope to never, ever, ever, EVER experience this misery again.