Tomorrow is the Day

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Thank you, everyone, for your sweet words and wishes. I can’t believe that we’re on the Eve of another potential surgery. I say “potential” because we’re scheduled for a bronchoscopy, which is more of a look-see. But if the doctor sees something minor that he can fix, he’ll do it. The doctor won’t know what he’s dealing with until he performs the procedure, so we’re kind of on pins and needles in that respect.

As such, it’s being treated as a surgery. The document I have in front of me with the details for tomorrow reads across the top: “SURGERY 11/10/15.” The sheet also tells me that Theo can’t eat or drink past midnight. We have to be at the hospital at 8:00 am, and the procedure is scheduled to begin at 9:30 am.

In the photo above, I put that shirt on Theo 5 minutes before I snapped the picture. Can you see how his shirt is covered in drool? Also, you may be able to see the excessive saliva in his mouth. This is more than just teething or other typical baby stuff.

I’m incredibly depressed about the procedure tomorrow, but I’m also thankful that we may finally get to the bottom of this. I’ve been so worried about him. Lately, he’s been waking during the night, coughing on the mucus in his throat.

I’ve been going through the whole “It’s not fair!” cycle, and I’m trying to get out of my own head and just accept it. I stood in front of my bookshelf for a while (I love books and probably have way too many…), trying to find something to read that would pull me out of myself. I found Byron Katie’s Loving What Is and got into bed, prepared to read. What fell out of the book was a printed list of high-risk obstetricians from our insurance company. My husband had written some notes at the top because he was the one who printed the list for me…when I was newly pregnant with Theo. The pregnancy was high-risk because I had a uterus with a “thin window,” as they say, and I needed to be monitored. I guess I turned towards this book when I was worried about my pregnancy.

And now that we made it through that stressful pregnancy, we have a sweet little guy with an adorable laugh. Truly, his laugh is awesome. More of a chuckle, really.

So here’s what Byron Katie says in her book: “If you want reality to be different than it is, you might as well try to teach a cat to bark. You can try and try, and in the end the cat will look up at you and say, ‘Meow.’ Wanting reality to be different than it is is hopeless. You can spend the rest of your life trying to teach a cat to bark.”

I want reality to be different. I don’t want Theo to have this problem or ANY problem. I want many things that aren’t part of reality. And the realization that I have no control over reality is PAINFUL. It actually hurts to sit in certain feelings that belong purely to reality and are not up for manipulation or debate. But I guess I have to accept that I’m not going to teach a cat to bark (although I’m sure I could find something on YouTube…).

Thank you so much for thinking of us. I really appreciate it. And I’ll keep you posted when we know more.  ❤

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He’s Home!!

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Thanks for all of your well wishes and words of support! They mean so much! Theo came home yesterday. He spent 8 days in the NICU which, coincidentally, was exactly the same amount of time as Emmy when she was born. Theo had RDS (Respiratory Distress Syndrome) and PPHN (Persistent Pulmonary Hypertension of the Newborn). Emmy, too, had PPHN. Isn’t that bizarre??

It’s probably obvious to parents of children with Williams syndrome that Theo doesn’t have that diagnosis as well. (You start to become an expert at identifying the facial characteristics.) But I can’t get over the fact that both kids had PPHN and ended up in the NICU. (By the way, Charlotte was healthy as an ox when she came out. All 3 kids were full-term C-sections.)

Over the past few years, I’ve become fascinated by genetics. If I had more time, I would study it.

For now, I’m tired and totally spacey. (I can barely put a sentence together. I keep saying to Dan, “Can you get that thing? You know that thing? It’s on the other thing?”) But I am also THRILLED to have Theo HOME!

Oh and I am so thankful for NICU nurses. PICU nurses too. Labor and Delivery nurses too. NURSES IN GENERAL!!!! They took such good care of all of us. Thank you!!

Here are pictures of the girls holding their baby brother for the first time. Charlotte was talking in a sweet baby voice: “Hello, little Theo. Look at your little feetsies!” And Emmy wanted desperately to hug him, kiss him, and hold his hand. She kept saying, “My turn!”

And Theo looks totally different. He lost a bit of weight. We’ll see what he looks like when he fills out more.

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Happy to be home!

Theodore

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I was actually in the middle of a blog post on Monday when I clicked “save draft” and headed to my doctor’s office. My blood pressure had been high for the past few weeks, so they asked me to come in for another check. Sure enough, it was even higher. They sent me to Labor and Delivery, where it was determined that we should go ahead with my C-section, three days earlier than scheduled.

I was nervous about the C-section, but I’m nervous anyway when it comes to surgery. It did seem as if my body was giving me signals that it was time. The high blood pressure was a problem and, sure enough, when the OB opened me up she found the uterine window that we’d be warned about.

When I had Emmy, my uterus was very thin, and we knew that we would have to be careful during this pregnancy. A thin uterus could lead to a uterine rupture, which would be bad news for everyone involved. I was monitored during this pregnancy but, sure enough, when the OB performed the C-section a very, very thin window was there. She also saw my baby’s hand under it, waving. So, yeah, we were advised not to have another after this one…

But here he is! My third baby, Theodore. We call him Theo. 🙂

When they put Theo on my chest, I immediately noticed that he was coughing up a fair amount of mucus. I knew right away that he was going to the NICU. I’ve learned so much since Emmy was born. I know the signs. Theo actually didn’t look as bad as Emmy. When she came out, she was blue, ice cold, and had a strange cry (like a cat with its tail caught). Theo, on the other hand, was rosy and warm, and his cry sounded substantial, though a little garbled from the mucus. But I just had a feeling.

Sure enough, Theo ended up in the NICU. His blood sugar was low, but it looked like all he needed was a little intervention and some time to clear the mucus out of his lungs. I actually felt ok with him going there. It wasn’t ideal, but I knew that they did wonderful things for Emmy when she was born, so I wasn’t as afraid as I was the first time around.

I put on my brave, big girl smile and waited patiently for him to come out of it. And he was doing ok for a while…until he wasn’t.

A day or two later (I can’t even remember…), the doctor came into my room to say that Theo was requiring more oxygen support and would have to go on a ventilator. I couldn’t help myself and asked about all kinds of hypothetical situations. And then I just lost it. Everything came up again. And I mean EVERYTHING: Emmy’s time in the NICU, Emmy’s heart surgery, Emmy’s cardiac arrests; Emmy’s crash onto life support. I relived all of it. While Dan went down the hall with the doctor to watch Theo’s vent get put in, a really sweet nurse came to comfort me. I told her that you can only be brave for so long before you just lose it…and I lost it.

When I wiped my tears and was able to make my way down the hall to see Theo, one of the NICU nurses kindly handed me a tissue and said that it’s been a tough few days. I heard myself say, “It’s been a tough few years.”

I was really down.

When I got back to my room, my sister sent me a text that said she was amazed at our positivity when Emmy was in the hospital last year. She was impressed by our optimism and our faith that everything would be fine. She loved that we cheer-leaded Emmy along to good health. Emmy needed that positivity, and luckily it was radiating out of me.

But now it was harder for me to conjure up that positivity. I just felt completely drained. I guess I never thought I would need to harness that ability again. And I didn’t know how I was going to get it back.

Luckily, a wonderful friend called and talked me through it. She’s a very smart and solution-based person, and she’s also spiritual. All of it helped IMMENSELY.

One of the things that was difficult for me was that Theo’s numbers would jump around whenever anyone touched him or talked near him, including his mama. So I had to leave him be in order for him to get better. I felt so helpless. But my friend had a great suggestion, which was to ask for some of Theo’s swaddling blankets, sleep with them, and then give them back with my scent. That made me feel soooo much better. My spirits came back up, and Theo also started doing well.

So now it’s the slow and steady wait. He’s still on the ventilator, but he’s showing signs of progress. I’m sad and exhausted and still in pain from the C-section…but I’m also positive! I know he can do it. I can’t wait to have him home, and his sisters are SO excited to meet him. Emmy keeps saying, “Theo coming!”

Yes he is, Emmy. Sit tight. 🙂

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The Passing of Time

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I’m so aware of the passing of time right now. Charlotte turned 5 years old  on May 21. Last year, we were celebrating her birthday with my mom and my aunt at home, when I got the call from my husband who was in the hospital with our other little girl–they were going to try and take Emmy off life support in about an hour. She had been on life support for a week and, on Charlotte’s birthday, they were going to see if Emmy’s heart could beat on its own. I was terrified, nervous, and excited. I felt like Emmy had come so far already, and I had confidence that she could pull through. But I was also scared that this wouldn’t go well. Either way, it had to be done. She was starting to bleed from the life support machine.

I gave Charlotte birthday wishes, hugs, and kisses, and hopped in the car. The hospital was about an hour away, so I would hopefully be able to get there just in time. I don’t think my own heart has ever beat as rapidly as it did on that drive. I kept talking to Emmy in my head: “You can do it! Come on, Emmy!”

Right before I crossed the bridge to the hospital, a song came on the radio. It’s called “Keep Your Head Up” by Ben Howard. I’d heard this song a couple times and always liked it, but this time the lyrics affected me differently. I flew over the bridge with the chorus in my ears: “Keep your head up. Keep your heart strong.” I cranked up the volume and, with tears running down my cheeks, sang along: “Keep your head up. Keep your heart strong.” I kept singing louder and louder, willing Emmy to hear me.

I got to the hospital just before she was taken off life support, and it was such a relief when the doctor came to get us in the waiting room. She said Emmy had transitioned off of life support nicely, and her heart was beating on its own!

First we felt joy and relief! Then the exhaustion of the prior week came washing over me. Emmy had gone in for heart surgery on May 16 and, after two cardiac arrests and a crash onto life support, we had been living on pins and needles. We were also trying to make things as “normal” as possible for Charlotte–keeping our promise to celebrate her birthday; trying to devote as much time to her as possible. That day alone, I had made several trips to the hospital. I brought Charlotte in to celebrate with Daddy in the waiting room. Then went back home. Then drove back when Emmy was ready to come off of life support. Dan and I were beyond tired–physically and emotionally–and it would be another few weeks before we were able to bring Emmy home…

And despite all of our hard work last year, Charlotte’s birthday was still kind of a disaster. I think that, emotionally, she is very tuned into us. She could feel that things weren’t right, even though we tried to make the day special. She was a trooper about celebrating her birthday in the hospital’s waiting room, but she also sensed that this wasn’t how birthdays usually go.

This year was much different–thankfully. She had an absolutely awesome birthday, and Emmy was there to celebrate with her.

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Looking at 5 year old Charlotte, I keep thinking of the little baby we met in the hospital in 2009. How quickly it all goes by! It makes me want to freeze time.

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Ironically, during the newborn stage, I wanted time to speed up. We were so tired! We didn’t understand why our baby didn’t sleep. No one told me about that part. Ok, they did, but I apparently didn’t listen. 😉 Now I’d like to go back to that day we met her and learn to take it slow.

I’m constantly caught between focusing on the future and settling into the present. This morning, Emmy was saying funny things at the breakfast table, which is typical for her. She loves to make people laugh. And I found myself thinking, “I can’t WAIT until she’s 10 years old!”

I mean, now the funny things she says are short and sweet: “My birthday too! Need presents! Emmy need presents too!” I can only imagine what a ham she’s going to be as she grows older. But then again…when she’s 10, I’ll be longing to recapture these toddler years.

So here I am at 36 weeks pregnant.

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And on the one hand, I am SO ready! I want to meet this baby, and also I’d like to fast forward through the uncomfortable feelings of the next few weeks (heaviness, lethargy, etc). I’m also nervous about my uterine window holding up and my third C-section. I’ve already been to Labor and Delivery twice over the past few weeks! Once I gave myself an electric shock (by putting my finger in a socket, which was beyond dumb), and the second time I was bleeding (but I’m ok now). So let’s get this show on the road! I’m ready for baby.

Then again…this will probably be my last pregnancy. I really need to try and appreciate these last few weeks. When I let fear and anticipation get the better of me, I live in the future. I want to just end up on the *other* side of everything. I have trouble with the right now.

Sometimes it’s ok to focus on the other side, like imagining Emmy off of life support. That’s an experience that I don’t want to relive.

Other times, it’s better to settle into the present. Time passes whether we appreciate these moments or not. Makes more sense to appreciate them. Hope you enjoy today!

Inseparable

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These two have become inseparable, and that makes me so happy.

The backstory here is that, during my pregnancy with Emmy, I constantly fantasized about the relationship between my daughters. My sister and I are very close, and I could only imagine how strong the bond would be between Charlotte and Emmy. I imagined them just like my sister and me–sharing secrets and giving advice.

My weaknesses are my sister’s strengths. She’s six years younger than I am, but she’s often stepped into the big sister role on my behalf. I used to be painfully shy, and I would be terrified to return anything to a store. When I was fourteen and she was eight, my little sister marched into a music store on my behalf, walked right up to the register, and said, “Hi. I need to return this CD please.” I cowered towards the entrance of the store and peered around the aisles to see how the return was going. She came back triumphant with the money in her hand. I was always amazed at how easy she made it look. In a way, it was embarrassing to rely on my little sister. But I was also glad that I had someone in my life who would stand by me–no matter what.

Now that I’m older (and maybe a little wiser), I feel like I can pay it back. I’m usually able to give her a glimpse of life experiences before she goes down any road. I dated a couple of guys who were really (how can I put this nicely…?) awful. I like to think that she learned from my heartache and, sure enough, she was able to escape all the bad boys and ended up with an amazing boyfriend, who later became her husband. I’ve also been able to give her advice about her career or her life’s purpose. And, even though I’m the big sister, she still gives me tons of advice too. She’s mature–that kid. (She’s almost 30, by the way…)

I feel as though we have an equal give and take, and I value that so much.

And I saw the same for Charlotte and Emmy.

Then we found out about Williams syndrome, and all my visions of replicating the bond that my sister and I have went right down the drain. I just didn’t know anything about Williams syndrome. I didn’t know how Emmy would act or talk or think. It was an enigma. Would she be able to offer her strengths for Charlotte’s weaknesses, as my sister has done for me? Would she be able to give career advice? Would she know how to keep secrets? Would she even want to keep secrets? And how would Charlotte feel towards her little sister?

Early on, I started looking for stories about people who have siblings with special needs. I did find some very sweet stories. But I also found other stories–ones about feeling ignored by parents or resentful and angry. I found one story that really shook me. It was about a boy who was so embarrassed by his sibling with special needs that, instead of standing up for him, he joined the bullies in their taunting. Every day after school, a few bullies and his own brother made fun of this little boy as he walked home. GOOD GRIEF!!! That was hard for me to digest. If your sibling won’t stick up for you, who will?

All of this has been swirling around in my mind since Emmy was born. I’ve talked to my own sister about it several times. On the day we found out Emmy’s diagnosis, I remember sitting on the phone with my sister, crying, and asking, “But do you think they’ll be like us? What if Charlotte needs advice about her job? Will Emmy be able to give it to her?”

And my sister said the most wonderful thing: “Maybe Emmy will able to give the best advice of all. You just have no idea how she’ll see things. Maybe her way of seeing things will be so different from everyone else’s that her advice will be the most helpful.”

That positive spin really, really helped me.

And as the years have passed, this younger-version sisterly bond has grown very tight. When Emmy was a baby, she and Charlotte had the typical baby-toddler relationship. Sure, Emmy was cute, but she wasn’t able to communicate yet and cried…a lot.

The first glimpse of their close bond came when Emmy was in the hospital for heart surgery about a year ago. Every day, for twenty-two days, Charlotte would bring home a drawing from school that said “Emmy” all over it. If you gave her a crayon, she would just write “Emmy Emmy Emmy” over and over. She got a chalkboard for her birthday last year and, sure enough, the first words she wrote were “Emmy Emmy Emmy.” To this day, almost every time she makes a piece of art, she writes “Emmy” at the top. She doesn’t write “Charlotte.” She writes “Emmy.”

And now, as Emmy has become more verbal, they really have fun together. They playfully tease each other with high-pitched voices, they laugh and roll on the floor, they tickle, they share toys, they draw together; they hold hands.

Charlotte loves to be the teacher. “Emmy, look how I brush my teeth. See that? Now, you try it.”

And Charlotte is such a good cheerleader too. “MOMMY! DADDY! You won’t believe what Emmy just did!!” She’s so proud when Emmy hits little milestones, and she really notices those milestones, just as we do.

At almost five years old, Charlotte has started to develop fears (monsters, darkness, bugs). And wouldn’t you know that two-year-old Emmy has become her protector? If Charlotte is afraid to go to sleep at night, I say, “Don’t worry. Emmy is right here. She can protect you from anything.” And that seems to work!

On her end, Emmy just adores her big sister. We were at the hospital the other day, and someone who works there was named Charlotte. Well, every time Emmy heard “Charlotte,” she looked around frantically and asked for her sister.

Also, Emmy is eager to show her big sister any new thing. If she puts on funny sunglasses or finds a sticker or opens a book, the first person she wants to show is Charlotte.

At the dinner table, Dan and I just watch the two of them banter and giggle. There isn’t much eating going on (Charlotte is repulsed by my food most of the time…), but there is a lot of laughter. It will be interesting to see how their dynamic evolves when a little boy arrives in June. Right now, I am so happy with how close they’ve become. It’s better than I even imagined.

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Blogiversary

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Somehow it’s the 1 year anniversary of my blog…which basically means that TIME FLIES! My first post was about green bagels on St. Paddy’s Day  (Green Bagel Morning), which we dutifully ate again this year.

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I’ve really enjoyed blogging over the past year. I’ve loved the connections that I’ve made with people, and this blog REALLY REALLY helped me out when Emmy went into cardiac arrest after heart surgery last May (You can do it, Emmy!!!). I never in a billion years thought that I would be blogging while my daughter was on life support. It seems almost trivial. Blogging while your kid is on life support?? What??  I’m not even that much of a social media person, so it doesn’t seem to fit my character.

But oh-my-gosh, did it help!!! The messages of encouragement kept me going. And the support was incredible. I felt as though we were lifted through that entire experience on the shoulders of others. I didn’t feel like I was going through it alone.

I still get rattled when I look back on my blog posts during that time. It can bring me right back to that hospital room in a split second. It’s surreal to be so far removed from that experience now–physically removed but not mentally… Never mentally.

I have two favorite posts from the past year. I mulled over These Are The Shoes for a LONG time before I wrote it. Every time I opened Emmy’s drawer, those shoes would stare at me. And every time I thought, “I have to write about this feeling to get it out of me.” I’ve mentioned a few times that writing is like therapy for me. When something eats away at me, it’s all I can think about. And then once I get it down on paper, the immediate relief is unbelievable. Seeing those shoes every day really affected me and then, once I wrote about it, I was able to let it go. Amazingly, the shoes don’t bother me anymore.

My other favorite post is In Love. I LOVE that picture of Emmy. She looks like she’s shining from the inside out. That post represents a divide for me. I felt as though I let Williams syndrome come between Emmy and me for a long time. I was very aware of the fact that she has Williams syndrome. I thought about the implications a lot, and it kept me at a distance from her. This was totally unconscious on my part, but it happened nonetheless. We went through hell during her heart surgery and recovery and, while I would never want to go through something like that ever again, it helped me realize that Emmy is my daughter first and foremost. I no longer saw her as “my daughter, but let’s not forget that she has Williams syndrome.” I saw her as my daughter. Period. End of story.

And even though this blog is called Williams Syndrome Smile, my older daughter Charlotte, and husband Dan, (and the new baby soon!) have all played a significant role as well. I think this is more about life in general. Parenting is a minefield, I tell you. Having a child with special needs might color some of my experiences in a different way, but 99% of the time, I’m doing the normal things that every parent does. My #1 goal in life is to not screw up my kids…and yet I can guarantee that I’m already doing something wrong. (And it’s probably the thing that I think I’m actually doing right!! That’s the irony of it all.)

Thank you so much for reading and sharing, everyone!! I’m looking forward to Year #2.

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Party of Five

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We’re going to have a Party of Five in June! I’m excited, nervous, happy, and hungry.

I’m trying to be calm and zen during this pregnancy, and I feel like I’m doing a pretty good job so far. My pregnancies with both Charlotte and Emmy were roller coaster rides, so I’m doing my darnedest to take everything down a notch this time.

You know how, when you’re young, pregnancy seems like the easiest thing in the world? Here’s how I imagined it at first: You get pregnant. You glow. You eat a lot. You pat your growing belly and smile. You decorate the nursery. You go into labor. You deal with some pain at this point, but you’re immediately given your beautiful baby as a reward. And your life becomes perfect.

(I thought that not only was pregnancy easy, but that parenting was easy too. HAHAHA. I guess I’m an idealist…or naive. Probably naive.)

But, as life has gone along, I’ve seen all different sides of pregnancy. There are the glowingly perfect pregnancies, and I am thrilled for them…while also being slightly jealous. It sounds like most celebrities have perfect pregnancies, but maybe they’re only giving us one side to the story. I’ve also become very close with people who have tragically lost babies, who have had trouble getting pregnant, who have had very challenging pregnancies, and who have found out that their babies needed to have surgery right after mom gave birth.

I also have a very cool friend who delivered her baby BY HERSELF IN HER LIVINGROOM because the baby arrived so quickly. My friend wrapped her baby in her jeans and waited for the ambulance to arrive. This happened in 2012, not in 1970 or something. I will forever be impressed by this woman.

I didn’t expect any of these stories, though. I had one vision of pregnancy, and I thought everyone fell into that category–except maybe .1% of people.

I think it’s important to be sensitive to other people’s stories. I’ve learned this both in pregnancy and in having a daughter with special needs. I’m really drawn to people who are humble. It means a lot to me when someone says, “I haven’t experienced what you’ve gone through…but I get it.” If I had a magic wand, I would get rid of all the gloating in the world. I don’t think it gets us anywhere. I met a mom at a playground once who was trying to one-up me on all the things Charlotte wasn’t doing but that her daughter was doing. Yikes, does that rub me the wrong way! It’s not about putting your story in a better light. It’s about understanding that all of our stories are unique and important. We can learn a lot from others, and I feel so much love for the people in my life who have gone through so much.

So here’s my story: I found out that I had a bicornuate (“heart-shaped”) uterus shortly before I got pregnant with Charlotte in 2008. This sounded like the worst news ever, and I was beyond devastated. I’ve come to find out that it’s not as awful as it sounds. My uterus didn’t form completely when I was born, which is really bizarre because that means I have a birth defect that I didn’t even know about until I set out to have kids! My uterus stopped short of the upside down triangle and, instead, formed into a heart. I know the heart sounds lovely, and so many of my friends tried to put a positive spin on it. But I was REALLY mad at my uterus for a while. I felt like it deceived me.

Of course, I immediately Googled “bicornuate uterus” and devoured all the horror stories. (I’m good at that. I tend to skim over the good stories to get to the real doozies.) The biggest problem is that I could go into pre-term labor.

So for my entire pregnancy with Charlotte, I was a mess. I let my mind go to all the bad places it could go, and I white-knucked the entire pregnancy. Because of the bicornuate uterus, I’m considered “high risk” so I also had a lot of doctors’ appointments and ultrasounds, which just made me more nervous.

You get the picture. I suffered mentally for 9 months. PHYSICALLY, I was doing pretty well! I had some minor issues that had nothing to do with my bicornuate uterus and were all resolved (like the time I fell flat on my stomach at 9 months pregnant…). But I wasn’t listening to my body. My body was doing great, and my mind was a mess. The two things were completely out of sync. It’s funny how my mind can take a life all on its own with zero regard to what is ACTUALLY going on with my body.

All the bad things I had read about through my endless Google searches never happened. Charlotte was born via C-section at 39 weeks, and she was happy as a clam! Such a good baby.

Ok, so you would think that my lesson would be: Don’t let your mind run away without you. Listen to your body. Do things differently next time. CALM DOWN.

Here we go again. I got pregnant with Emmy in 2010, and I started to follow my own advice. Caaaaaalm down. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fiiiiiine.

I was doing awesome until 7 weeks along, when I had heavy bleeding–the likes of which you would not believe. My mind immediately went back to panic mode. We had an ultrasound that showed Emmy was fine, but I was a nervous wreck for the rest of the pregnancy. I couldn’t get back to that zen place again. Also, Emmy was always measuring small. We’ve come to find out that this is pretty common for Williams syndrome, but we had no idea that she had Williams syndrome until 5 weeks after she was born. So the fact that she kept measuring small seemed odd to me and, again, made me nervous. I was still considered high risk and had all the doctors’ appointments and ultrasounds that you can imagine, which heightened my nerves even more.

But, again, for the majority of my pregnancy, I was fine physically. It was the mental aspect that took a toll on me–again! Even though I swore it wouldn’t.

Emmy was born via C-section at 39 weeks. She had a lot of problems right out of the gate and had to go to the NICU–and then of course we got the diagnosis of Williams syndrome a few weeks later. But we didn’t know about any of this during pregnancy, and I could’ve saved myself a lot of stress while I was pregnant if I just focused on how my body was feeling instead of paying attention to my over-active, always-working mind.

So here we are with Baby #3–a boy! And I have a whole HOST of problems. But I think I have finally learned my lesson. I refuse to let my mind get away from me this time.

The first problem is that I have a thin window on my uterus. Basically, this means that part of my uterus has been deemed “paper thin” and, if I were to go into labor, my uterus could rupture. My second problem is that, because of our history with Emmy, we have to do more in-depth ultrasounds to make sure that there are no heart issues. No one thinks this baby has Williams syndrome (though it would be pretty amazing, considering it’s a 1 in 10,000 completely random event). We’re no more likely to have another baby with WS than any couple would be to have a first baby with WS. But when one of your babies has a genetic issue, they do want to look closely to make there there is nothing else that we need to be aware of. (For instance, if the baby had a Congenital Heart Defect, which is a 1 in 100 statistic, we would have to schedule surgery for after the birth etc.) My third problem is that I’m technically still at risk for pre-term labor because of my bicornuate uterus, so I have to get checked more often than your average patient. And, fourth, this baby has a kidney issue, which is apparently common in boys and nothing to worry about–unless it’s something to worry about…and we won’t know that until we get further along.

Given my history, you’d think I would be freaking out, particularly about the kidney issue. But here’s what I’m doing this time. I’m staying grounded. I’m NOT Googling. I absolutely refuse to Google. I won’t go searching for all the horror stories like in the past.

Sure, I have my moments of worry and panic, but I’m able to bring myself back down again.

How am I getting there? Well, I’m listening to my body. I feel…fat. 🙂 But good and happy and comfortable and calm. I’m looking forward to spring. I’m thinking of all the things I want to do with my girls to enjoy the last memories of the Party of Four. I love seeing Charlotte and Emmy together. Their sisterly bond has gotten so much tighter. It makes me SO happy.

I want to capture this moment of zen and carry it through to the delivery in June. I want to trust my body, which has proven itself before. I want my body and my mind to be in sync throughout this pregnancy. I want to enjoy and remember many moments throughout this pregnancy. And, this time, I want to savor that pregnancy glow.