Almost 28 weeks.

So, in the morning I will officially be 28 weeks pregnant. This feels like a very big milestone to me, since it is the beginning of the third trimester, and also for the fact that I was born around 27 or 28 weeks myself. I know that I am a survivor, and I am confident that this baby will be, too.



This morning I had my 28-week check-up, including the glucose screening test. Weight gain was fine, even "acceptable" to the midwife who gave me a hard time about my last weigh-in. Blood pressure was low, and continues to get a little lower every month, which is amazing to me, considering that I have a history of pre-eclampsia. Baby's heart-rate is continually in the 150s, very good, and the baby actually kicked the doppler monitor twice while the midwife was examining me, so we definitely have an active baby. Uterus measured in at 28 cm, exactly where it should be. I have been feeling perfectly fine, and didnt have any questions or concerns to bring up with the midwife team. The only problem was that it took three tries for them to get a blood draw on me (I know, my veins are awful), and the final stick was actually in my HAND. I havent had a needle stuck into my hand for years and years and years.



I thought everything was going great... until one of the nurses called this afternoon with my lab results. Im anemic now (last time I wasnt!), I have low calcium and vitamin d levels, and my thyroid is out-of-whack again! And to top it all off, I failed the glucose screening test. Boooo! I am not particularly worried, and nobody else seems concerned yet either. So far, it will just be a pain to fast all night and half the morning, drink more of that yucky orange stuff, and twiddle my thumbs for at least 3 hours while they have a good old time sticking my poor tiny veins with needles. Anyways, in 7 more days I will know whether or not I actually do have gestational diabetes. I am SUCH a carboholic, and I definitely have a sweet tooth. I have no idea how I will be able to curb my diet, if I do have GD!



Now I am off to google more about gestational diabetes, its signs, symptoms, complications and treatments... the internet can be kind of a dangerous thing in that regard.

"You're a great mom"

Tonight I ran into someone I hadn't seen all summer. I thought I was wearing what was, to me, an obvious maternity shirt, but she was so excited to see me that apparently she didn't notice my "Eating for Two" shirt, or my growing belly. When she asked about my girls and I mentioned that we were having #3 in November, she was genuinely surprised. But what she said was so sweet. "You're such a great mom. I'm so glad to hear that you're having another baby! I know you'll do a really good job." Then after some baby-talk, she went on to say "...Are the girls excited? What's new with Hannah?" ect. and we continued to talk for a few more minutes. I'm really glad that I saw her tonight.

There are a lot of days when I don't feel like a good mommy, when I feel like a failure, when I get tired and frustrated, or feel like I am not doing my best. But what she said was really nice and encouraging. And it helps to know that she isn't the only one who thinks more highly of me than I do of myself.

The terrible, horrible dream.

Last night I had a terrible nightmare about Mike dying. He got an emergency call about a construction worker who was entrapped at a work site, someone who was stuck inside a big hole of dirt. When he got there, the illegal Mexican immigrant was just climbing out of the big dirt hole. He was afraid of being deported or facing jail and criminal charges... and he was waving a gun around. He shot Mike in the chest, right next to his heart, and Mike was killed immediately.
(Mike said that in real life, this kind of non-emergency "rescue call" situation would have been a police problem, not a paramedic problem. But it was just realistic enough to have me good and scared, and really sad.)
He went to work that morning, and never came home again. I was beyond devastated. In the dream, I saw it all happen a little later, through the grainy black-and-white videotaped recording from a police cruiser. It was so, so awful. I had to make funeral arrangements. Then I had to speak at the funeral. I said something like "seven and a half years isnt nearly enough time to love someone, when you are supposed to be together for a lifetime." Then I had to bury my husband, and figure out how to be a widow and a single mom with two, but very-soon-to-be three, little kids. How was I going to have another baby without Mike around to help and love and support us? How were we going to make it without him? Pay the bills? Keep our house? What were we going to DO? I spent days and days locked in my room, hiding under blankets, bawling my eyes out, wishing that my heart could be ripped out, too.
Then I woke up, and knew it wasn't real.