Month: April 2025

March 1

2nd Ultrasound – not much fun and all the same agony of the time previous.  You quickly showed the technician that you did not enjoy this one anymore than the first one.  Dr. D. called when we got home (never a good thing, when the doctor calls, I have learned over the years) to say I had a low placenta (umbilical cord attached low on womb) which can cause a multitude of problems including miscarriage and the break through bleeding I had experienced in January.  Otherwise, Praise the Lord, you are a healthy 20 week old fetus. Your father became the expert and said it was probably the synthroid and inderal pills I take (nyatt).  Give me a break – I would really be flat out without them. If the medical team around me says to keep taking them, who am I to stop?

I just want to go bed but there is supper to make, then cleanup takes place, all the while listening to The Pretty Little Dutch Girl talk about Simon (who the heck is that, again?) so I was silent about you. However, I have promised Grandma and a couple of your aunts I would call them once I got the ultrasound results, so I do that, before we tumble in to bed exhausted.

March 6

Your Aunt Who Taught Me Most the Things I Know and Uncle Eye for Low Fences went south for a week.  Dad and I got to try on parenthood up close and personal. Your Grandparents babysat Matthew during the day.  We picked him up after work to give them a break during the nights.  You went along with it all, until I would rock Matthew – then the first confrontation of many to come over the years happened.  I swear you poked him hard with your bony little finger trying to shove him off my lap.  When your Auntie came back and Matthew went home, I missed his warm little body, cuddling against me. The question is, did you?

March 12

It is a cold, grey Friday.  Your Dad gets a call from The Pretty Little Dutch Girl’s school.  Apparently she is a no show today, unbeknownst to us.  He calls me.  Now kids may think they are smarter than us, but we have lived a long life so what we lack in brains, we make up for in sneakiness.  I reasoned that she is probably still at home, and tell your Dad to leave it just a bit longer, then pay her a surprise visit.  What are the odds her friend Ralphi made it to school today, we question.

February 19

Hi Baby! I know I have been neglecting our diary but now I feel you moving around all the time.  You are quick to communicate to me when I do something that discomforts you.

It is so tiresome as all the nosy people (concerned… they claim) question if I am actually pregnant but I feel huge.  I am already using the elastic band on my buttons to give us more breathing space and of course to keep my skirts and pants from falling off.  At work, Mirian asks me if I am having a cricket – Spanish humor, obviously.

You don’t like it when I overeat – you must take after me in that I am fine till I take that last bite, then I go in to uncomfortable crisis mode.  After I eat you move around a lot, trying to find a snug space to relax.

Lately I have been thinking how smart God is.  It is so good for a mother to carry a baby around for nine months, all the while massaging and nurturing it, as it develops in to a little person.  Pity the unwanted babies who never receive the tenderness and love they so richly deserve.  The other night we were watching one of those horror Sci-Fi movies and the star was impregnated and gave birth after 28 days – how much bonding can take place in that short a period?  At first she thought her baby was a monster that she must destroy, but being a good North American the Good Guys always win movie, she discovered she did indeed cherish her baby in the end.  It gave me pause.  How could I destroy what I struggle daily to protect.  As with every Lady in Waiting, I long to see you, hold you, bond with you.

January 21

Your Dad is home from the hospital, all full of hope because his diabetes is regulated (again) – please don’t ask how many times you fall “off the wagon” as a diabetic.  Then, son of a gun, today, I felt this brief but ripping pain – I race to the bathroom –oh, oh, break through bleeding . Your Aunt Who Taught Me Most The Things I know claimed she ever experienced such a thing with Matthew – how comforting is that?  Over the years I swiftly learn how perfect her three children are and I am not being facetious – you Baby are a bit more of a challenge in conception, in birth and in life.

She and Grandma advise I call our doctor  who is “off” that night – he is probably across the street at the Old Folk’s Home where he ministers to them medically and psychologically so I am talking to a disinterested Answering Machine Service who to her credit passed the information on because an intern called back in ten minutes, telling me that they are trying to locate Dr. D.

January 22

Your Dad comes with me to see the good doctor.  The doctor seems to think I lost weight although I feel like a balloon is being blown up in my tummy.  He gives me stronger vitamins, lectures me to take it easy and worriedly sets up an appointment for me to get an ultrasound. I go home and call your Grandma and my sister, Matthew’s Momma.  Apparently they had a meeting of the minds because they told me not to take any more baths – just take showers.  You must understand, the list of what I should not do now that you are on board, Baby, grows as problems rare their ugly heads.

 January 26

The day of our first ultrasound dawns, Baby.  The night before, sleep escaped me as I pondered every possible “what if’s” – if you were missing a limb, if you were missing a vital organ or more importantly, it was all a big mistake and my womb was as empty as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.  I followed the rules, drank my six glasses of water and kept my legs crossed, all the while trying to concentrate on everything but my full to tipping over bladder.  Surely this can not be good for you, Baby.  I felt you reacting negatively as pain develops on both my left and right side.  I swear I gurgled as I walk. Please, please, please God, let the unconcerned staff take me in on the time of the scheduled appointment.

Finally it is show time for you and me.  The technician took one look at my lack of belly and can’t believe I am suppose to be somewhere need 16 weeks pregnant (from date of last period).  The technician pushed the wand in the cold gel,  then slid it across my tummy and there you were, a grainy image of an alien- tadpole, a feisty little survivor, such a mind blowing relief after all the worry I have conjured up, especially in the past weekend.  As the wand moves, you deek and dive, already an entertainer – the technician nicknamed you, “Jumping Jack Flash”  because of your constant motion, as you successfully avoided her magic wand. 

In order to get a better look at you, the technician tells me to partially empty my bladder – no kidding, I knew there was too much water in there. And so you contently fell asleep, now that the pressure is lifted.  The technician probes and prods you rudely and you woke up and took off again – flailing your tiny arms and legs in desperation to get away from that relentless wand.  The ultrasound was over.  I am told you are fine.  I dressed in a hurry and rushed out to tell Dad (in those days, dad’s had not yet pushed their way in to ultrasounds).  He made me repeat over and over all your antics.  But it seemed to tire us out, Baby.  That night we went to bed at 8pm and slept like the proverbial log.

January 29

It is the weekly scrub the floor and vacuum the entire house night.  I “getter done” and rush over to the nearest couch to catch my breath.  And you communicated for me for the first time.  Somewhere on my lower right hand side I felt your first bonafide movement.  It was like the gentle scratching of a new born kitten.  What an awesome feeling!

January 1

The wee hours between midnight and sun rise.  Although we had gone to bed, I laid awake listening to your father breathing heavy and continually choking.  I slide more pillows under his head to ease the loss of breath and lay silently, straining to hear The Pretty Little Dutch Girl creep silently upstairs to her bedroom, although usually she hits a stair that creeks, heralding her “better late than never” arrival.  Obviously she broke curfew, again. Will we ever be able to have faith that she will meet commitments or am I just making too much of an itsy bitsy “because we said so” rule, which teenagers routinely thumb their nose at?

As we laid there, no sleep for the wicked, I felt a pity party descend upon us.  “Why us?”, I asked the black night, our Guardian Angels, the Good Lord and all He commissions, “Aren’t pregnant ladies suppose to catch a break every now and then?  I always knew believing in fairytales and happily ever would catch up with me someday – too bad it had to rain on your parade as well, Baby”.  Finally, I hear The Pretty Little Dutch Girl stealthily open the front door, then the familiar creek of the stair – I am definitely not having that step fixed. Praise God.  She is home. Now God, some sleep, please for Baby and me.  Thank you.  Amen.

New Year’s Day evening – although everyone laughs when I say it, I am starting to feel fat and bloaty or did I eat too much supper, ya think? My long hair has uncontrollable tangles – years later I will admit that there are two things in life I can’t control, Baby – you and my thick, unruly hair.  And I got the pity party down to a fine pitch – I feel sorry for you, I feel sorry for me, I feel sorry for your Dad,  The Pretty Little Dutch Girl and even her parents.

All the while, Baby you and me share this secret world.  You will be the closest living thing to me ever… which means you feel my fears – share my pain and joy.  I eel a blinding love for you.  Sometimes I still can’t believe you are tucked in there somewhere so I rub my tummy, now starting to present a noticeable bump.  I feel an uplifting, mindless joy but being the worrier I am, question – will I be a good mother – an adequate mother or heaven forbid… a bad mother?  Does every pregnant woman question herself or are some born without eyes to see, ears to hear and minds to worry?  I’m thinking, isn’t it a bit too late, at this point to worry?

January 3

Hold on tight, Baby.  I am sneezing (like crazy horse, as Bruno (a General Manager at work later on in my life would claim – an old German saying), due to some allergy to mold or dust or only God knows and He is not telling. I fear you will come flying out of my nose or belly button, so batten down the hatches.  Since a cousin of mine took allergy pills while pregnant and had a still birth, we are just going to weather the storm, you and me, ok?

I made delicious French Onion Soup, thick with cheese and garlic bread for supper but it did not agree with you or me.  Live and learn, live and learn.

January 9

A week has passed but it seems like a month’s worth of stress. We are going through a bushel of tension at work since my friend Lee decided to hang up his keys and wander out in to the unknown.  Of course the GM and AGM fell in love with this Princess Di look alike, meaning the rest of the office staff were dead meat.  I was chastised for actually checking out her previous employment, (uh… am I not suppose to as the Human Resources Manager per my Job Description) wherein I was not given a very good reference. But over time someone new came along, her honeymoon ended and she gravitated towards ‘making nice’ with the rest of the staff, in order to make it through the work week. Been there, done that!

Your Grandma is on my back, insisting I do not eat enough to feed one, little own you and me.  Bless her heart!  Then there is your Dad to deal with.  He has decided he doesn’t want to take insulin – you would think we were trying to get him hooked on heroin (Dr. Fred Banting is turning in his grave, at such foolishness).  More worry for you and me to contend with, as we keep a stiff upper lip.  Thank God we are brute strong and fearlessly tough. 

If my frantic life will contribute to your personality, I expect a whipper-snapper (say what), a very smart boy! Uh, did I say boy?  Now the secret is revealed between you and me.  All along I have just had a feeling you were a boy – not that your sex is important to me – as a matter of fact, having had so many sisters, I know girls and their tricks, like the back of my hand.  I am sure you will have lots to teach me. Anyway, it is just a feeling, you know.

December 18

We are in our new home.  We had arranged movers since all that carrying and lifting is not so good for a pregnant lady, with a history of infertility, especially in that first trimester.  No one could tell I was pregnant by looking at me so the movers were always asking me to move thing.  I finally cut them short by telling them, “Uh, that’s why we hired you guys.”  After all, your Dad was in the hospital, The Pretty Little Dutch Girl looked like the last rose of summer (till the sun went down, when she managed to perk up and even go out) so you and I had all the unpacking to do.  Thank God you are tough but Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, I hungered for rest.

December 23

Christmas Party at work.  We danced with wild abandon.  I am not so sure you enjoyed it because I left with a sharp pain in my side. So sorry Baby – but girls just wanna have fun.

December 24

Your 1^st Christmas Eve, loosely speaking, cradled in your Momma’s womb.  Christmas Eve dinner (scrumptious home made meat pies and tender ham – you seemed to like it) was held at Grandma & Grampa’s, so that Grandpa could continue his tradition of being Santa, going from door to door, handing out goodies.  I went with him, dressed in red, his helper. It was the first time I saw your Great Aunt Neva in a long time and she kind of insulted us – she claimed I hadn’t gained much weight yet and asked me if I was having a kitten.  This is the first hint that maybe there is something I should worry about – here I have been praying that I have the most intelligent baby ever (I admit it, I am an intellectual snob) – maybe I should pray that you are sustainable. 

Cont’d 2 (Part 4B)