Rough Days

It's been awhile since I've posted any updates and that's because not much has changed. I was discharged from the hospital on my 28 week mark. My cervix hadn't changed at all since I had been admitted and since I never had any contractions or leaking, they made the decision to send me home. I had never been happier. It was really like breaking out of prison. I'm not confined to one room, although I miss my wheelchair pass excursions with Nick, but overall, home is so much better.

Let me tell you, sleeping on a plastic covered mattress makes for a very sweaty sleep, especially when you're baking another person. I also don't miss the out of touch MFM interns. Those guys were dopes.

I feel like I'm finally hitting my "wall" now, so to speak. I would say that I've handled the bed rest thing pretty darn well. I've only had "bad" days here and there, which I attribute to the wonky hormones. One day I would be insanely happy for no reason at all and the next I would be miserable, again for no reason. But this weekend has been tough and maybe it's just a couple of bad days but I'm starting to get tired. I feel really guilty for even having those thoughts cross my mind. I feel like Olivia will be able to read into my emotions and all I want for her is to feel positive, loving energy. I need her to stay in there as long as possible, even if I'm tired of just lying around the house all day.

No one fully understands what it's like to be this restricted, unless they were on bed rest themselves. Those people are usually the ones who don't make senseless comments like, "oh I wish I could get that much rest" or "keep that baby in there!" Really? I know this. Bed rest is not like a vacation, it is in fact work. Tireless, relentless, never ending work. I can't go see a movie, I can't go for a walk, or run any errands. I'm not allowed to clean or do laundry. I love baking but I'm not allowed to bake either. I'm not allowed to leave my house unless it's for my weekly doctors appointment and in that case, it's drive to the office and back home. It's only about an hour and a half of my time. No one in their right mind would trade places with me, except for the women that lost her baby. I know that she would in a heart beat, just to have the chance to have her baby survive. That is my motivating thought. I am truly blessed for every single second, minute, hour, and day.

Right now she has the hiccups and thankfully, has turned head down. The past couple days shes been breech, which worries me because if my water were to break at home with her breech, it's possible the cord could fall out and cause serious harm to her. Lord knows I have worked too hard to let anything happen to her now. I am thankful for every second, though, even if I cry out of frustration. Every time she kicks, rolls, or hiccups, I am in awe. It's amazing that there is this tiny little person growing inside of me. I can't even fully describe it because I can't even compare it to anything else I've experienced. It is remarkably something that you can only go through yourself to understand how awesome it is. It makes me feel bad for the women who will never experience it, either because they can't or they don't want to.

I'm trying to remind myself it's okay to have bad days. Just cry it out, have yourself a little pity party and the next day, move on. Everything looks better in the morning sun.

27 Weeks!

Today is a HUGE day. I have been in the hospital for three weeks now and am officially 27 weeks into my pregnancy. According to my doctors I am considered a medical miracle because there is no reason to explain why I am still pregnant. I was 2.5 cm dilated, 90% effaced with my bag of waters bulging through my cervix at admittance and I am still pregnant. If my baby were born now she would not be considered a micro-preemie. That is a major accomplishment. Between now and 30 weeks is considered "very premature". It's still a battle but it is not as scary as it would be at 24 weeks when I was first admitted.

That's exactly how I feel, gearing up for battle. It's more or less become the theme of my pregnancy. Nick and I have a birthing class set up for this Sunday and the instructor told me I could take my time with setting up the class, as most women do here. Why? They tell me that any day could be D-Day. Why would I bother waiting? That would just set me up to be very scared with little preparation for delivery. There isn't any time to waste anymore. Unfortunately, the videos she's given us are only for 'term deliveries' because they don't make any instructional material for preterm deliveries. That's because no one wants to think or prepare that they might have to deliver earlier than 38 weeks. It doesn't exactly feel fair, especially since I don't have a choice in the matter. Regardless, we're doing the best we can with what we have. She also gave us a video tour of Beaumont's NICU and the lady that runs the NICU Parenting Program is going to speak with us soon.

So here we are. I'm just 22 years old and Nick will turn 25 years old in April, and we are faced with the reality that our baby will need an army to care for her. How can we be advocates for her while she is in the NICU? Well, first off, as soon as she is born I will be handed a breast pump. From then on out, I will pump exclusively and will drop off my breast milk to the NICU when she is ready to feed on real milk. I don't have a choice in the matter. The NICU doctor told me they don't bother giving formula to preemies. It's either I pump or we have donor milk brought in from a bank, which is second best because it's pasteurized. If that's the one thing that I can do for Olivia while she's in the NICU then I sure as hell will do it. I already know that when I deliver, as soon as they take her to the NICU, I want Nick to stay with her. I will be fine on my own. I just don't want her to be alone when she is being poked and prodded.

I realize now that this is my sacred duty and for whatever reason, God chose us. I'm not sure why but I know everything happens for a reason. So you either stand up and fight or you run. And guess what? I don't run.