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Ourbabyegan was started what seems like eons ago when Jake was only a few millimeters in length. The title to my blog was fitting at the time but much like our small 2 bedroom townhouse, we ve outgrown in. So 8 months ago I began the painstaking task of transferring all 90 something entries over. Not one minute of it was fun, but I m glad I finally finished.

Egansinflorida seems much more appropriate. Jake is no longer a baby and well, we all live in Florida now. We re a unit, a team with hopes of adding to our family. Here s to hoping our legacy grows. Maybe a newly named blog will bring us some luck!

Who am I kidding? We all look like crap here, even Jake! Note the fiery red face from our long labor and resulting fever. Poor Nate looks quite sleep deprived as well. I guess that’s what comes after a nearly 20 hour labor. In other news, I feel mighty pregnant. My uterus feels 5 lbs heavier and I have an annoying dull headache that lasts all day. All I want is chocolate.

But seriously, I’m not even due for my period how is this possible? I’ll tell you how! From the depths of my subconscious, I’m living vicariously through all these pregnant and birthing women! Pretty pathetic. And it kind doesn’t help that Jake just loves his new cousin. He’d been a busy bee practicing at grandma and grandpa’s pushing a toy stroller around the pool for hours prior to Landon’s birth. Jake is pretty cute around his baby cousin. He understands “light touch” and is very gentle. My heart just melted.

Recently I’ve gotten a little OCD with lurking on conceiving type message boards. They are filled with all kinds of abbreviations and lettering I’m not at all familiar with. Example, “I’m TTC with DH and got a +OPK on CD7, I’m 7dpo and took a HPT, no AF.”

What’s to come next?26 Jul 2013

Thursday is my 32nd birthday and I’m not looking forward to it. Not the 32 part though. August 1st was the day I was supposed to have the first lost baby. January 24th will also suck. While I’m back to my old self and feeling somewhat normal, the memories are still there. I seriously contemplate not looking at the ultrasound screen next go around. That beating heart means nothing.

Some women know from the moment they got pregnant what the child’s sex will be. Mother’s instinct? Who knows, but they are most often correct. When I got pregnant with Jake I had no intuition on the sex, however, I had an undeniable notion of two things: I was going to go past my due date and that the baby would be born healthy. And they both came true. These last two pregnancies never gave me this bold reassurance. Commence head spinning.

So the green light has been given by my doctor to try again in 2 months. In the meantime we await the chromosomal testing. A deletion? A translocation? From a past genetics student’s perspective, I hope for something random. Something in the microscopic and hugely complicated process of DNA replication that couldn’t be helped. My doctor is even hoping for unpredictable misfortune. I m no stranger to crappy luck.

It’s natural to go back and wonder if there’s something I did. Was it the feta cheese on my Greek salad? Working on a nitrous sedated patient? Cleaning the cat litter box? The extra shot in my Cappuccino? I ve discovered it’s not easy to slow a spinning head.

So for future reference, if you ask me if I m pregnant I probably am but I ll say no. I m scared. I m scared of turning into the woman who has a lot of miscarriages . It s so important to me to give Jake a sibling. I can go off on a rant about being an only child, but that is a whole new blog on another day.

My crashing hormones are slowly adjusting. My hair is starting to fall out less. My boobs are done shrinking (I hope). I d like to be finished with the you re not pregnant anymore reminders. Because this blog was not characteristic of my usual optimistic persona, I ll end it with an overly cheesy picture of Jake.

When I arrived to the hospital, the contractions had begun and were steadily getting closer together. I kissed Nate and Jake goodbye as they dropped me off at the Main entrance. I was a pro at this, knew what was coming, and didn t see a two year old having a good time in a hospital for 8 hours. The idea of general anesthesia was welcoming at this point.

The young girl at registration was efficient (thank God!) and the paperwork was completed with ease. She asked where I worked, and then we discovered we knew a mutual person, a co worker of mine. Great, I thought. I will sic the HIPAA police on this chick if

she says anything. I had been a ninja at dodging pregnancy rumors at work and this was all I needed.

I opened my eyes to a blurry recovery room. Dr Finazzo and the young intern from yesterday were bedside. You did half the work for me, Brette. You were 10 centimeters, completely open. I ll see you in a week for a post op . Well, I thought, does that mean I get 50% off?

Just then, my thoughts were disrupted by a horrific sound. A soft, soothing and horribly familiar Brahm s Lullaby was being played over the PA system indicating a baby had just been born in the hospital. Waves of grief and sadness overtook me and I lost it. One of nurses quickly gave me some Dilaudid and I heard another say something about Oxycontin already being in my line. Doc said

whatever she wants I drifted off.

I arrived at my room sometime around lunch. A piping hot meal was awaiting me. The putrid aroma of overly seasoned pork chops and vegetables in gravy filled the room. I suffered through 3 bites of lemon flavored muffin and fell asleep.

Heartbreak06 Jul 2013

One day in mid May, our power went out. Jake was upstairs napping at the time. I ventured outside to the 90+ heat to find my neighbor guy, Chad, sitting on the curb drinking a beer. “Did your power go out?” I asked. “Yup”, he replied in his WV twang. “Wanna beer?”

I don’t like beer, but today it seemed to fit right into the puzzle. The sun was blaring, the power was out. what else was I supposed to do?

That Bud Select went down smoother than any beer I’d ever had. Chad offered round two when the power returned. Jake was up so I kindly declined, though I secretly wanted to take him up on it. The next day, I woke up and the craving for a beer returned. And the next. On May 20th I missed my period and took a HPT. I sucked in a breath when I saw the results.

My heart wanted to jump for joy but my brain told me otherwise. My brain told me to not get too excited for fear of what happened last time. My brain also demanded a beer.

I didn’t tell anyone other than Nate and I was terrified. Even after my first ultrasound when I witnessed that beating heart. It had happened the last time. A phone call much like the one I had gotten before followed that ultrasound appointment, “Congratulations!. Healthy!. Great heartbeat!!!” I wouldn’t allow excitement, joy, or happiness of any kind. I’d been burned before.

The pregnancy was non eventful, mimicking the first two. I had the odd craving, I wasn’t sick, I had started to show ever so slightly but could cleverly mask it. And speaking of mask, I was plagued (again) by the evil pregnancy mask. Lovely dark brown spots from the sun affecting us darker skinned ladies. Adorned with lovely blemishes as seen below. I’m looking mighty hot these days.

And then the fateful events of deja vu came tumbling down on me yesterday for my OB appointment (11 weeks). A broken record, and I was sick of what was playing.

Dr Finazzo went over my ultrasound results with a Pre Med student following him, a pretty Asian girl with a nice smile. I heard the familiar words: healthy, good, screens negative, blood work excellent. Then I blurted it out, and as soon as I said it I longed to take it back, “I’ve been bleeding since Monday”

2 pairs of concerned eyes followed by silence. My pelvic exam was followed by very opposite words: blood, concerned, inflammation, more guaze swabs. And just like that the dominos fell and I lost control. The Doppler revealed no heartbeat, even with the help of repositioning my uterus. More scary yet familiar words: downstairs, ultrasound,
mulberry brand Blog Baby Egan
stat, emergency.