Happy Anniversary!!!

My preface to this blog is my husband is a saint. He settles me down when I get insane, he surprises me all the time, and does more than his fair share of household chores. I really got the best end of this relationship and I am grateful every day for it. When I found out I was pregnant in late June, I was so excited I took 7 pregnancy tests. I have always been compulsive but when it came to creating another life, I have reached new heights. My poor husband has had to deal with me for 2 years today. The last 8 months have been especially taxing on him with weekly visits to the doctor and uncharacteristically emotional self. When I thought about my pregnancy, I never anticipated the drama that would unfold. I knew based on my "geriatric maternal age" at 35 I was going to have to endure more doctor visits. By the time I checked into the hospital on December 27, I had gone to the OB's 30 times, and I am not exaggerating. It got to the point that I asked if they wanted me to work there since I was there so often.

At the beginning of December I began to swell and not I ate too much salt kind, but the Tim Allen in a fat suit in The Santa Clause kind. My normally small ankles were non-existent, as were my wrists. When my eyes began to swell, I was beginning to wonder if I had permanently morphed into a pregnant creature that would never return to my previous state. Namely, being able to see without widening my eyes to accommodate for my shrinking visual field. My doctor told me I was probably going to develop toxemia based on my symptoms, another thing I never considered. What happened to the type of pregnancy that was written about and so glowing portrayed in movies? Those women who glowed, were able to do yoga, and shop and clean in preparation for their newborns. In my version of pregnancy, I was routinely miserable, my face broke out worse than when I was in high school, and I did not crave anything. Based on what I had envisioned, I was robbed. I told anyone who would listen I was going to write a book called "The Lies People Tell You About Pregnancy."

My OB and his family went on vacation to Antarctica the week my body decided it would fall apart. My fill-in OB was wonderful, even though she put me in the hospital. People kept telling me how lucky we were that our child was a girl because they were stronger and clearly my body had a checkout date mother nature had not intended. The multitude of physicians that checked on me during my stay in the hospital kept saying just make it to 32 weeks, and everything will be OK. Luckily, I was able to finish the steroid shot course so I could give her lungs a chance to mature.

Who knew I would have had a New Years' baby when she was due at the end of February?  I did not make it to 32 weeks, but close. Our little nugget was born at 31 weeks and 6 days. She was a whopping 3 lbs and 2 ozs and 15.75 inches. She slightly resembled a spider monkey with her long arms and legs. I never considered my body would evict my precious child before she was cooked. I guess this is my induction into motherhood, expect the unexpected. I really dislike becoming a cliche.

We are very fortunate. Our little nugget is 3 weeks old today, has finished her stay in the NICU, and is growing and learning to eat in the step down unit. She had a staph infection that required a 10-day stint with antibiotics. She is almost 4 lbs, has not needed any oxygen and has graduated to a big girl bassinet. I can't wait until she can get the tube out of her nose and take a proper picture of the world's most beautiful child- if I am going to become a cliche, I will absolutely believe my child is the most special and beautiful in the world.