Why do I even care what you think, anyway?

As we know, I am telling quite a lot of people about my current pregnancy, and when I do so, I have developed the need to follow the news up with the information that I don't intend to have any more.

This is because I want to pre-empt them thinking that I'm some kind of manic breeder, who either has no idea how to use contraceptives, or who is some martyr who just wants to devote herself to discomfort and the needs of others, I dunno. Well, what's wrong with either of those? It's not a sin to have children. It's not a sin to have 12 children! But I still don't want to be perceived as either of them, for some reason.

Yes, the pregnancies have followed in somewhat quick succession, but they're not really that close compared to, say, me and my sister, or my husband and his brother. These babies will be 23 months apart, perfectly respectable. There were many reasons why I chose to have a baby at this time, to do with my age, my career at this point, my finances and the desire for S to have a sibling he could have fun with. These were my reasons, dammit! Nothing to do with what anyone else thinks! Yes, there have been gasps of, "Oh! You didn't give yourself much breathing space did you?!" and, "Congratulations, you mad thing!" but who gives a crap what they think?

Apparently I do. And I was unable to stop myself from frowning and muttering, "Well, it's a lot to put your body through..." when judgy friend from a few posts back mentioned that she had stopped using contraception. (She has two children under the age of 2). I'm telling myself I was just getting my own back for her calling me silly the other week.

But really, have I too absorbed society's message that procreation and women's pregnant bodies and childbirth are obscene and that they should be controlled and constrained? Probably.

Anthea

Panic over!

It's all okay!  Now I can stop being distracted and dropping stuff and forgetting what I'm supposed to be doing, and concentrate on not flipping out for the umpteenth time this week that Little O's food pump keeps leaking PediaSure all over his bed.

So, it's good news... but wow.  That was close.

Tina.

Uh oh...

Something's going down.  It's a long shot, but if I'm right then oooooooohhhhhh shit.

Update to follow later this week.

Our (not so) secret plan

We're going to have another baby!  Well, not RIGHT now, but at some point before this year is up we're going to start trying to have another child.

We love Owen, and one of the reasons we've reached this decision is to benefit him.  He doesn't attend a nursery or day care centre, so the amount of interaction he has with other children who are of the same age as him is very limited.  It would therefore be lovely if we could provide him with a playmate, and, given Owen's developmental delays, the differences between their ages would be extremely small.  We also feel that each child would benefit dramatically from having a sibling so developmentally different from themselves.  After all, my younger sister is extremely delayed, but Anthea and I have nothing but good things to say about our experiences growing up with her.  She has also benefitted from having us 'normal' siblings around: you can tell she loves us and remembers us each time we see her.

For a very long time, Mike was prepared to have another baby and I said a definite 'no'.  I was (and to some extent, still am) extremely nervous about taking care of two small children by myself during the day.  Owen's feedings have been so traumatic for me that the thought of mopping up sick with one hand and breastfeeding a newborn in the other just made me break out in a cold sweat.  Owen also has so many appointments that my concerns about spending adequate time with each child, and just being able to MAKE all those appointments, has seemed very daunting.  My mental health has already suffered in the past year; what's to say it won't spiral even further out of control with the responsibility of another baby?

Well... in the last month or so, life has started to slowly, slowly... creepingly... improve.  We changed Owen's formula recently and his feeds have not only been more successful, they've also been quicker.  It has meant I have more time to devote to playing with him, doing my own work, and taking care of jobs around the house.  Also, now he's turned one, his appointments are starting to ease off a little.  He's had as many surgeries as doctors initially anticipated he would when he was born, which means that although we still need to attend yearly appointments, things won't be on the same scale as they have been over the last twelve months.  It's true that we have to start dental care visits, and some appointments won't ease off at all, but Owen's body has responded so incredibly well to a growing and healing heart, eyes, head, and brain, that most of the specialists we see are already scaling things back.  These changes have been so small, so incremental, that to anyone else they're barely visible, but to ME, they're the difference between health and misery.

For the last six weeks I've been seeing another therapist, and Mike and Owen attended a session with me last week.  I feel very good about this course of therapy, as she really listens to what I want, and allows that input to guide my treatment.  For example, I think deep-breathing and listening to whale music will do jack, and I smirk loudly whenever people talk about it.  Reading a book she's lent me called Coping with Infinite Loss and Grief, however, allows me to analyse my thoughts and behaviour from an analytical standpoint - which is much more up my alley.  I also love the fact she has evening hours.  It makes such a difference to not have to bring Owen along, and to return to him fresh and allieved of dark thoughts, just in time to put him to bed.

So, the upshot of all this is that I have an appointment to get my last shot of Depo Provera tomorrow, and that will be it.  It will wear off in September, and Mike and I will allow nature to take its course from that point on.  Apparently the hormones in Depo can take several months to wear off, so I'm not anticipating a baby arriving next May, but it's kind of nice to have a timeframe in mind.  Maybe by Christmas I'll have some good news.

Tina.

Big, adult decisions.

I took Owen to the eye specialist this afternoon to get his eyelids assessed.  When we went to the opthamologist a couple of weeks ago she mentioned that in addition to his optic nerve pressure there was also a possibility of his eyelids obscuring his vision.  His eyelids have never opened very far, known as a condition called Blepharophimosis; it's indicated by small eye openings horizontally as well as verically, a low nasal bridge and some other stuff.  Apparently it's quite rare.  How lucky for us to have won THAT lottery.

The surgery involves putting in a small piece of silicone tubing into each eyelid crease, then attching these to the muscle above the eyebrow which controls the opening and closing of the eyelid.  Apparently to do this in both eyes will take several hours and he'll have black and blue eyes when it's over.  Whooopie.  He'll also have to stay overnight at CHOW.

Now the big, adult decision we have to make is whether the major benefit to this surgery is going to outweigh the major drawback.  Owen will certainly be able to see better and he won't have to tip his head back all the time, but on the othe hand... he will no longer be able to close his eyes all the way.  Ever, unless we completely reverse the surgery.  So while he will still be able to sleep, whoever is looking after him will have to make sure they put ointment on his eyes during the night to stop them drying out.  Yes, it's inconvenient for us, but what isn't these days?  No, my concern is him having infections in eyes that can't blink properly and in his general appearance as he ages.  Can you imagine sleeping next to your boyfriend for the first time, only to discover his eyes don't close?  Freaky.  Apparently his eyes will be fully open immediately after surgery and will then learn how to close partially as time goes on.  They won't ever close all the way though.

It's at times like these I feel at a crossroads.  I want to ask Owen what HE wants, but that isn't possible.  When he was tiny we made the decision to place a G-tube, but I've regretted this ever since and have wondered if his oral aversion to bottle-feeding was a direct result of it, not in spite of it.  And now we have another decision to make that could affect his development.  We're being told it will help him, because the head-tipping is so acute it's preventing him from learning how to sit and stand, but how do we know this?  I mean, we were told the G-tube was a must-have, but now I'm not so sure... what if this is the same thing?

Even though Mike and I talk about this stuff, because he's not at these appointments with me I often feel very alone.  Very pressured, very alone and sometimes very unsure.  I can't wait for the day Owen is old enough to tell me what HE wants.

Tina.