S turned 4 on June 22. E will be 2 tomorrow. Today, to the day, is 4 years after my father took his own life.
Ob-la-di, ob-la-dah, life goes on … and now I am immersed in a world of toilet training, preschool, Dora the Explorer, and the like instead of pee-sticks, ovulation charts, and miscarriage grief. Life does go on, but I will never forget. Time does heal the wounds, indeed, but the scars are still there, they are just fading with time.
Life also sometimes comes full circle.
I am back on the birth-control pill. Not for birth control, particularly, but because without being on the pill (I started when I was 18 due to hideous cramps and monster PMS) my hormone fluctuations were ruining my life. I basically had 1 week of normalcy, 2 weeks of PMS, and 1 week of horrible lower back spasms and pain, to replace the pre-C-section cramps. I am on Lo-LoEstrin. (I guess the pharmaceutical company really wanted to accentuate how low-low the estrogen level really is?) And, because I have so much water retention/bloating, before my OB could put me on the pill I had to have a sonogram.
A sonogram. To look at my ovaries. And rule out ovarian cancer. Guess what probe I got? Go ahead, guess.
Nearly 2 years after E was a wee cluster of cells, I got to dance again with the dildo cam. For real. I laughed out loud when the sono tech told me what she was going to use. It’s still the same. They still put the condom on it. They still lube it up with KY jelly. This time, however, it was much less stressful. I have two ovaries. They look fine. Bring on the pill.
Sometimes I look at E and S and know that their special blend of genes — their unique “themness” — is because my first two pregnancies failed. It simultaneously fills me with grief and joy, but the joy is greater. Now. I wanted two healthy children, and I have two healthy children. I know how lucky I am. I know what can go wrong. I know what loss is. I know what grief is. I think about this every single day, but instead of being sad, it fills me with gratitude. They are here. They are healthy. They are mine. I had to go through a lot to get here, but that is the past. And this is the present. Ob-la-di. Ob-la-da.
I went to my OB’s office today because they said I could stop by anytime and listen to wee-beastie’s the heartbeat on a doppler if I wanted to. Well, I needed a fix, so I stopped by. After waiting for awhile, the nurse told me it was going to be longer than anticipated and Rob (the AWESOME receptionist) asked if I didn’t just want a sonogram downstairs instead. Why, I would love another sonogram!
As you can see from this picture, wee-beastie has figured out how to deal with all the nasty hormones. I am pumping myself full of fluids and anti-emetics; s/he just flips over and tickles his/her forehead with his/her toes and apparently this makes everything fantastic. Wee-beastie also had a good heartrate but was not so keen on moving around, except to get that other bloody leg back into a supine position.
My problem is that there is no way — even at the height of my yoga practicing — that I could ever do this pose.