PPS 4- Pregnancy

I have a manuscript chapter partially written about this, but I am abandoning it in an effort to move things along. It needed work anyway.

We had a great Christmas in DC, came home and went on with life. I left out part of the preconception story and I'll include it here because it was kind of funny. We had been trying to get pregnant for three months before that Christmas. On Thanksgiving Day, I was 2 days late and at 5:30 am, I went to the 24 hour Kroger and got a pregnancy test. It was one of those new fangled digital tests--I wanted to be sure and didn't want to have to interpret any pink lines. My entire family and part of Big B's family was coming for Thanksgiving dinner and I thought it would be wonderful to tell them over dinner that I was pregnant. I came home, took the test, and it was positive. I was ecstatic. We told everyone during the blessing. It was a lovely moment.

That weekend, Big B and I were watching a movie and I got up to go to the bathroom and noticed I was bleeding. It was light, but it was there. We called my OB and he confirmed that I was probably having a miscarriage or experiencing a "chemical pregnancy." It was such a letdown. I wasn't devastated, but I was sad and disappointed. Over the next week or so, I decided that we should wait a little longer to try again and I planned to get back on the pill after my next period.

My cycle was all off because of the miscarriage and I expected to get my period sometime shortly after Christmas. Well, that didn't happen. I waited another week and then figured I better take another pregnancy test to be sure. I was utterly convinced I was not pregnant. I picked up another test at the same Kroger and casually took it in the middle of the day. When I looked at the stick for the result, I fully expected to see a negative. But no, there it was in digital glory--positive. I actually said out loud, "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Those were my exact words. I called Big B at work and said, "You're not going to fucking believe this. I'm pregnant." He was excited at once. It look me a little while. After 24 hours or so, I was thrilled, though apprehensive . We waited to tell most people until after the first trimester had passed.

The pregnancy was fairly normal. The only big problem I had was severe morning sickness, or rather, all-day sickness. It started at about 6 weeks. I was nauseous before getting out of bed. I puked while brushing my teeth. I threw up in the sink fixing Sweet Pea's breakfast. I threw up at lunchtime and while driving. I threw up before going to bed. It was constant. I tried everything to quell the nausea. Nothing worked until I remembered that my old OB in Nashville had suggested taking doxylamine, an over-the-counter sleep aid that is safe during pregnancy Just one pill at bedtime seemed to take the edge off and I was able to function. The only other problem I had was low amniotic fluid. That was no surprise because it was also a problem when I was pregnant with Sweet Pea and I was induced three weeks early because of it. The low fluid this time resulted in induction a week early, but caused no other problems.

We found out very early that Ladybug was a girl and I was thrilled. I loved decorating her room and buying cute and impractical dresses. Big B was also excited to have a "matched set," as he put it.

My life went on as normal. Sweet Pea and I stayed busy with MOMS Club stuff, playgroups, trips to Nashville, playing at the park, all the things we usually did. I was happy.

You might wonder if I noticed any depression as the pregnancy progressed. I did not. This is a good time to mention that I know depression when I feel it. I had been clinically depressed at least twice before this and my family has a history of depression. The first depression hit when I was in college. It's hard to pinpoint its beginnings but it was around my junior year. The second depression hit at around 27. I actually wonder if it was really one big, long depressive episode. While in college, I was never regular about seeing a doctor or therapist. Then, my senior year, my parents got divorced in a very messy and hurtful breakup. At the same time, my boyfriend of 5 years and I broke up. This was a man I thought I would marry. Everyone thought we would marry. We were planning on it after graduation. So, here I was, middle of my senior year and I lose both my family and my boyfriend. I had no idea what I wanted to do after graduation, my previous plans were out the window and my parents were not emotionally available to help me. I continued to randomly see doctors at the insistence of my mother but I was never consistent about taking the drugs. I hated the side effects and I didn't like the idea of being on antidepressants. For the next few years, I drank too much, made horrible choices concerning men, and generally tried to anesthetize myself. The only thing that kept me in line at all was graduate school.

The second episode, or perhaps the culmination of the first, occurred when I was 27. I had broken up with another boyfriend, one I lived with but with whom I was never in love. I moved home to live with my mom and finish graduate school in Nashville. I had no friends in Nashville anymore and was very, very lonely. One night, drunk, I cut my arms and legs with a razor. It was not severe and more of a cry for help than anything else. People who cut do it because they can't deal with the pain inside. That was certainly the way that I felt. I was in so much pain and I didn't know how to handle it or what to do with it. It needed an outlet.

My mother found me and she and my father took me to Vanderbilt Psychiatric Hospital where I was admitted for three days. When I got out, I began seeing a psychiatrist on a weekly basis and committed to taking Effexor. I took the Effexor for several months, maybe a year, and got better. I moved out to an apartment of my own, finished graduate school and met Big B. I was depression-free for 5-6 years before the PPS hit.

I have imposed a 9 pm curfew for myself with the computer because if I am on it up until bedtime, I can't sleep and I am 24 minutes past my curfew now. So, I'll leave it here and pick it up tomorrow with all the gory details of the birth. Just kidding. Well, only a little.