Babies and Toddlers

Towards the end of my first pregnancy, I remember telling myself, "Just a few more weeks, then I won't have to worry anymore."

It seems like my whole pregnancy was filled with worry. Very early on, I remember panicking at any minor ache or twinge in my belly, thinking "Oh god, what if this is an ectopic pregnancy?" I was only able to relax at 11 weeks, when I had my first ultrasound and could clearly see that my baby was in the right place and had a strong heartbeat.

Then I heard about what my friend's sister had just been through with her own pregnancy. For the next few weeks, "incompetent cervix" was the phantom hovering over my pregnancy. If I were to be stricken by the same complication, would I know in time to save my baby? If I didn't, how would I live with the guilt that my baby had died not because there was something wrong with him, but because there was something wrong with me? I spent hours on pregnancy websites obsessing over incompetent cervix, making sure that I knew every warning sign so I could rush off to my doctor at the first indication that something might be wrong. Never mind that incompetent cervix is something that afflicts only 1% of all pregnancies—the fact that it could happen was enough to send me into a mild state of panic.

During all of this I kept thinking to myself, "Once I get to 28 weeks I can stop worrying. Most babies born at 28 weeks survive." Then 28 weeks came and went and I found new things to worry about. I remember late in my pregnancy when I was feeding our goats and one of the rowdy yearlings jumped up exuberantly on me as I tossed him a flake of hay. I turned to push him away and felt a distinct "pop," which was probably just my hip but nevertheless sent me into a frenzy of concern. What if I'd just had a placental abruption? Sure, they are usually accompanied by bleeding, but not always. For the next couple of hours I prodded my belly and whispered, "Wake up baby, are you OK?" My baby, sound asleep, didn't let me know there was nothing wrong until I was almost sick with worry.

Even during delivery I found things to worry about. What if there was a cord accident? What if they couldn't get all the meconium out of my baby's lungs before he started breathing? What if he had some congenital defect that the ultrasounds had failed to detect? If only he'd just hurry up and be born so his poor mother could stop worrying ...

Finally it was all over—Dylan had arrived, and he was not only perfect but better than perfect. He was healthy, robust, and had all 10 fingers and all 10 toes. I breathed a sign of relief.

Then he refused to breastfeed. And got his first cold. Then a urinary tract infection. Once he was past all that, I read an article about someone in our area who'd lost a baby to SIDS. Then I started thinking, what if we really do have a bird flu pandemic? How will I protect him? And I realized that worry isn't just something that you have during pregnancy, it's something that starts in pregnancy and continues for the rest of your life. It isn't something that will go away when the next milestone is reached. There is always something to worry about. As a parent, you've simply traded worry for yourself for worry about your children. You don't get over it, you just have to learn to live with it.

Posted by Becki Bell at 12:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Two great things about pregnancy: you will never have better hair or bigger boobs. You may, however, end up with a myriad of other unfortunate conditions that will make you feel less-than-lovely, such as stretch marks, varicose veins, a frighteningly large butt, bizarre skin conditions, hair in strange places, and ingrown toenails. That's right! I just learned only a few weeks ago that ingrown toenails (which my husband considers "skanky") are one of nature's ways of saying "thanks" for propagating the species. The reason? Evidently its partly because your feet grow when you're pregnant and you may still be trying to squeeze into your old shoes (and don't think you'll necessarily be able to fit into your favorite size six strappy sandals after the baby comes, either, because the change is likely to be permanent) and partly because your feet and therefore your toes swell up and collide into each other, which can cause the nails to grow wrong. And the best part? When you go to your podiatrist to have your ingrown toenails removed, he may be reluctant to use anesthetic (even local) because of concerns about its safety during pregnancy. Instead, he'll just spray something very cold on your feet (a little frostbite please!) and dig in with a very scary looking pair of clippers—ouch!

Then there's the things you don't see—indigestion, shortness of breath, changes in your eyesight (!), Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction (that's where the bones in your pelvis start grinding together—whenever you change gears in your car, climb a step, roll over in bed ...), Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, tendonitis, heart palpitations, sore back, not to mention that one-of-a-kind feeling you get when your baby kicks you in the bladder—if you're not already pregnant, is any of this making you eager to get started?

So why do we do it? And why was I, after going through all of this at the age of 33 with my first child, so ready to do it all over again only six months later?

Nature has programmed us for this experience, and has programmed us so well that we are willing to overlook nearly every flaw in the design system. Imagine if you bought a piece of software that had a pretty nice end result but forced you to go through multiple system crashes, upgrades, updates and third party add-on installations before you could achieve that result—would you want to do all of that more than once? Would you even want to do it all the first time?

Nature, in her infinite cleverness, has designed human beings so that the end result of even the most uncomfortable pregnancies is so wonderful, so perfect, and filled with so much joy that nothing you went through to get there seems, in retrospect, like such a big deal. There is absolutely no other experience in life that can possibly equate to that. And so many of us are willing to do it twice, three times, or more—just so we'll have one more chance to hold that perfect little newborn person in our arms. So it's not a perfect system ... but it doesn't have to be.

I forgot to mention the waddling. No matter how you try to avoid it, in the end, there is always waddling.

Posted by Becki Bell at 01:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)