This weekend we Airbnbed our house and used it as an excuse to take a staycation. Spring in Phoenix is just the best thing – evening bonfires, baseball games, and breezy walks to satisfy pregnancy cravings.
First up, I watched these boys go round this water slide oh, a few hundred times. Sadly no pregnant mamas allowed, but I was pretty content to watch from my lounge chair while Hudson shouted, “Again! Again!” before they even hit the water.
S’mores after, of course.
Spring training! We rooted on our Diamondbacks as they played last year’s World Series champions and came out on top. Hudson cheered for every run, but he was equally into his giant snow cone. Can’t blame him.
They had a mini field with a pro pitcher coaching pint-sized players. At first Hudson got super nervous to step onto the field with so many spectators. But once he got up to bat, he didn’t even consider using the tee and hit this grounder on the second try. He’s obviously super advanced and probably going pro tomorrow.
Capped it all off with Sprinkles. Hudson is on board the pregnancy cravings train.
If you read the last post, you already know what we’re having! But I wanted a fun way to tell our friends and since we already had book club on Friday, we did an impromptu gender reveal the same morning. (Let’s be real, we didn’t do much book studying this time!) I loaded up a piñata and let the littles bat out the pink or blue. Oh and only two kiddos got hit in the head with the bat, so overall a real success!
I let Hudson, who decided to wear his Cowboy Woody getup for the occasion, get first bat mainly because this is how he felt when anyone else got a turn:
Our favorite little people batted their hearts out, but they needed some help.
Aaaand when that didn’t work…
Thanks to one of my favorite mamas, Sarah Rhodes, for capturing these photos!
The elevator opens to a woman about my age. She looks tired and happy. Her belly is round, and it reminds me of taking the same elevator up to our second floor OBGYN and hearing Hudson’s heartbeat before we met him face to face. But this time is different. I look at the expectant mama with envy as she rests her right hand on her growing tummy. I have spent the last several months praying to be in her shoes – in this elevator. But a surge of bright red interrupted our morning.
I sign in at the reception desk, but she doesn’t ask me to pee in a cup this time. Just wait and the nurse practitioner will be with me shortly. The medical assistant ushers me back and before long the provider delicately explains to me that we can try again in another month. That the miscarriage isn’t my fault. That it could simply be the result of a chromosomal misfire or improper implantation. I can feel the pressure of my eyes welling and know when I open my mouth, I won’t be able to keep the tears from spilling over, but I ask anyway, “Am I naïve to think that maybe it’s not that?”
She placates me with a diplomatic sort of answer while advising against an ultrasound, “Sometimes it’s just too hard to” she trails as she carefully selects her words, “to have a visual of what you’re losing.”
I tell her I want one anyway, and when I leave the office, I turn away from the elevator and instead open a heavy steel door to an empty stairwell. My legs crumple. I sit and quietly sob.
The sonographer doesn’t say a word – just diligently takes measurements.
“Is that a heartbeat?” The technician doesn’t respond, so I pretend the question is directed to Ryan. I think how stupid it is that just last night we deliberated over potential baby names.
Finally, the radiologist enters the room, and we learn that perhaps our nurse practitioner shouldn’t have been so quick to diagnose. She ups our chances to 50/50 after explaining that a large sub-chorionic hematoma (blood clot inside the sac) is to blame for the hemorrhage. That coupled with a slow heartbeat means all we can do is wait and see. Oh P.S. I suck at that. Over the subsequent weeks, a couple of blood tests, and an ultrasound later, we breathe a sigh of relief just in time for Thanksgiving. This little fighter isn’t going anywhere.
Oh but you guys, if our faith hadn’t been tested enough, the doctor leaves a message on my voicemail the Monday after Christmas. Upon returning her call, I shake Ryan awake. I can’t fit the words she is saying into my brain. I definitely can’t fit them into my plan for our future. Our little fighter’s Down Syndrome screening came back positive. She says we can come in to discuss our options. Groggy eyed and with Hudson in tow, we arrive at her office. Hudson spills granola on the floor in front of her desk while she describes the measurements and markers that led to her finding. Five needle pricks later with a brief intermission for water and crackers, we are left to wait. Again. Meanwhile a lab in San Diego pulls my blood apart searching for chromosomes until a week and a half later a medical assistant calls, and I can finally cry big fat tears of joy. Normal. The previous screening had given a false positive.
And oh by the way, those lab guys didn’t find any Y chromosomes. Just a couple of XXs. I’ve been online shopping for tiny dresses ever since.
“You have to get to sleep or Santa might not bring you presents!” I only felt a little bad for threatening him; this boy needed to get to bed!
“Oh mom, I already have plenty of toys,” he responded, stretching plenty into three syllables. “I really don’t need any more!” And Mom: 0, Hudson: 1.
The thing he’s most excited about this year? Selecting gifts for a 3-year-old boy named Isaiah whom we found on the Salvation Army Angel Tree. “How about we get him a Buzz Lightyear, mom?” – a toy he had been eyeing for himself ever since he “borrowed” his cousin’s Woody doll. I feel all of the proud mama feelings about this boy. Since he’s about had it with consumerism, we decided on a more experiential gift and made the short 2-hour drive to this winter wonderland. Waking up to snow falling outside our window definitely beat any present under the tree. Too excited to put on real clothes, Hudson played in the snow in his Christmas jams.
He nailed his snow angel technique.
Made a quick coffee run for this guy before the snow trucks had a chance to clear off the roads. Magic!
More than anything, Hudson wanted to build a snowman, but the powdery snow wouldn’t compact. (Or maybe we are just snow novices?) He settled on this mini snowman.
Loved him so much he gave him some sugar before we left.
Just before Halloween, we made the poor decision of a backyard movie night featuring the creepy but lovable, E.T. Hudson loved it and begged for a repeat screening, which we obliged the following weekend. We didn’t know it then, but we’d be paying the price for weeks (months??) to come. Here’s what 2AM sounds like in our house these days: