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Before the show we went to dinner with friends who are expecting a baby this summer. They are not douche-bags about it, so it was fine. There was one moment, though, when they asked me how many ultrasounds I had when I was pregnant.
With Eliza, not enough. With Zuzu, more than necessary.
That was the first answer that popped into my head. But of course I just said that I'd had three with Eliza (two scheduled, one because she didn't cooperate at the 20 week ultrasound so they didn't get a good picture of her heart--we went back four weeks later and everything was perfect) and many more with Zuzu. I remember my Bradley class instructor making a huge deal about not having lots of ultrasounds and giving us an article to read about ultrasounds making mice brains all squiggly (or something like that). I stressed out about the fact that I'd already had three. (That class was really negative for so many reasons, unrelated to our loss.) I had written off a lot of the fear-mongering that I felt happened in the class, but I couldn't shake all of it. I was worried when it came to the many ultrasounds I had the second time around--I tearfully asked my ob about this article at one of my office visits, blubbering about mice brains. To his credit, he did not roll his eyes, but really talked through my concerns with me and said that there were absolutely no risks that would outweigh the peace of mind and knowledge of the baby's development that we'd get from the ultrasounds.
Sometimes I really hate that Bradley class instructor for being a crazy freakish fear-mongering zealot. I should really write about sometime except I don't like giving her that much space in my head. She made me so scared of medical intervention that it was really hard for me to reconcile my desire to have every moment of my second pregnancy monitored and my fear that I would end up killing my baby by trying to hard to save her. Not to mention all the complicated guilty feelings for some how not having done "enough" for Eliza, even though we were all going above and beyond what's necessary for a normal, healthy pregnancy... Ugh.
Speaking of Bradley classes--we were at Target last week and David recognized the dad from one of the other couples in our class. It was the couple we liked the most, the ones we probably would have been friends with if Eliza had lived. I can't even remember their names now. David also bumped into them at the farmers' market over the summer. He was by himself--I was home with the newborn Zuzu--and that couple was there, with their toddler in a stroller. He said it felt like he got punched in the stomach when he saw them. Living the life that was supposed to be ours. They recognized him, but he turned and avoided them. This time, at Target, we were checking out and the guy was walking by on his way in the door. He did a double take and saw me and the baby with David. I can just imagine him going home and mentioning us to his wife: "Remember that couple from our Bradley class? The ones whose baby died?" Ugh.
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To change the subject entirely, Zuzu is doing better with food but ONLY if she is allowed to feed herself. She seals her lips closed and turns her head away from a spoon, no matter how many airplane noises or "nom nom nom" sounds we make. No matter what's on the spoon or what time of day it is. If someone else is pushing food in her face, she is turning away.
But she will happily gnaw on a chunk of bread, sauteed red pepper, apple slices, and home-canned pears while I'm eating lunch or making dinner. I'm re-reading Baby Led Weaning because it looks like that's the only way we're going to get this baby to eat something besides breastmilk. So much for all of my frozen cubes of organic purees... I guess they'll keep until she can really control a spoon.
|I am too cool for purees. And bibs, evidently.|
I keep thinking that Zuzu is thisclose to crawling, but she's not there yet, which is kind of a relief. I'd love to move before we have to baby-proof this house. If she's on the wood floor, she will actually scooch on her butt in a sitting position, and she works hard to try to pull up to standing, but she just hasn't mastered the art of getting her knees under her yet. One of these days she'll get her shoulders and her butt in the air at the same time!
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As I mentioned before, our house is now on the market. So we're in the midst of the "Keep it tidy" and "OMFG Little Mac quit peeing on the f***ing floor" phase of selling our house (She has peed on the floor twice this week. And it's only Wednesday. On the easily-wipeable wood floor, but STILL. WTF?). It's a little bit exhausting, mostly because my husband is slightly psycho and does things like putting all of my pens and pencils that were corralled in a canister on the bar by the phone into a ziplock bag that he then put out IN THE GARAGE because GOD KNOWS that having a bunch of pens and pencils in a canister on the bar would be a TOTAL DEALBREAKER for a potential homebuyer.
I am taking it easy on him, though, because he is kicking ass in the job-getting department. That's right, folks! David got a head principal position at another elementary school in his district. I am so proud of him. I'm slightly nervous about his ridiculous work ethic and the long hours he's likely to put in next year, but I'm also really happy that his district recognizes how dedicated and talented he is.
|Celebrating Daddy's new job! We found out on Valentine's Day but had to keep it a secret until the official board meeting--over a week later!|
So now we just have to keep the house clean, keep the baby fed, keep Little Mac from peeing everywhere, keep Cooper from shedding everywhere (ha, I wish), and keep our fingers crossed that somebody falls in love with our little bungalow.
Oh, and because some of you have been asking, my acute and contagious