Appointment

Ready or not…

Our daughter was born 12 weeks early at 1 pound 15 ounces.

I’ve had burgers bigger than that.

I’m not sure how this post as a whole will come together. I’ve decided to write it in parts. I’m not sure of the pace or structure. I’m only sure of the intent. I hope you stick it out with me.

I’ve been to every doctor appointment since finding out we were expecting. I just felt I needed to be there. In those appointments, I’ve gotten to be in the room for an awkward Pap smear. Awkward (for me) conversation involving stretching and comfortable positions for the next 9 months. Ahem. For some reason though, I didn’t think I would go to appointment #7. We were at the point where there wasn’t much going on. It became a “check vitals, doctor asking about diet and pain, I’ll see you in two weeks” kind of thing. Pretty standard procedure. I left for work on September 5th, telling her I would probably skip this one. She agreed and said it was no big deal. No ultrasound, she understood.

The appointment was at 11:30am and around 10am I texted her and told her that I had decided to go. No real reason other than I had gone to all of them. I kind of liked the streak and the bonus points. In appointments past, I would pick her up since she works really close to the hospital. I asked her if we could just meet at the hospital this time, that I needed to get back to a busy work day. She agreed. I was on my way around 11am and texted her again, telling her I’ve decided to pick her up. Again, it’s what we do.

We get to the appointment and our nurse is the best. She’s funny, always making us laugh. A great personality that always made visits enjoyable. Court needed to go to the bathroom and did as I went and sat down in the room. She came in and we talked about nothing. Everything was normal like it had been many times before. Then it became not so normal until it became terrifying.

About ten minutes later our nurse walks in and in the calmest voice, which was very unusual for her, said, “I don’t want to alarm you, but we may be checking you into the hospital right now.”

Ton of bricks for two please?

The nurse explained that this is being done right now so that they can get her blood pressure back under control so that preeclampsia won’t become a big factor.

My wife immediately starts blaming herself. Crying. Going through the whole “I should have done this, I’ve should have done that” thing. All I’m thinking is 28 weeks. 28 weeks.

Our nurse leaves and the doctor comes in. She’s pretty much a no nonsense kind of doctor. Fast forwarding just a bit when my wife was needing to stay a few extra days in the hospital due to her blood pressure, our doctor literally said, “well, your body just needs to get its shit together.” Who doesn’t love that doctor? Anyway, she comes in and basically says we need to get to the hospital and get Court on a monitor, get her blood pressure back to normal so that we won’t have to deliver this baby this weekend.

I don’t think I processed what she said. All I knew was that we were at 28 weeks. I wasn’t hearing what was being said. I had a Champ Kind moment.

“No…It’s the pancake breakfast. We do it every month.”

I just kept thinking it was impossible. We still have 12 weeks left. We will go and get her blood pressure down, see an ultrasound to show that the baby is hanging out all healthy and will be home that night.

One interesting fact. Our doctor set this particular appointment up a week early because she was going on vacation the afternoon of the 5th. We weren’t even suppose to be there for that appointment. This normal appointment where I wasn’t going to pick her up or even show up for.

Now we are checking into the hospital for a possible emergency delivery. And a pair of the widest eyes ever known to man.

Next post: High Risk

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Finding Out

So as you all know by now, we decided to make one of those baby things. We’ve always sort of talked about it but after 2013 rolled in, we really talked about it. We thought that maybe the summer might be a good time. That turned into the spring. Sometime in the spring turned into as fast as we could possibly get to the bed. Okay not really like that but we did feel ready. We knew it was what we both wanted and neither of us were drunk. Good start.

She was under the assumption that it might take months for this to work. First try was a miss. We were both kind of sad about it. Which I’m glad since it kind of confirmed that it’s what we wanted. She was more sad of disappointing me. Crazy girl.

Second try was different. I knew it was the one that got through. Hiyo! For some reason, I just knew. And let me tell you, waiting weeks for an answer isn’t the greatest use of my time.

It finally came time for her to start her period. It didn’t the first day. Or the second. Third day came and went. We had one test at home that was the +- type. We read that it’s better to take in the morning when the pee is more…concentrated. Gross. It was 5 in the morning and she had to go.

“Hey.”
“Huh?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Well, it’s in this room, right over there and it’s 5:00 in the morning. On a Sunday.”
“…do you want me to pee on the stick?”
“Get it.”

She goes and closes the door. Enough time elapsed that I was back sleeping soundly. She comes out, turned on the light and rushed to my side.

“I can’t tell, the line is faint. But it’s a plus. I think you can see the plus.”

I sit up to look at it. I’ll be honest. I have no idea what I’m looking at. Good thing that it had a diagram of what I should be looking for. A minus that’s always a minus. And then a minus for no and a plus for yes. I turned it upside down and back around.

We had a faint yes.

We confirmed it later that afternoon after purchasing a fancy digital number that told me in English that she was in fact knocked up.

So looking back, we dated for approximately 6 months. Planned a wedding for 6 months after that. Became pregnant about 4 months after that. That’s a lot of firsts and a lot of moments for a year and a half. But I found her. And we did it all at the right time.

And now I get to learn about breast pumps and something essential called a changing table, which I thought could be any table. Or couch. Or the floor.

Seriously, it could be any of those things. Yuppies.

It’s All Different Now

Well, here it is.

After a few months of sitting on my hands with news, I finally get to turn this barely functioning blog into a productive member of blog society. I have a new venture that will be a huge feat on a couple levels. Level One- I’m inconsistent here. No, really. Level Two- I’ll probably be busier now trying to find writing time than before when I had all. kinds. of. time.

I’m going to be a dad. On purpose. Bam.

We found out the Sunday before our last few days with Bailey, so you could say the emotions surrounding everything had been at threat level midnight.

I’m excited, terrified and overflowing with emotions that would probably rival most mental patients. Not the same emotions of mental patients mind you, just…overflowing. And good thing for the kid is that he or she will have this online journal to use as reference material when they visit their shrink in 30 years. I’m nothing if not here to help.

I never thought that when I changed my blog to Never Had One Lesson, that it would become the perfect definition for this journey. I have plans to contribute many a post about becoming a dad. What to expect, what naive expectations I already have. I mean I don’t even know why it shouldn’t just take a week or so to potty train a newborn. And just a tip, a baby can cry in a garage just as much as they can cry in a closer nursery room. Fact.

I’m beyond excited and more in love with the wife than ever before. It’s only a few months in and I have no idea how she does it. I get bloated after good pizza so I just can’t even imagine all of that.

So, here’s to Never Had One Lesson as an expectant dad.

I pray for us all.