The Good, the Bad, It's All Life

On Tuesday we hit 28 weeks. Today I am 28 weeks 3 days. Darn right, I am counting the days! I'm now officially considering this my longest pregnancy! On paper Liam was born at 28 weeks 5 days but we are actually fairly sure he arrived at 27 weeks 5 days as this was his original due date in the early scans, matches my dates (my cycle is very regular) and namely, when Liam was in the NICU and had his eye check at 32 weeks, the eye doctor looked at his eye maturity and dated him the same as what we had. Doesn't matter much now but means I can say I have gotten this baby past L's birth gestation!



Certainly a milestone. Am I happy? Yes, very. This little guy kicks up a storm and his strength is amazing. I love to feel him rolling around adjusting his position. With Liam my placenta was apparently in the front of my tummy (anterior) and hence I didn't feel as much. Plus his activity slowed as the pre-eclampsia worsened. Hitting 28 weeks though does bring back the memories of where we were this time last pregnancy. IVs in each arm, a catheter, unable to move much because of the magnesium sulfate and strapped to a bed in ICU after delivery. Having never spent a night in a hospital to being hospitalized, and then in ICU with organs failing at 32. And in the middle of this I remember the lactation consultant bringing in a breast pump, trying to stimulate the milk into production, and me thinking how on Earth I don't even have a free hand to manage this thing nor have I even seen my son yet. (Fortunately we got things going and though my supply was never great, Liam got breastmilk his first year).

28 weeks and the survival rate seems so promising: 85-90% I believe? Yet I remember my son being very sick just before he went in for surgery at 2 pounds for a heart ligament (PDA surgery), suffering from severe pneumonia, on the ventilator's maximum settings. And I remember thinking shit, we might be that 1 in 10 statistic that doesn't make it out of the NICU. Lots of tears. Endless tears. These are the memories that will always remain. No sense trying to forget them, you just have to move on. And just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.

We are grateful for today, hopeful for tomorrow. My 4 year old's eating a bagel right now, watching Curious George before we head out for his swim class. My 4 year old, whose lungs were so fragile from damage his first year, missed only two days of school the entire school year for illness so far. He had a purple leg one day from a blood clot in the NICU, but still learned to ride a bike without training wheels at the age of 4. Right now, he's into giving the thumb's up sign (we have to reciprocate) and will give me the thumb's up from high atop the park play structure and smiles when I give him the thumb sign back. My precious son, who wants to name his brother "watermelon poo". Grateful for no swelling yet, grateful to still be able to walk every day. Grateful that I am getting so big that this week I've heard several times "You must be in the home stretch", "What are you, 32 weeks about?" and the meat guys at the market asking me when the Big Day is.

Grateful for today, hopeful for tomorrow indeed! And as of today, I am still baking. Monday we have our next monthly ultrasound.