Be careful what you wish for…

At 35 weeks after an iron infusions at the hospital I walk straight over to my doctor’s office for my regular stress test (third THIS week-3 times a week every week after 30 week gestation).

During the test, baby doesn’t cooperate at all. His hear rate is all over the place (I have to turn around, walk around, sip cold water then orange juice) and towards the end I start getting contractions so strong they are (literally) off the chart. They feel just like labor contractions and my heart is racing (just like my baby’s) as the doctor on call enters the stress test area.

This baby is not ready yet, I was hoping for at least 38 weeks (and I so wish I was 38 weeks pregnant right now), even though I know babies aren’t really ready until 39 weeks (and not fully cooked until 40 weeks).

I find myself yet again with the big orange envelope, back at the admittance desk at the main hospital. They fear preterm labor once again and have no other choice but sending me back to the hospital.

Things go much quicker this time (probably due to my recent visit-and updated information). It’s not like I like spending all my time in this place but I keep finding myself back here…

As I’m waddling towards the familiar elevator I try to breathe “IN; last pregnancy, OUT; last baby” and as not to seem ungrateful I pray that the baby IS and WILL be okay! I love this little one and can’t wait for this last pregnancy to be over and to be able to hold and cuddle our baby boy!

Buut not until it’s safe obviously!

Stay in there a little longer I tell him as I hold my ginormous tummy, waiting for the nurse to put me in a wheelchair and wheel me over to yet another hospital room (at least they are all private). If I can hold on for at least another month or so, so can he…?

And so the process start yet again as they prep the IV, draw the blood, give me the steroid shots for baby’s lungs (ouch!) and give me (with huge difficulty because of my “impossible veins”) the anti-contractions medicine (brown and burning and slow moving) more known under the name “puke” .

Trapped in the big bed in the regular (very sexy-not) green hospital gown under straps leading to monitors I feel like I spend waaay too much time like this!

They want to monitor me and baby for preterm labor for at least 24 hours.

My contractions subside, baby is looking great on the monitors, steady heartbeat, great movement. No leaking, blood or pain!

As I’m about to get released the contractions pick up again, earning me another 24 hours away from my kids, my family, my dog, my house, and my life.

Luckily the contractions subside yet again and I’m finally being released under stern promises that I will come back the very next day to see my doctor and EVERY day until I give birth, which (hopefully) could (should) be several weeks. I promise to come back if I show ANY signs of preterm labor (including leaking, bleeding, strong contractions and/or lack of fetal movement).

It has been such a tough pregnancy so far and I’m so ready to be over and done with this but I know I need to hang in there. I know this baby depends on me, I know he is not ready and if I (we) have made it this far…

It has been tough at home as well with two kids transitioning into a brand new School and with one kid approaching the age of two.

Back home it’s hard not to stress. The kids are feeling my stress as well as their own with all the changes happening around (and to) us and I’m fearful the baby in my tummy will be affected as well.

After a tear-filled School drop off and a mid morning tantrum, I decide to call my mom to vent. In the midst of all the chaos I complain to my mom through the computer; “I’m sooo huge”, “I have soo many aches and pains”, “I’m terrified my cyst might burst”, “I’m scared I will have to have a c-section”, “All I want is to know for SURE baby is okay and healthy”,  “I’m worried my kids won’t settle in to their new school”, “I’m anxious my third child will regress even more when the baby comes”…

My mom is calm, realistic and reasonable as always (with just the right amount of “mom”, “support”, “strength” and “push”).

Most of all I’m telling her that I am just so ready to get this baby out of me like RIGHT now…

But I know I have to hang in there for at least a few more weeks…or will I??

Be careful what you wish for…

Put some sunshine into that sharing bag!

And then school starts! I’m always secretly hoping that our son will get a teacher who will understand him, how smart and witty and gentle and loving he is, but who also will have patience and understanding for his wild side and all that energy!

This year I think, I will be a better preschool parent! I will become more involved, sign up for more stuff, become social with the other mommies, suggest improvements for the school in general and classroom in particular, became a “teacher’s helper mom”, buy the school more supplies, volunteer  my time…yeah you get it!
But I will also have more time for my son, more patience, more energy, more love. I always go into these plans 100% (think daily schedules, pre-packed lunch boxes, researched themes to talk to your preschooler about and “at home after school lesson plans” as well as tons of planned after-school activities and age appropriate floor play time). However…midway through the first semester I somehow loose some of my enthusiasm (who am I kidding, midway through the first day…).

I do have another kid and even though I’m a mommy …I’m also human! (Who are these super moms??, no, really? And how do they do it!?)

Our first day back, the first mom I see is the mom who loudly called me “rude” last semester.
I always try to smile and say “hi” or “good morning” to the other mommies, especially if the kids are in the same class as my son (last year; turtles, this year; butterflies… “Why were we so much cooler last year mama!?”) but sometimes I feel like without even saying anything, I’m lost in translation. Combine my somewhat stiff and uptight Swedish blood (sorry, can’t help it, and I promise I’m way more outgoing than most Swedes still back home) with the fact that I’m not exactly a morning person (let’s tell it like it is, shall we!? I HATE mornings, I loath them, lucky me getting such a morning person of a son- thanks darling husband!) the result can be rather…misinterpreted. But I am trying I really am (and not only the first day but every day…hey we all have good and bad ones).

So a usual (“slightly” hectic morning, arriving “slightly” frazzled) morning last year I go to drop of my son (nursing monster in the baby carrier) and as I push him forward into the classroom after a kiss goodbye, I turn to leave. As the door opens (the bright green “turtle” door) a couple of mommies arrive on the opposite side presumably without seeing me. I hear the “class mom”, an extreme “goody goody”, “collector of money for gifts to teachers” EVERY holiday (valentines really?! Halloween? Did you know there is teacher’s appreciation day AND “teacher’s day”??! Doesn’t mean they don’t deserve the gifts….I love teachers…just saying..) “organic vegetable giver” and “volunteering her time to the school everyday mom” say rather loudly “he (indicating my son) is a sweet enough child despite his intensity (hmm) but the mom I think, seems very RUDE. I’m not sure how to proceed. It doesn’t feel good and I want to somehow defend myself but what I do instead is turn my heels and walk towards my car. I hope they saw me but seriously doubt it since they are so wrapped up in talking and saying bye to their kids. That one kind of stung! But since then I’ve been pondering if this super mom was right? Am I the “rude” mom. Is this affecting my son? I should definitely make more of a conscious effort to smile brighter, be more enthusiastic, ask more questions (loudly) and be more cheerful overall (take a page out of these mommies’ rule book).

It is so hard though to be like that when it so isn’t me. I don’t mean that I’m rude (or am I?) I’m just more reserved and one thing I refuse to be is fake. I’m nothing if I’m not honest (to a fault…almost transparent with my thoughts and feelings). Anyways, now this lady is trying to have me sign up for some harvest festival I’m almost certain I don’t want to become involved in (it’s for your son something inside me whispers…I almost tell it to shut up… No more guilt). I want to tell her loudly that “NO! I don’t meant to be RUDE but…” I really don’t have time for this. But maybe I should (guilty conscious)…
I probably spend way to much time with my Swedish friends and my son hangs out with their kids not his classmates. Well, add it to the list! And ever the polite person (not rude at all) I sign up for what seems least painful on her clip board!  Good job and mommy plus points (ignoring another voice screaming “coward!!”).

Now how do I get out of this??

His teacher seems really sweet- I mean REALLY sweet! (This will be a long school year indeed). She tweets (not the social media version) about love (peace and understanding) but most of all sharing and caring (I thought “sharing is caring”!?). She hugs me multiple times calling me sweetheart and my son darling (I think we are both slightly uncomfortable) as she squeezes his hand (quite compulsively). But the most important part of this year she lets me know is the SHARING BAG!

Last year, we brought toys and stuff from home in the (bright green turtle) sharing bag. My son loved bringing stuff to school and telling his little friends about it! That’s easy I got that down!

Except “you see this year, we will fill the bag with intuition, philosophies, love and feelings” Yikes!…”caring inventions” (please explain…and say it isn’t so!)

Simply mom; “Put some sunshine into that sharing bag!”

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I hasn’t even been a week of school and already manage to mess up big time…can you say “WORST MOM EVER”….

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