A Baby Story: Part II

If you missed part one, scroll down. I’m too lazy to post a link. And you’re lazy if you can’t scroll down.

We have arrived at the 35 week appointment…

This is me three days before my 35 week appointment.

Now, I am not a fan of posting belly pics for all the world to see. If you are a belly pic poster, more power to you. I’m not saying you shouldn’t or that it’s gross or that prego bellies aren’t beautiful. That is just a personal preference for my own belly. However, I want to point out the size of my belly at 35 weeks along. I never felt like I was big enough or that SHE was big enough. Everyone would say, “Your tummy is tiny. You’re so lucky!” Which was totally meant to be a compliment. But I didn’t feel lucky. I always felt stressed that she wasn’t growing because of the SUA.

WELL.

My appointment was at 8 AM. Like I said before, all my prior appointments had confirmed that Charlee Kate was the most perfect baby ever, so I expected nothing less at this one. Clark met me there and we began the ultrasound. The doctor was quiet for a long time, which some might interpret as ominous; I ignorantly interpreted it as relaxing. I had come straight from early morning practice with some of the most precious, awesome, loudmouthed seventh graders on the planet. I was relishing the silence. Then he was done. I cleaned off my tummy and sat up.

And this is what he said:

We might want to start looking at getting this baby out. 

That was how he opened. I’m sure of that because I remember thinking, “That’s how you’re going to start?” He just said it. Very calmly. Like it wasn’t going to blow my mind. Like I was expecting that to come out of his mouth.

This is where the details start to get hazy. I wish I was the type of person that could remember conversations verbatim, but that’s very much not so. This, added to the fact that my brain shut down upon hearing that statement, means the following will be mostly made up. I’m going to take a stab at it though.

Me and/or Clark: Okay. What do you mean?

Dr. M: Well, she doesn’t seem to have grown in the last two weeks. I’ve double checked and triple checked my measurements and she is measuring several weeks smaller than she should be, about 4 lb. and 18 inches. I will call your doctor (he was just my ultrasound doctor, not my OBGYN) and we will discuss your options. If she’s not growing, it’s much better and safer to get her out now than to leave her where she’s not being nourished.

That was the cliftnotes version, because the conversation was longer than that. I know I said more than 5 words.

So we drove across the street to my OBGYN, whom we love, to have this conversation…

Dr. T: So I guess he explained what we were looking at…

Me: He said we might want to look at getting her out sooner rather than later.

Dr. T: Right. You are far enough along that this is not high risk. And I feel really good about it. You will both be fine. We could wait until you’re further along, but the longer we wait, the more stressed the baby will be and we don’t want a stressed baby.

This phrase “a stressed baby” was used several times. But I wasn’t sure what exactly he meant by stressed. I got stressed like before I took a test or when I was getting pulled over by a cop. The stress just made me eat a lot or my stomach hurt. What would a stressed baby be like? I began imagining Charlee Kate coming out screaming bloody murder for the first year of her life. Not interested.

Me: So, like… what do I need to do between now and then? Do I need to go on bed rest? Can I go back to school this week? 

Dr. T: Wellll… (with a smirky look on his face) what are y’all doing for lunch?

Me: Like, TODAY?

Dr. T: Like in a couple hours. I’m thinking the faster, the better. You can just walk across the street and check in right now.

Now? Now now? Right now? So, obviously, my stress level peaks at that moment. At no point had the word “emergency” popped into my head. Either the doctors were doing a great job of explaining everything calmly, or I was terrible at reading between the lines.

My mind begins to race. I don’t have a bag packed at home. I haven’t read all my baby books. My kids at school don’t have a teacher. My mom is gonna freak. Clark’s family won’t make it in time. Is Charlee going to be okay? Is she going to be okay? She’s going to be okay, right?