Yesterday we crossed the line of 24 weeks. I’m now officially six months pregnant, which feels like quite an achievement. I’ve mentally replaced the word “waist” in my vocabulary with the word “equator,” and the non-maternity clothes in my life, even the most ample, flowing, draw-string sorts of things, have been banished to the attic. Between now and 28 weeks, each day and each week marks a vast improvement in terms of preemie survival. Yes, there are 26-week preemies who do not survive; and I’ve heard of one 23-weeker who did, albeit with a lot of complications. But overall, 24 weeks means a chance at survival where effectively none existed before, and 28 weeks means a 95% chance. After 28, the quality of that survival improves daily.
So… so far, so good. We can put the whole sobering 20-24 week part behind us and move forward with great strides. Momentum. We’re really gathering momentum.
Meanwhile, nothing untoward has happened. I was at the OB yesterday for a monthly check-up. (The very fact that it’s monthly, not weekly like last time, speaks well for how this is going…) The heartbeat sounded nice and strong. The baby’s growth is right on track. It’s moving and kicking a lot in its crescent moon space on the right side of my abdomen. Also, with its tippy toes, it seems to be expanding into the left side a little bit. I encourage it to colonize new regions and take all the space it wants and needs. But still I visualize my uterus as something like a mitten, with the baby in the hand part and this unused little thumb (unstretched-out left half) sitting there and generally not helping.
As to child care, I’ve been trying to add some more. It’s hard to track down the right people, though, let me tell you. I now have half days all week, except Thursdays, which still needs work. On Thursdays I also have Isaac in two classes, inconveniently spaced and located. (I registered for one and then was notified about the other sort of out of the blue as a make-up class from when he was so sick.) This past Thursday was the first time I tried it and it was not a success. Isaac’s morning class is art. It’s an hour and fifteen minutes– a very nice class in all respects. Only after about five minutes there the other day, Isaac proclaimed himself “all done!” And then spent the balance of the time alternately lying on the floor in civil disobedience mode and running away entirely (needing to be chased, of course!) He grudgingly made a few scribbles on his collage project (it was about Jazz and really a nice concept…), totally refused to decorate his plastic hard hat (which you would think he would like) and generally made the whole thing hellish.
(I noticed a few other boys having a hard time with the passive, small motor aspects of it, and also struggling with their mothers and rolling around on the ground. We are not alone! The girls did their work quietly and nicely, true to form. I think it’s time to enroll Isaac in hockey, tumbling, and swimming! I just need a team of chauffeurs.)
The rest of the afternoon was equally exhausting and filled with tantrums. Suffice it to say that once we were safely home and I was horizontal (and it was pouring rain) we did NOT venture out again to tackle his Dalcroze dance-n-music class. Sigh, sigh. I spent the afternoon on the phone editing out a wide array of errands. Luckily, also, several social options were rained out in the tempest. But– I can’t take him to both classes on Thursdays in general. That’s the take-away from the experience. I need an ambassador of some kind. I need Mary Poppins.
Props to my friend Martha who has been pitching in like a supreme champion and whose lavish rewards I’m still devising.
Props to Ben’s parents who took Isaac for his first sleep-over on Sunday! Seems like it was a raging success, at least from Isaac’s point of view (had to be dragged away when it was time to come home). I was so proud of him to be so self-assured to be without his mommy or daddy during those vulnerable midnight hours, especially in the context that lately he’s been having frequent nightmares. And I truly enjoyed a free day to rest at will. Getting enough rest makes such a huge difference in my health and overall maternal well-being.
Some recent Isaacisms:
“Mommy, can bunnies die at night?” (um…. why do you ask?)
“Did you know that baby spiders don’t have spinnerets?” (no, frankly, I didn’t)
“She has breasts… I’d like to put my hands in there!” (referring to an animated princess, but still)
Some recent scary Isaac dreams:
“I was on a cliff and I thought there was a surfing board there, but there wasn’t! Then I was falling!”
“A t-rex was stomping the whole city! All the buildings!”
“There was a crack in the floor big enough for a little boy to fall through.”
Turns out “the whole set” of babies Isaac was referring to totals five. I tried to point out that the math doesn’t add up. Isaac, plus baby Sassy, plus one more, makes three. But Isaac has five fingers, and he can’t add worth a damn, so he insists that all facts to the contrary the whole set is five. Five babies? Ugh. Whatdya want from me, kid? I’m 39 and I have a bicornuate uterus… maybe in a couple years we can get a puppy.