everyone's favorite pregnancy pastime: the triage game!

Well, I managed to freak myself right the hell out yesterday. I'd had a nonstop weekend, thanks to the ridic warm weather. I mean, it was 70 degrees. In Michigan. In FEBRUARY. Sucks for apple crops, but it definitely sparked the nesting instinct in me. (Yes, people, I understand my nesting isn't as economically imperative as Michigan's fruit crops, and sorry for making light of the situation.) On Saturday, I finally organized the four thousand bins of baby clothes that I keep shoving around the basement - a teetering tower of Rowan's old clothes, hand-me-downs from probably a dozen different friends, and random toys that I've been meaning to sort through for months. I cleaned out my car, I swept and mopped the house, I vacuumed, I even went for a two-mile walk, which is probably the most I've walked at once since the Women's March in January. And on Sunday, I finished painting Rowan's new closet (nbd just six months after I started painting it), which led to me organizing our embarrassing paint can collection (was able to get rid of 90% of them), which led to me finally setting up the miter saw and cutting pieces for wood cornices for Rowan's windows. And then staining them. And then screwing their brackets in.

Basically, I didn't sit down for two days straight. The nights weren't terribly restful, either, since Rowan has a cold and went on periodic coughing jags throughout her sleep. Sometimes they woke her up, but they always woke me up. By the time Sunday night rolled around, I was tired, I was psyched that I'd gotten so much done...and I realized I hadn't been feeling the baby move around quite as much as I was used to. I chalked it up to being on the move all weekend and dismissed my worries.

Aaaaand then on Monday morning I stumbled on an article written by a woman who'd lost her baby at 28 weeks' gestation. I don't know why I read stuff like this when I'm pregnant. The piece was moving and heartbreaking and informative and important, but not exactly high on the recommended reading list for those of us who are pregnant and have, you know, easily-provoked anxiety issues. I stopped short when I came to a line that said the woman had felt a decrease in fetal movements around 25 weeks.

I'm 24 weeks.

I remembered distinctly something similar happening right around this point in my pregnancy with Rowan, and I even found the blog post I wrote about it. For that freak-out, my OB had recommended drinking some cold juice and sitting down for a little while to see if movement picked up. (It did, that time.) I thought that was hard to manage then, when it was the third day of the summer camp I was directing, but it turns out finding a quiet place to sit down is even harder on a Monday morning as a stay-at-home mom of a three-year-old. I tried anyway, and I felt...nothing. Not only that, I couldn't really remember the last time I'd felt significant movement.

I messaged my OB, who gave me instructions to try lying down on my left side for a long time (like an hour, if I could). But by the time I got her message, I was at the grocery store with Rowan, and I had promised her we would play outside until it was time to go swimming at an indoor pool. I was freaked out enough to nix our outside time, so when we got back from the grocery store, I told Rowan we were going to have some super special extra TV time. That way, I could lay down for awhile and monitor movements without Rowan being all up in my business.

While I could feel Baby shift every now and again, it was nothing compared to the tumbles and kicks I'd grown accustomed to. Had circumstances been different, I might have driven myself to triage right then and there; as it was, Rowan didn't have preschool yesterday and was home, so I needed to find child care for her. J.J. had two crucial meetings that I knew he couldn't skip out on, and my mother-in-law was sick. Now, if it had really been an emergency, of course my mother-in-law would've taken her, or I could have called my sister, who was off work yesterday. But I was vacillating between convincing myself I was overreacting and denying that I was just afraid to go to triage and hear bad news - basically, either feeling 99% fine, or 99% horrific.

Eventually, I broke down a little, which freaked poor Rowie out. "Mommy, what's wrong?" she asked, holding my face in her hands. I told her I was just feeling a little worried about the baby. "Worried and sad?" she asked, and I nodded through my tears, feeling bad that I was upsetting her. But her eyes brightened. "I know!" she said, and she ran upstairs.

My sweet girl returned with Puff-Puff, the little stuffed dog I had as a kid, the one that I told her she could hug whenever she missed me, because he used to help me feel better when I was sad as a kid. She thrust Puff-Puff into my arms - "Puff-Puff will help you feel better!" - and I really started crying. "Happy tears," I clarified for Rowan, squeezing her tight.

Looking at the clock, I realized we had to go if we wanted to make it to swimming, which Rowan was, like, Hype Level 10 about - we couldn't skip it. I firmly decided I was overreacting and loaded Rowan and the swim bag into the car, and I did feel the baby moving around once the seat belt was pressing against my lower abdomen. I talked with my OB, who seemed satisfied at the amount he was moving (but still encouraged me to head to triage if I was worried, of course). 

I thought I was all set...but after swimming, I was driving around with Rowan for a loooong time, trying to get her to take a car nap, and I didn't feel anything. Nothing. I managed to work myself up enough that I decided I needed to go to triage, even if just for peace of mind. I didn't want to bring Rowan, though, so once we got home, I tried to set her up with a movie (which kind of blew her mind, since usually watching a movie is a Big Fucking Deal) so I could either lay down and monitor the baby again, or figure out child care so I could go to triage. 

Of course, the DVD player wasn't working. I called J.J. at work, hoping he was done with his meetings and could help me. When I heard his voice, I kind of lost it. I told him I was worried about the baby. My wonderful guy...he not only helped me figure out how to get the stupid DVD player working, he told me he was feeling sick (which made two out of the three of us down for the count with this nasty cold) and heading home, and that I could go to triage as soon as he got there. Meanwhile, I was crying a little, so Rowan found Puff-Puff for me again, which made me cry even more...I was a mess.

I hung up with J.J. and laid down at one end of the couch, with Rowan at the other end, fully equipped with her movie, a drink, and a bowl of pretzels. I completely passed out within five minutes of the movie starting and woke up probably half an hour later - to the sensation of the baby rolling and wiggling like crazy. J.J. walked in not five minutes later, and the baby was still going nuts, so I apologized for losing my shit and told him I didn't need to go to triage after all.

Batman decided to cuddle with me after I woke up,
and insisted that Puff-Puff cuddle with us, too.

GOD. Drama.

I went out for Mexican food with friends last night, after all the craziness of the day, and apparently the nap + fried avocado tacos with cilantro aioli was exactly what Baby needed to really get moving again. When Rowan coughed me awake at two in the morning last night, not only was the baby still bumping and thumping around, but I realized I couldn't breathe out of my nose and that my throat was thick and on fire (which, for those of you keeping track, makes all three of us down for the count now). Between Rowan's coughs, the baby's gymnastics routine, and, you know, not really being able to breathe or swallow, I never went back to sleep last night - but at least I could tell the baby was doing just fine. 

Thankful today for an active baby, a girl whose capacity for compassion is astounding, a husband who knows how to calm me down, an OB who's responsive and on top of things, the winter weather of my dreams, crossing crap off my to-do list, and having a few more weeks of the magical second trimester left to enjoy.