But that’s not the pregnancy equilibrium that is currently on my mind.  I am referring to a mental state that exists at a precise point between the overwhelming terror of loss and the panic of recognition that this may actually be headed towards a good and proper outcome.

I feel like I just arrived at this point and yet I am acutely aware that this is no steady-state.  I can already feel the voice of apprehension intensifying.

You are going to have a baby, it is saying.

CRAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am genuinely afraid to confront this reality head-on. I have only ever known newborn-ness in strict association with trauma and I can only remember it as one of the most punishing times of my life.  Of course, there is something especially powerful about the grueling cocktail that is infant colic mixed with hormonal mayhem, extreme fatigue and a squirt of first-timer insecurities. I am quite sure that if this particular concoction could be recreated at will no state secret would ever be safe again.

I am reminded over and over, it is bound to be different this time.  And I will cling to that hope until the end.  But, in the meantime, I will celebrate this very fleeting thing that I’ve been granted, this sure-to-be short-lived equilibrium that is granting me a bit of serenity on an otherwise long and difficult journey.

G is far more practical about these things.  He recognizes that family can be a colossal pain in the butt and believes generally that the very best help, while challenging to find, can be purchased.  He has a point.  But that doesn’t change one very important detail: you can’t pay somebody to love your child.

During those occasions that we do get to spend time with family, I’m reminded just how right we BOTH are.  My MIL has been here visiting for the past few weeks and life has been rather challenging – and wonderful.  g has soaked up the love and attention with delight.  I have been given not one but SEVERAL opportunities to make plans sans child and each time I have returned to a happy child – monumental.

I have also been trying and failing and trying and failing to be patient, to skip over all of the little and not so little moments that have made my hair stand on end.  But these moments are making me yearn mostly for opportunities to make plans sans MIL.   I’m afraid that some of them are destined to sit with me even after she has been safely returned to her home thousands of miles away – like her hasty decision to tell g that he will be a big brother.  I have spent months planning the when and how of this discussion and, despite my apprehensions, I somehow believed that it was mine to tell.

Bristle, bristle.

But perhaps the most difficult part of this particular relationship is the part that will never go away.  It’s the fact we share something, our two precious boys, even though they aren’t easily divided and it’s almost always my turn.  It’s not something to take lightly, especially because, if I’m lucky, I may one day BE her.

But this time around I’m not feeling particularly compelled to evaluate. I don’t have much in the way of resolutions to offer.

This year I’m pregnant.

What I’d really like to say is that I intend to do my best to prepare for the impending arrival. That I believe that 2012 wields the kind of magic that can make me a better mother to two than I ever was to one.  That I will discover new ways to inch my way toward greater balance, despite the upheaval.

But what I’ve learned is that pregnancy robs me of my power of self-determination.  It leaves me with no illusion of control.  When it demands, I surrender.

So this year I will do my best to succumb with dignity.  And I will grab on to a sliver of that hope that is so plentiful this time of year, dispatching an earnest request to 2012 that it doesn’t bring me anything that 2013 might not allow me to recover from.

g has never been a good sleeper.  Although I have tried to get him on a schedule that retains a modicum of respectability, I can’t claim to have succeeded.  These days, he goes to sleep at night at a later hour than most adults I know and by the time he wakes in the morning most of his peers have been disseminating chaos for hours.  Naps have been starting around 4pm, extremely late by most toddler standards.

Our prelude to naps is usually a story and a squeeze or two and it often takes g a little time to actually fall asleep.  By the time he’s out, darkness is quickly descending upon our little bedroom and it always manages to catch me by surprise.  After an afternoon in t-shirts and sandals, I have a hard time remembering that it is indeed wintertime.  But, as the last traces of light disappear and the stillness takes over, I am thankful for our version of winter and this life that feels so wildly indulgent, this freedom to just linger.

Soon our version of winter will arrive.   There will be many days when we will be stuck indoors, isolated by the rains and viruses of the season.  Playing and conversing with friends will come at the expense of painstaking planning and I will be reminded that there is hardly any traffic in the slow lane.  But during these final afternoons of 2011, I just watch until the darkness robs me of my vision.  And then I listen – to the silence of a winter afternoon, to the rhythmic sounds of g’s sleeping breaths.

Updates from baby watch 2011/2012:

No more scary episodes (whew), even if it is all still awfully frightening.

No explanation for the spotting but my doctor is optimistic and so, I’ve decided, am I (for now).

Although we are far away from family this Christmas, we are celebrating with beloved friends, strengthening my conviction that family is about much more than blood relations.

Wishing you all the best during this holiday season!

The spotting stopped fairly quickly and has not returned since.  I debated calling my doctor, for reassurance, of course, but I decided against it, mostly because I know that there is really nothing she or anyone can DO right now.  It is far too early for delivery and, sadly, there is little else to be done.  Second trimester spotting is usually a result of something affecting the placenta and all we can really do is wait and hope.  Wait and hope.

I suppose that 24 hours of serenity is better than nothing at all.

In the meantime, a huge thank you for your supportive comments.  I am hanging on dearly to the knowledge that this could turn out just fine.

Yesterday I made a decision to change the way I live this pregnancy from here on.  I have been so conditioned by my experience with g and his twin, which was fraught with complication from early on. I was told to take it easy and so I spent my months staying as far away from living as I possibly could.  I became a shut in, afraid to waste even the smallest of efforts on anything that happened to concern the present tense.  I existed, as still as humanly possible, and just waited for the other shoe to drop.  Eventually, the giant thud arrived.

I decided not to do that again.  Yesterday, I tried on the guise of the sanguine pregnant woman. I went for a walk. I met a friendly woman at the park, 7 months pregnant, and exchanged chit chat about having a second while our sons scrambled about, omitting all of my usual qualifiers.

I told my family.

Today I woke up feeling a little strange.  I felt cramping. Then I discovered the spotting.   Neither is acceptable at 18 wks.

I don’t think I would feel much different if thunderbolt-wielding Zeus himself had stepped down from Olympus and told me not to forget where I belong.

Today I’m back in my old oversize clothes, all the better to conceal the bump. Except for the fool’s cap – that’s new.

And now I’m just waiting for that giant thump.

Take technology, for example.

Through some combination of nostalgia for a bygone era and miserliness, I am drawn towards a low-tech lifestyle.  Although I own a cell phone, it was by far the dumbest phone that I could find – several years ago.  We also own a car but I lament the fact that, despite it’s almost 17 years, it doesn’t have roll-up windows.  Our single desktop computer serves nearly all of our technological needs: communication, entertainment, data management.  But you may be thinking; you have a goddamned computer! Indeed.

If you catch me in the right moment though, I will argue that much of my technology usage is dictated by the society that I live in.  I love blogging but I would take any of my favorite bloggers in three dimensions, perhaps over a glass of wine in my kitchen, any day.  I  revere the internet but, given just the right circumstances, I would much rather give up my connection than, say, my coffee.

There is, however, one realm of technology that I get particularly excited about: imaging.  From digital photography to bioluminescence, I am amazed at how much humans have been able to extend our already impressive visual abilities. Working as a biologist, I was blown away by the incredible advances in microscopy, allowing us to see ever deeper into cells at ever higher resolutions.

And then there’s ultrasound.

I can find no criticism for a technology that has the ability to tell me that my young fetus is actually growing and thriving, that, so far, everything looks just as it should.  And, I’m even more humbled by the way that the grainy black and white likeness of a tiny hand or a gently curved shoulder can cause even the most weary of expectant mother’s hearts to puddle in her chest cavity.

In the vast majority of pregnancies, about 95%, the presence of a strong heartbeat after around 12 weeks pretty much guarantees a good outcome.  I am the 5%.  I am second and third trimester loss due to unexplained placental issues.  And for this reason I am seriously contemplating the idea of not telling my family about this pregnancy unless or until I deliver a live baby.

I am scheduled for an ultrasound in a couple of weeks that should give us some important information on growth and development as well as placental health.  In the meantime, I think that I am beginning to develop an abdominal protrusion/enlarging midsection/fat belly/kangaroo pocket/baby bump or whatever you want to call it. I continue to take it one day at a time with measured doses of caution and hope. There is no reassurance that things will be all right. But, so far at least, there is not concrete reason to believe that they won’t.

Within no time g had taken ownership of the playground and I set about to putting a snack together.  And just then the loud shriek of an unannounced train barreling along the tracks just feet from the perimeter of the play area gave us both a good startle.  I jumped and g ducked under a swing. That scared me, he said.  Me too. g reached out for me and I swooped him up.  I’m not afraid when I’m with you, mamma.  He nestled in as close as he could and then looked up at the tracks, seemingly willing the biggest baddest freight train in the world to pass at that moment.  And for a second, I felt like I was 10 feet tall.

Sometimes it can be overwhelming to acknowledge that this power, this ability to single-handedly chase away the demons and tame the tempests, is attached to an awesome responsibility.  Still I am dearly thankful for these moments. They might even trump the gratification of any promotion or raise, nurture the psyche in a way that nothing else can.

Today I am grateful to be needed.

Happy Thanksgiving!