Flashbacks: pregnancy and Jordan

I'm watching my baby sleep.  She's wearing a blue onesie with two pink birds and pink and white striped pants. Every once in awhile, she'll let out a deep sigh that lets me know she is sleeping soundly.  And then, every once in awhile, she'll sound like a dinosaur to let me know that shes restless.

I stare at her face and she's so pretty and perfect, and I can't believe she's mine. But instead of focusing on the present, I look at her and see monitors.

I'm strapped to the monitors, listening to her heartbeat and watching the machine pump out a strip that details her heart rate, her movements, and my contractions. Three times a week. I hear the busy nurses out in the hallway, tending to patients and making phone calls. A flat screen tv is to my left and the Food Network is on. I watch it, all the while extremely aware of how many times my baby is moving. Will she pass today?

I look at my baby and I see ultrasounds. Twice a week. I hold my breath during BPPs and hope that I leave with good news.  Her growth scans cause me even more anxiety.  I know every time I go, her growth will have slowed down.  At the end, it was practically at a standstill when she should have been growing by leaps and bounds. I see her on the screen, shielding her face by throwing her arms over it. I almost like it this way, like seeing her face will be a great surprise when she is born.

I hold my baby and I think of the weekly progesterone shots that were supposed to prevent preterm labor.  Without them, would I have gone into labor earlier than 34 weeks? Would I have delivered her as a micro-preemie, like her brothers?  What would her fate have been?

Sometimes she will smile at me, or let out a laugh in her sleep. "Ha, ha, ha!," she'll say to me. And I'll smile back at her, and then remember how her heart rate slowed down while I pushed to get her out. I remember being rushed into the OR and the nurses shielding the monitors from me. I remember her crying as they lifted her up over the blue curtain so that I could see my girl. She was so tiny. I remember my first question was "Is she okay?" but my first thought was "OMG. She is so tiny."  Dr. D, who delivered her, would tell me at my postpartum appointment, "I remember she didn't like labor... well, more like the pushing..." and he stared at her in amazement.  I know what he was thinking. How is she here, full term and healthy?

I think of the fertility treatments we went through. Our loss with our boys. A struggle to get back to normalcy. Throwing myself back into fertility treatments. Our chances of success with her cycle? Twenty percent. And she is here.

Maybe someday, I will stop looking at her and thinking of the struggle, the pain, and the anxiety of trying to get her here. But that has not passed just yet.

She is still sleeping in her pink rocker, her hair standing up and her arms down at her side for once. Her cheeks are chubby and full, very unlike the day she was born. I know she will wake up soon and fuss, but the minute I pick her up she will calm down. I cannot wait for her to wake up, kiss her chubby cheeks, and tell her how much I love her.