I suppose it comes as no surprise that I've got a lot of questions related to this whole mommyhood thing. Fortunately, I have a handful of friends who have been inordinately helpful answering my incessant barrage of questions, (however neurotic). Eva, Jen, Dori, Lara, Jacqui - I'm talking about you.
Anyway, there are a few questions that nobody can really answer - like whether or not I'll be a quote, unquote good mommy.
Sure, people tell me I will be - but honestly, who the hell knows? And... what really defines a good mommy anyway?
I never called my own mom, mommy. She was always just mom. I'm not sure if that was her preference or if that was just what I opted to call her. I hope to be called mommy. There's something more endearing about it - and indicative that your child trusts that you will protect and love them, no matter what.
This isn't to say that I didn't love and trust my mom. I absolutely did and do. While she makes me positively crazy sometimes, I adore her. In fact, I think she deserves to be called mommy, but it's a little late for that.
I also didn't always think she was cut out to be a mom - let alone a mommy. In fact, (and she'll probably deny this), over champagne one day, she admitted to wondering whether or not she would have even had children had things been different back then. In other words, children were expected. You got married, you had kids - and that was that.
Given my own hesitation about whether or not to kid, I wholeheartedly respected her admission. Needless to say, I'm glad she opted to kid. But honestly, my mom wasn't what one would call your typical mom - let alone mommy. She didn't dress or behave like other moms. With her bright orange nails and lips, her elegant yet funky and artistic ensembles, her perfectly coiffed hair, her very left-of-center interior design stylings and her addiction to Jaguars, she just wasn't the PTA, brownie-baking, station wagon-driving, soccer-mom type. The fact that she actually participated in a carpool was nothing short of stupefying.
Let me make this abundantly clear. I am not complaining. When I was young, there were moments where I sort-of wished she blended in a bit more and did more mommy things, but what I didn't then realize was that she was her own brand of mommy. Unbeknownst to me, she was teaching me all about having your own identity and not letting others' judgments ruin your day... in essence... marching to the beat of your own drum.
I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Now, as I approach this whole mommyhood business, I can't help but wonder - What will my own little girl think of me? Will I be a good mommy?
I suppose only time will tell. Little does she know, she's definitely not getting the cookie cutter type.
Leigh Hope Fountain
The little girl isn't even close to being here yet and I'm already fraught with worry. Here's what I went through just prior to a week-long business trip to Montreal:
Why aren't my toxoplasmosis results back yet? What if I was exposed during pregnancy?
What if the cord gets tangled around her neck?
What if her widdle bitty heart just stops beating? It's so tiny. How does it even work yet?
Google: No heartbeat 14 weeks
Google: Miscarriage 14 weeks causes
Google: Miscarriage 15 weeks
Google: Missed miscarriage second trimester
Google: When will I feel my baby kick?
Google: At-home fetal heart monitor good bad?
Google: Toxoplasmosis exposure first trimester
Google: Toxoplasmosis exposure pre-pregnancy
Google: Toxoplasmosis symptoms
Google: Goddammit Google! Why can't you just tell me that my baby is going to be just fine and to stop fucking worrying myself (and possibly the baby) to death?
So, after a few days of pointless and unproductive worrying, I finally caved and reached out to my pal and phenomenal phlebologist at my OBGYN's office to see if I could squeeze in another sonogram before my trip to Montreal because...
a) I'm not a good flier and was already nervous enough about that.
b) I wasn't okay with going to Montreal without hearing her heartbeat again.
Fortunately, my insanity is not uncommon, and they had no problem with me coming in for a pre-Montreal sono.
Heartbeat was there... all looked good. THIRD Toxoplasmosis test came back and confirmed that yes, I had toxo at some point or another, (most likely years ago during my pro-cat days... not as hip on cats anymore), but fortunately, it was very much pre-pregnancy.
And then in Montreal, this happened!
Finally - a bit of a bump so I don't just look fat with gigantic boobs and big feet.
I'm back from Montreal - and just had the first anatomy scan. Little G is looking fabulous. Saw her hiccup and saw her widdle bitty hands and foots and everything!
Feeling pretty celebratory today.
Leigh Hope Fountain
I've never had great feet. At 5'2", I'm a size 8, (large considering I'm vertically challenged) and my feet are flat and wide. As such, I live in heels. They add height, they give me an arch, they hide the excess foot length/width to some extent and they're just plain pretty. Also, I'm well-trained. I can practically jog in them - even in New York City.
Alas, I think those days will soon be behind me - at least for the duration of my baby-baking days.
At only 4-months pregnant, my feet are already turning against me. They're definitely quite swollen and I believe they're already a 1/2 size bigger. Now remember, they were too big for me to begin with - now it's just getting comical.
I am starting to resemble a hobbit, sans foot fur, though who knows what lay ahead?
I thought it might have been water retention or a blood pressure issue, but nope. Everything is clear. I'm healthy - blood pressure is totally in check, (110/70) I haven't put on more weight than I should have by now, (about 7 or 8 lbs.) I'm following a low sodium diet and drinking plenty of fluids - mostly water. Apparently, there's not much I can do to control this. I'm doomed. I hear whispers of crocs and flip-flops and my face forms a frown. Seriously, the thought of flats or anything that isn't flattering to my already-too-large feet depresses the living hell out of me.
I know I shouldn't be bitching, (after all, I didn't even have morning sickness), but seriously my feet have always been a problem and I'm sick of it. I've broken three toes on separate occasions,(shattered the big toe which I would advise avoiding if you can) and just last year had surgery to repair a hammertoe that was so painful I could barely wear shoes, heels or not. So, I'm sort of feeling a slight sense of entitlement in terms of hosting my own little bitch-fest about my feet, now that I'm plagued by yet another podiatry problem.
While my husband has affectionately called me his "Little Midget" since one of our first dates, I'm thinking that that might have to change as I quickly morph into a creature that Tolkien himself probably didn't think existed in real life. "Little Hobbit" seems redundant. Just call me Hobbit.
Leigh Hope Fountain
Let me preface this post, (i.e. rant) by saying that I LOVE our neighborhood. Park Slope is pretty spectacular. The parks, the brownstones, the restaurants, the shops... you name it - there's a LOT to love. Perhaps that's why it has grown to be one of the most popular neighborhoods in Brooklyn - particularly for young families. What I am not a fan of however, are the typical Park Slope parents. Here's a brief overview of what drives me batshit insane about them - and a reasonable rationale for why we will likely be moving when our lease is up:
1. Taking up the entire sidewalk. I'm talking about parents and who walk in walls of three or more and/or entire families congregating together in herds disabling anyone from passing without stepping into the street. In the 'wall' scenario, usually one or both parents are texting while the kid haphazardly darts from one side to another, not even allowing for someone to pass on either side.
2. Kids on scooters. I cannot even tell you how often I see kids nearly run over innocent pedestrians' feet. I understand that Park Slope is a very kid-friendly environment, which is lovely and adorable even - but if your kid is on scooter racing down the sidewalk at breakneck speeds, please ensure that they know to look out for other human beings and to avoid hitting them AT ALL COSTS. They do not own the sidewalk, despite what you've led them to believe.
3. Kids in bars. I'm sorry - but a dimly lit bar is NO PLACE for a child. I don't care if it's Sunday at noon. Your kid doesn't belong in a bar where there are no tables for brunching and where the only food that is served is done so to cushion the blow of the massive amounts of booze hitting the stomachs of the mostly childless patrons. There are PLENTY of family friendly establishments all over Park Slope where you can order your child an appropriate breakfast, brunch or lunch and where you might even be able to imbibe something not so kid-friendly yourself.
4. Strollers the size of Mini Coopers. Seriously - when did it become not only acceptable but encouraged to wheel around a "stroller" that is larger than most people's bathrooms in NYC? Restaurants and boutiques are limited on space here, so parking one of these veritable vehicles inside of a busy restaurant is downright inconsiderate. They don't fold up, they are not, (by stroller standards) compact - and patrons and staff cannot maneuver around these things and nor should they have to. Taking up standing room for six on a crowded subway with one of these is also not acceptable, especially if you're carting around just ONE child.
5. An apparent and questionable hatred of ice cream. No, I'm not kidding. Pick your battles people and learn how to say NO.
Leigh Hope Fountain
So John and I met with a genetic counselor recently to discuss our respective family histories including any incidences of cancer, defects, mental abnormalities due to chromosomal issues, etc. Our lovely counselor was mapping out a chart that looked a lot like a bizarre geometric family tree to establish whether or not there was cause for concern. The conversation when a little something like this:
Me: My dad's mother died from cancer when he was 10.
GC: What kind?
Me: They think it was liver.
GC: Oh, but they don't know?
Me: No, unfortunately not.
GC: How old was she? 30s?
Me: I think so.
GC: And when she died? 30s?
Me: Probably. Oh - and I had an uncle with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma.
GC: And he died?
Me: Yes, but he was diagnosed at 21 and died at 42 from a heart attack. They think it was from the chemo and radiation... weakened his heart or something.
GC: Okay - so nobody else with cancer?
Me: Actually - yes - but from smoking. Lung cancer - grandmother and grandfather.
GC: Anyone with developmental disabilities or delays?
Me: (to John) Don't you have a relative with Down Syndrome?
John: I think so... an Uncle? (Intentional question mark)
GC: On which side?
John: On my mother's.
GC: So was it on their maternal or paternal side?
John: Good question. To be honest, I'm not sure.
GC: Okay... Is he alive today?
John: I think so. I feel like I would've heard about it if something had happened. I don't know. We're not really close - but then again, I don't exactly have a stellar reputation for keeping in touch with my family in general.
GC: So how old do you think he'd be today?
John: 70s maybe?
GC: Okay.
GC: So other than a bit of cancer that mostly looks like isolated incidents or the result of smoking and the one instance of Down Syndrome, it doesn't really look like there are any issues we need to be overly concerned with. (Pause). Oh - wait... is there a chance that you're related?
John and Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Me: Um - highly unlikely. I'm an Ashkenazi Russian, Romanian, Polish Jewish mutt and he's a French/Dutch Protestant or something.
John: (Still laughing). Does that um - come up?
GC: Yes.
John: So you have patients that are related?
GC: Yes. First cousins and the like. Sometimes, I'll be doing a chart, and I'll start to see the husband's and wife's sides converge - and I get an inkling.
Me: Wow. Okay, well, I think that's a non-issue here.
Anyway, in other news, IT'S A GIRL!!!
Leigh Hope Fountain
I found out I was pregnant on a Monday. 5 days later, my first 'baby' Otto Potato got sick - and not just kind-of sick either... the sick where it was written all over his sweet little face that something was seriously wrong. While I was excited and nervous about the pregnancy, (having gone through a miscarriage about 6 months prior), I was overwhelmed by the notion that I was might have to say goodbye to the pup that literally changed my life. About 11 years earlier, during a time when I was desperate for change, Otto was my catalyst. He instantly became my best friend and would become my Cupid soon thereafter.
I had been ecstatic about the positive pregnancy test - but that was soon overshadowed by the news about Otto, which was completely unexpected and just plain awful. His body was destroying its own red blood cells. The only treatment that had a 50/50% chance of working was a painful and expensive transfusion that would likely only buy him a few days if they couldn't pinpoint an underlying cause. Sadly, they had already searched for tumors and the like and had come up empty, so the idea of subjecting him to even more tests was not attractive. Besides, Otto told us everything we needed to know. He was done. We knew the humane thing to do was to let him go, which we did that same day. I was in shock and bawled on-and-off for about a week, but I felt like something in my body kept reminding me that stress and sadness couldn't possibly be good for the pregnancy - and somehow, I'd manage to pull myself together. Needless to say, it was a strange flurry of emotions - intense happiness and intense sadness all at once. As I write this, I am still conflicted. I immediately well up when I think about him, but have mastered the ability to shut it down just as fast.
John hasn't had it as easy. Otto worshipped him and the feeling was clearly mutual. In fact, the minute Otto met John, (about three months after I brought him home), he climbed up onto his lap and didn't want to get off. That was when I knew John was a keeper. If Otto approved, well... so did I. Like I said, Otto was my Cupid. In fact, John and I met online, where he responded to my match.com headline, "I Have the World's Cutest Pup," which he appropriately and enthusiastically agreed with. Anyway, John didn't have a surge of pregnancy hormones to help combat the sadness that came with Otto's absence like I did. It was hard to see him break down. It still is.
John and I went in for my first ultrasound shortly after we said goodbye to Otto. When they told us that they could see the sac, we were over the moon - but it was too early to detect a heartbeat and they told us to come back in 10 days. Doesn't seem like a long time to most people, but given the fairly recent miscarriage and the loss of a beloved family member, 10 days felt like eternity.
In that time, John came up with a name for the embryo - "The Maybe Baby." I loved it right away because it suggested cautious optimism. We continued to grieve for Otto, but spent inordinate amounts of time doting on Anna, our other adorable pup. At first, we'd been worried that Anna would be depressed without her partner-in-crime. We had never seen Anna sad - not once - and are convinced that she is the happiest pup alive. She exudes joy - so the thought of seeing her despondent for the first time ever petrified us. Thankfully, it didn't happen. A wise friend, (Melissa), suggested that perhaps she knew that Otto was gravely ill even before we did and had already come to terms with it. Who knows? Regardless, we were thankful that his death didn't break her adorable and contagious spirit.
10 days finally passed and we went back in for another ultrasound. I don't know that I've ever been more nervous. Fortunately, they picked up a heartbeat and John and I both cried. I was then about 7 weeks pregnant, still clearly in the "danger zone" for miscarriage, especially due to my prior and my age - so we weren't quite celebratory - but we were ever-so-slightly more optimistic about The Maybe Baby.
Another two weeks passed - slowly but surely. Another ultrasound - another strong heartbeat - and yet another ultrasound just one week later at 10 weeks. (When you're of "Advanced Maternal Age" they monitor you quite closely). John and I kept expecting the heartbeat to disappear, but it didn't. Much to our surprise, The Maybe Baby was thriving. This time, it had teeny tiny little arms and legs that it was waggling about! WHAT?!?!?! It moves?!?!?!? We were in a state of disbelief. Happy, blissful disbelief.
I was told I'd have to wait another 18 days until the next ultrasound, (a new one this time - the Nuchal Translucency test to look for indications of chromosomal abnormalities). Anyway - 18 agonizingly slow days of more waiting! In fact, because my OBGYN was out of the office for about a week, I'd have to wait until the 12 week 3 day mark to finally get the verification that The Maybe Baby had graduated to "The Baby."
Fate intervened however, and since two of my blood tests came back as "inconclusive" and have to be retested, we were fast tracked for the NT scan at 11 weeks and 5 days and all looked good! Yesterday, we had another ultrasound, (also good), and redid the blood tests. I've decided to err on the side of optimism and post this regardless of what those results may show.
And so it goes. You take the good, you take the bad... It's been a rough handful of months, but things are looking up.
P.S. - Yes, the formatting on this blog layout is a mess. I will work on it. Special thanks though to John Fountain, (baby daddy) for the wonderful new cover art.
Leigh Hope Fountain
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