What. A. Day.

At this point I have more unpublished than published posts (overthinker I am), so I had to look back and see what actually made it on here.   Oooooph. Remember A Day. Kick right in the feels that was to reread. Looking back, I can't help but feel like maybe I had some kind of instinct? I felt like the day was going to be life changing, and sure knowing if baby B was going to be a boy or girl is pretty life altering, but it's like I knew more was coming.

What I would have written about that day ON that day and what I will write now are very different. What I kind of have written (but not published) over the last 17 weeks would be different too. But like all things, with some time and fresh perspective it changes.

I feel naive that I was so focused on the gender of my baby when the ultrasound is really about checking so many much more serious growth markers. If I'm being completely honest, after our struggle to get pregnant I gave myself some blissful reassurance that I was going to have an easy pregnancy because I deserved it. Ugh, I feel yucky even writing that. It was so trying to get there, nothing else would be because that just would be too much.  Did I forget everything I know to be true about life in my first 30 years? Talk about pregnancy amnesia. But really I think I was protecting myself. When you go through a struggle for something that is supposed to happen so naturally, as in literally what our bodies are made for, you just hold your breath that it's real. When you make it past those early terrifying weeks, you start to accept that this really did happen for you. You start to picture that little baby, your life, their life, everything!

So then when you're having your ultrasound and the technician is being really quiet because you're those extra obnoxious parents to be that won't let her just reveal the gender to you, but need her write it in an envelope to bring to the bakery, and she brings in the dr to review the findings and they start talking about birth defects, and don't google, and 1 in whatever, and surgery, but it's all ok except there's actually no air in the room. Everyone that knows me knows I'm a crier. I cry at not even the good hallmark commercials, without the assistance of pregnancy hormones. But for the next what was probably 30 minutes but felt like 30 days as they moved that wand around my belly trying to get a better look there were no tears and I'm pretty sure I wasn't even in the room. I couldn't even attempt to explain the emotions that ran through me, but I'm pretty sure it was mostly the purest form of shock I've ever experienced.  Luckily Nick was with me and somehow retained everything the Dr spouted off because I would have left that room not knowing my own name. But the second the Drs left the room I lost my shit. Ugliest of all cries I've ever produced. They had to be making a mistake. That was it, they were just wrong. There was no possible way anything was wrong with this little miracle that we waited so long for. It just couldn't be.  Hello denial. Somehow we left the hospital and got to the car. You could probably convince me that a mermaid scooped me up and put me there, because I have no recollection.

But then there we were in the car, with an envelope that a few hours ago held the biggest mystery in our lives and I was just so mad at myself for ever even caring about its contents. Now since we had 5 dozen cupcakes waiting at a local bakery to be filled with pink or blue, for our friends and family to bite into the next day, we had to deliver that envelope as if it was still important. Nick to the rescue again, can you imagine the sight I would have been walking into that place. Good lord.

We had had plans of going to a great Italian dinner where we had strategized all these different methods of opening the envelope. Or giving the waitress the envelope and having her bring out this dinner if it was a girl or that dinner if it was a boy. But then we knew we'd have this weird scenario where now the waitress was trying to place meals in front of two blubbering idiots. Nick tried so hard to convince me we could still have that moment, that we didn't have to take that away from ourselves but I just couldn't get myself together for even a minute, forget actually presenting myself in public.

I keep typing and waiting for Wordpress to tell me to shuttup already! But they haven't yet so onward we go. Did you take a bathroom break yet? You know I did!

When we got home I got mad. I was mad this was happening. I was mad we had this fun moment taken away. I was mad we had another fight in front of us. I was mad that the world in unfair. I was just so mad. But then somehow from somewhere inside of me the light switch flipped and there it was. Game on. We can do this. This is our baby! They don't need an ugly crying, pity party throwing, angry momma they need a fighter. A momma who will research, and advocate and love more than words. So that's who I'd be. So we opened up that envelope and found out I'd be that momma and Nick would be that daddy to our little BOY!

This feels too personal to share, but when I started googling cleft lip about 7 seconds after getting into the car, I was comforted by some of the blogs I came across from moms who had been there. Who had survived. Who said it was a distant memory and all was going to be OK. I've let this sit unpublished because I kind of don't want it to be, but I'm ok sharing all of this if someday one terrified/sad/mad/shocked momma comes across this and feels even just 1% better about her situation. To know that everything she is feeling is ok and that she can do this!