Pregnant with Munchkin » The Chronicles of Munchkin Land

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Birthdays, Pregnant with Munchkin 14 Responses »

Dec 122011

Eight years ago, I knew I was in labor.

They say that when you’re really in labor, you’ll just know. I knew.

For months, I had been dealing with pre-term labor caused by my kidney disorder and the complications it brings along with it during pregnancy. I was able to immediately determine between unproductive Braxton Hicks contractions and the dangerous, progressive pre-term labor contractions that do the damage.

Every time I slipped into the danger zone, I made my way to the hospital. I felt a deep, primal need to keep my daughter safe. I would go to the hospital, where I would be admitted anywhere from a day to a week each time. I would submit myself to medication that made me feel horrible, that made my skin crawl. I was poked and prodded. I was treated poorly at times; a single woman on state assistance who is considering relinquishment isn’t always looked upon as a worthy case in some healthcare settings. I sucked it up. For her.

I simply needed her to be okay.

But on December 12, 2003, as the contractions started deep and slow and progressively got stronger — to the point that I would lose my breath — I knew. I knew there was no going back. It was evening, and I knew that by sometime the next day, my daughter would be born. This wasn’t a labor that would be stopped. This wasn’t a labor that could be coaxed back with medication, with more water, by resting on my side. This was it.

This was the end.

I called the hospital, more to show that I was going through the motions of a normal mother. But I didn’t go in. Despite my deepest doubts that I didn’t know how to be a mother, I knew my body. I needed time at home, time alone with my daughter. I played Solitaire on my mother’s laptop. I watched the clock. I timed. I breathed. I sat silently. I stared out the window at the cold, dark December night.

I forced myself to go to bed, to cradle her in my arms one last time. I drifted off knowing that this was the last peace I was ever going to feel.

My water broke four hours later; I don’t remember the ride to the hospital.

When we arrived at the hospital, one of the nurses said, “We expected you hours ago.”

I wanted to explain that I just needed some time. Some time to myself. Some time with my daughter — alone. Some time to come to terms with what was about to happen to me, to her, to us. I knew she would be okay this time, having made it to 38 weeks, 2 days. I knew I had put in the hard work, the seemingly never-ending battle to make sure that she was healthy, safe. I just needed that time.

Tomorrow she turns eight, and I don’t know where the time went. I feel like crawling in bed and holding my empty womb, closing my eyes and letting myself feel that peace I felt eight years ago.

But honestly, I don’t quite know how.

Snickers and Pregnancy

Pregnant with Munchkin 3 Responses »

Oct 262011

I don’t like Snickers.

In fact, the smell of Snickers chocolate makes me gag.

Also, if we’re totally honest, I don’t even really like chocolate, but that’s not what this post is about. This post is about Snickers, pregnancy cravings and memories of an October eight years ago.

– __ — __ –

Due to my very complicated pregnancy and the fact that I was always in pain, I wasn’t very hungry during my pregnancy. I gained a total of 19 pounds; two surgeries and chronic pain will do that to you. I was all baby at the end.

And maybe a little bit of Snickers.

You see, I didn’t always hate Snickers. I still didn’t like or love chocolate, but my one and only pregnancy craving while I was pregnant with the Munchkin just so happened to be Snickers bars. It made me laugh and I felt that I could truly “blame” the Munchkin for this particular craving as I didn’t even really like chocolate. Dee would regularly bring me a fun size bag of bars, and I would regularly consume them. It pays to be very pregnant during Halloween candy time.

Time passed and my daughter was born.

Halloween rolled around the next year and we bought some candy to hand out to trick-or-treaters. Of course, I bought some Snickers because I thought it was the one chocolate candy that I truly loved. I opened a fun size bar, brought it to my mouth and literally gagged.

The smell was sickening.

I wondered if I had a cold or something; maybe my nose wasn’t working right. I shrugged off the sickeningly sweet smell and took a bite anyway. I spit it out. It tasted disgusting.

I’ve tried a few times over the years and always come upon the same result: stomach-rolling revolt.

I don’t know if it’s because I “overdosed” on Snickers while pregnant with the Munchkin or if there is some sort of internal connection between the smell and taste of Snickers and the loss of my daughter. Or — let’s be honest — if the cheap, nasty chocolate that Snickers is made with is simply disgusting. The only chocolate that I can almost tolerate anymore is of the darker, more expensive variety. I say that not to be snooty, but to prove that I am human and I don’t hate chocolate. There’s something in commercial, Halloween candy chocolate, however, that just smells disgusting to me and tastes even worse.

Every year when Halloween rolls around, I still open a Snickers and give it a try. I am reminded of sitting in the recliner in my apartment with a bag of Snickers fun size bars on the end table. I remember wearing a pink shirt, non-maternity, and covering up under a big fluffy blanket. It was a sad, lonely time in that apartment, but there were moments of joy as I sat with my candy and my baby in my belly.