Buddha playing possum

It's been a stressful couple of weeks.

Tracy has pretty much summed up all of my emotions in her last two posts so I won't belabor the point here. I'm simaltaneously entirely done talking about it and constantly seeking out people to process this with. It's like a mental tug of war only there can almost certainly never be a winner.

So it almost tipped us over the edge when our nearly 30 week fetus decided to play possum. Up until now, from the day Tracy started feeling him move, this kid has been a mexican jumping bean. He kicks, he punches, he rolls, he flips, he boogies, he practically shakes hands with people. Then, perhaps just to provide a "dry run" for the actual trip to the hospital, he decided to pretty much stop moving. The last two days he's been kind of quiet, but still hitting hard enough to almost hurt her. Then last night, after a rousing game of softball (Tracy "coaches" us - which is to say, yells at me to at least try - and it usually works), we came home and crawled into our bed with our Harry Potter books.

And we couldn't wake him up.

We tried ice water, walking, sitting, turning, talking, music playing, and begging. Nothing worked. With echoes of our birthing class teacher saying "If you're worried you should call" in our heads, we made the call to our OB. Our primary happened to be on. She recommended 12 ounces of good ol' Coca Cola. Never one to pass up an opportunity to break open that red can, Tracy put one back. We waited the requisite 40 minutes for it to make it into her blood stream, then his blood stream...

And nothing. Well, maybe a flutter. But just one, and not very noticeable.

So, the OB called back and very calmly recommended that we go to the hospital for a non stress test. We spent the 15 minute ride taking turns reassuring each other that there was just no possible way that there was something wrong with this kid. We're too close to the edge already. Can't look over the edge. Not sure if our parachutes are packed just right yet.

After missing the turn for the parking garage, parking on the wrong floor, having a nurse practically smirk at us and tell us she can get in this door but we have to go upstairs, a security guard who thought we were visiting someone and didn't want to let us in, walking right by L&D and having to turn around and come back, and a L&D receptionist who was doing our paperwork but wouldn't look up to even say hello, [BIG BREATH] Tracy's bladder was practically bursting. 7 glasses of water, and 16 ounces of Coke later she was nearly splashing down the hallway.

Now, almost always when you're pregnant they want to see your urine. So I had to pull some major distraction tactics out to keep Tracy from running away and hiding in a bathroom with the door locked. "But you said you'd get me anything I want! And I want a toilet!" "I know honey, look at my blue blue eyes. No, over here. Do I need to sing you song?" And on and on.

This all leads up to nothing that funny, but definitely some relief. His heart was beating just fine and he was moving a little bit that we could hear on the Doppler but she couldn't feel. They did an ultrasound to check the fluid which all looked fine. So we took the opportunity to see him and ask what position he was in.

Imagine a buddha. Then superimpose that image on Tracy's belly. That's right, FRANK BREECH. Legs crossed, sitting in her pelvis, head on her ribs. (To be fair his back is a little turned to her right) Now, it's early still and he can still move and be head down. But seriously? If anyone was going to get a kid out of them with inspiring grace and courage it's Tracy. Now we just have to get little buddha who thinks he is a possum to turn around.

Oy.

They let us come home around 12:30am. Tracy spent the night trying to not trip while sprinting to the bathroom. And we both had a much easier night knowing that our kid is fine. And he's probably excited that he got out getting grounded ONLY by virtue of not being born. Next time we won't let him get off that easy.