29 weeks and counting...

Wow. 29 weeks... Almost into the 30's... a little less than 3 more weeks and this little one is at the same term the twins were when they were born. And look at THOSE two now!

I knew this pregnancy was going to be a scary one, what with my background. But I didn't know my fears would consume every waking (and almost every sleeping) moment. To be honest, they didn't really, up until viability. I had some fears, yes, but as long as I hadn't hit that 24-weeks mark things still seemed a little "unreal".

Then suddenly it hit me: "If anything happens NOW, they MIGHT just try and save our baby!" From 24 weeks on, they will try and postpone labour. From 25 weeks on, they might even try and help a baby when it IS born. And from 26 weeks on, the will do everything they possibly can to give the baby a chance to fight. A chance to LIVE.

With that knowledge came the fear that I might miss some vital clue. That I MYSELF would do something stupid, or ignore a feeling or a sign. Something that might make it "just a day, or an hour, or even a minute too late" for our baby. But everything was still quiet, nothing much was happening. I was feeling great, no contractions, no other signs, nothing. I'd been spotting a little (and when I say little, I really mean little) bit every so many weeks, but that wasn't cause for concern. Right? Not after the 22 week ultrasound showed that the partial Placenta Praevia that had been diagnosed a couple of weeks before had resolved itself. So. I'd almost convinced myself that this time around, I was going to stay pregnant until at least 37 weeks.

Almost.

And then I hit 26 weeks. And Christmas passed. And I said to my husband: "Wow, we made it through the Holidays this time. I managed to still be pregnant at Christmas, instead of celebrating Christmas in the NICU again!"

I sighed a big sigh of relief. And 3 hours later all hell broke loose.

I started bleeding. Within 30 minutes I was in L&D, hooked up to a CTG. Baby still doing fine, bleeding had stopped, they had no idea where it came from. And then they started talking about maybe smelling and seeing amniotic fluid. And having me transferred to a NICU-hospital. And scared the shit out of me.

Fortunately a simple test (that they did 3 times just to be sure, because they couldn't believe the result) showed that I wasn't leaking anything I shouldn't be. And I was told I was allowed to go home, but to call if anything changed.

Next day, I was back. More bleeding. Not more than the day before, but they told me to call if it started again so I did. And because I was also feeling some lower-backpain and my uterus was feeling a little 'off' (no contractions, just a bit 'heavy'. Hey, if they tell me to share every little detail with them (even if it seems totally insignificant to me), I do. I am a good girl) they made me come back. Hooked me back up. Baby still doing great, kicking and squirming and being a pain because they couldn't get a grip on it's heartbeat. But hey, if it's still kicking, it's heart is probably still working too, right? This time the monitor showed very light (probably BH) contractions. Nothing unusual for my term. Then the ob/gyn came in to measure my cervix (because, well, PROM the last pregnancy and all). Still closed. Still not too short. Shorter than normal, but still okay. For now.

Back home again. But with the strong advice to take it as easy as I could. No bedrest, but as much sitting and lying down as possible with two toddlers running around. Thank god for the holidays, and my husband having taken a week off from work.

I've been having very light contractions a couple of times an hour for a couple of hours a day ever since. I've lost some more blood and about half the mucul plug. I'm in for a cervical-check every week and it's getting shorter with every visit. But it's still just on the right side of "Oops, this is not good!". So I'm still at home. Scared, but functioning. Counting the hours and the days and hopefully the weeks and maybe, just maybe, even the months.

I mean, really. It's only ONE baby this time, right? The last two put together at birth weighed almost as much as a full term baby, so I can hang on to just a singleton. Right? Every doctor I've spoken to before even attempting this second pregnancy told me "Hey, it was twins last time. Twins always come early..." and I almost believed them. Almost. But not really. And here I am, hoping to make it to 30+ weeks. And then to 32 weeks. Because that's what the twins were, and look at them now (I know that's no guarantee, but I'm grasping every straw in sight). And then to 34 weeks, because that's considered "safe". And then to 37, because then I might get to take our baby home right away.

I'm hoping. I'm telling myself to stay positive. Succeeding at it most of the time, even. At least during the day. But oh, those long long nights with nothing to do but think and dream and worry...