Chasing Rainbows

(I wrote this part several months ago, just for myself and not intending to share it anywhere.)

My first pregnancy was all excitement, with daily bump pictures, stuffed animals waiting to be cuddled, and singing lullabies to my stomach because I knew the baby could hear my voice.

My second pregnancy was all bliss and grapefruit cravings, followed by the world crashing down around us. 

Now, my third pregnancy is all paranoia, with prophylactic low-dose aspirin, progesterone supplements, protein/glucose urine strips, blood pressure machines and fetal Dopplers. 

There is anxiety.  I can’t relax.  I can’t come back from my loss.  I’ve been checking my baby’s heart beat at home since the 8 week mark and I revel in that sound each time, but as I lie there, about to touch the Doppler to my ever-rounding stomach, fear washes over me that this will be the day that I’ll only hear the sound of my own heart, shattering. 

There is guilt.  I got pregnant with this baby before the last baby’s due date and I sometimes overthink the overlap.  I want to honour my other baby’s memory but also celebrate this baby’s life.  I know these are two separate experiences, but I can’t seem to separate them, so I often find myself stuck in the middle, unsure how to feel for either baby.  

  

There is the ever-present asterisk when I talk about my pregnancy:

My second child* is due in August.

With my last pregnancy** I was so carefree.

I’m so happy and excited *** to be having this baby.

* who is actually my third

** by which, I mean the one before the last      

*** and a billion other conflicting emotions

(written today)

At 24 weeks, I had a 4D ultrasound, and I think that was my turning point.  Seeing my baby beyond the black and white pixels of a regular ultrasound made it real.  Learning that I have an anterior placenta nullified the utter dread when I don’t feel him moving for a day or longer.  Watching Jack react to his little brother on the screen made my heart swell (and he has been kissing and making farting noises into my stomach ever since). 

I know if my other baby had lived, this one wouldn’t have existed.  That’s a weird feeling to work around, but after watching him smile, squirm, and play with his umbilical cord, I know I won’t have a problem bonding with him.  I can’t wait to hold him and count his perfect little fingers and toes, over and over.

At nearly 29 weeks, I'm learning that maybe it’s ok to grieve and celebrate concurrently; I don’t have to stop doing one before I can do the other.  Maybe motherhood is a fluid experience and there is no need to compartmentalize because all these feelings are going to sort themselves out naturally as time goes on. 

A Short Lament

A year ago today was the last normal day I’ll know.  A year ago tomorrow, my baby’s heart stopped for reasons I will never grasp.  Nine days later, my baby was born. 

The unnatural order of things: death before birth.
The natural order of things: a mother’s love will transcend everything.  

A Guide to Grieving for the Exceptionally Dense Acquaintance

This is a rather belated Thanksgiving post, but I need to get this off my chest.  At 5 months pregnant, I’m working on emotionally healing from my miscarriage and just need to lay this particular issue to rest.  

Back in October, I declined a last minute Thanksgiving invitation from someone I didn’t know very well, whom we shall call J, because I wanted a weekend to just relax with my family and maybe have a bit of alone time.  Also, it was my birthday weekend.  I was still deep in grief from the loss of our baby in June and also still unwinding from our summer in Canada, dealing with a month-long bout of toddler jet lag.  At that point, I was still crying a lot and only wanted to be around close friends.  Here are the exact words I texted J back with: 

"Thanks very much for the invitation!  It's very sweet to be thought of.  I think we're going to decline though. Honestly, I'm just not sure I'm ready to be that social yet.  Aside from at work (which is emotionally draining to keep up with), I seriously haven't had a single social interaction since my miscarriage that I haven't cried during. And that hasn't been much because I really just can't do stuff.  So again, thanks so much for inviting us, but yeah, that's where I'm at right now.  I'm a mess."

So, I was pretty honest (my mistake); I’d hung out with close friends and cried because that’s where grief had brought me, and they supported me, but I didn’t want to go have dinner and make small talk with a bunch of people I didn’t know well or at all.  (You’d even be hard-pressed to get my extremely introverted self to do that on a good day.)

What followed was what I can only describe as meddling insanity.  J, who I’ve only seen about five times in my life, bombarded me with texts telling me how I should and shouldn’t feel, before copying and pasting my messages to a mutual friend and sharing a few unsolicited opinions about me with this friend.  Out of respect for my friend’s privacy, I just silently blocked J on social media, removed myself from all moms’ groups that involved her, and tried move on with life without the confrontation I truly would have loved.  It has since all come out in the open and I’m sure this insatiable gossip has been sharing her deluded stories, laced with fake concern, with many people.  I want to share my side.    

The whole incident angers me most because I was grieving in a normal way and my grief and tears felt cathartic and progressive.  Then she came in, hijacked my grief, and replaced it with anger.   

So in case anyone is reading this and wondering, hmmm, what is appropriate to say to someone I don’t know well who has suffered a miscarriage, I would like to offer up my new guide below.  Direct quotes will be provided in italics, as applicable.

What Not to Say: A Guide to Grieving for the Exceptionally Dense Acquaintance

1. Share someone else’s private information

As the saying goes, misery loves company, but I don’t need to hear that other mutual acquaintances are going through loss as well.  If C had a miscarriage at the same time as I did and P had two failed IVF treatments last year, and they wanted me to know, they would have told me.  That’s none of my business and a violation of their trust for you to tell me.

2. Tell someone they’re being unfair to their current child

DON’T. EVER. THROW. MOM. GUILT. AT. ME. 

I may struggle in some areas of life, but one thing I’m certain of is that I’m a great mom who always puts her son first, even if she feels emotionally and physically stretched to the limits (which I’m pretty sure is just part of being a mom and not necessarily anything to do with loss).  By grieving the loss of one child, I’m not doing an injustice to the other.    

3. Tell me what you think I need

"I know the heartbreak is horrible but staying in and avoiding social interactions is not good for you especially for this long."

Actually, I wish part of this statement was true and that I had a long time where I could just stay in, but actually I go to work 5 days a week (where I am a teacher and have to use a lot of energy and be constantly "on") and do things with friends several weekends a month, whether it’s a playdate for my son or much needed girl time.  All things being equal, I could go months without talking to another living soul and not miss a beat; staying in and avoiding social interactions is how I recharge, and that is not something that needs to be fixed. But I do enjoy spending time with friends. 

4. Tell someone you remind them of their friend, right before their friend committed suicide

"I have had a good high school friend say similar things to my group of friends in high school she started not going to school etc and cried all the time and ended up committing suicide. Your message sounded like she could have written it and so even if you say you don't need help your words came from somewhere and it honestly doesn't sound like you don't need help."

Where do I even start with this one?  If I had been suicidal (which I absolutely wasn’t), being told that I remind someone of a friend who committed suicide might have actually justified those feelings and pushed me to the edge.  Also, fix your grammar and sentence structure. And as a side note, I’m annoyed that she kept pushing this "getting me help" bit... I’ve been very open about my anxiety struggles -panic disorder and GAD, not social anxiety- both on my blogs and in real life.  I have a degree in psychology, so I am well-educated and see no stigma in this.  I’m quite self-aware and don’t need someone who doesn’t know me or my history telling me what to do.

5. Project

 "I have been concerned for a long time about you because I see so much of my anxiety in you and I feel I understand where it comes from..."

and

"…I knew how it is to try to leave the house and was trying to help and make the situation perfect for you to get out and enjoy yourself I guess i took it to heart too much in trying to help you."

Here, she was actually referring to before my miscarriage.  I have no trouble leaving the house due to anxiety and didn’t need help with that prior to my loss, at Thanksgiving, or now.  Sometimes I just don’t want to go anywhere, especially not with people like J.  The specific incident she’s referring to is that I didn’t go to her son’s birthday party because it was outdoors on an incredibly high pollution day (because, well, China) and I have asthma. 

6. Share my private information

The rest of these points are from stuff she texted other people about me, after screenshotting/ copying and pasting my messages, out of context.  Seriously, who does that?!

7. Push me when you don’t even know me 

"She didn’t go out much before her miscarriage but her answer this time is really concerning."

Yes, I didn’t go out much before my miscarriage because I’m an introvert and a mom… not because of depression or anxiety.  I nurse my son to sleep every night so have little interest in drunken escapades downtown.  I prefer bedtime stories and trying to convince my son to brush his back molars, followed by a little downtime after he’s asleep, watching reruns of Arrested Development and Frasier.  (Though invite me to afternoon karaoke or Sunday brunch and I’ll probably go!)  

8. Dictate when someone should be finished grieving

"From June to October and she is still unable to go out and is admittedly in this much depression.  I am seriously concerned."

Um, I wasn’t depressed… I lost my baby and had a common reaction.  Is there a 4-month expiry date on grief that I don’t know about?  Here, hold my drink while I push my healthy, normal feelings under the rug so I can appear to just get over it for the sake of your comfort level.

9. Suggest they are faking it

The two options presented to my friend were that I either needed mental help for serious depression "...or was exaggerating and trying to make things sound extreme as an excuse so I would totally understand why she didn’t want to leave the house and not come and not challenge her coming.  Which in itself is very horrible.  So either way she really needs to investigate getting emotional counselling because nothing about that message and the subsequent ones she sent after were ok."

This was the final straw for me.  Everything else she sent to both me and my friend could be written off (if one is feeling very generous) as well-meaning, but misguided.  This, however, is just downright despicable.  I don’t need to say anything else because it speaks for itself.

Whew!  That feels better now.  Thanks for listening, internet audience!

Good Grief

If you know me in real life, you probably know I had a miscarriage in June.  Seeing as 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, I knew I wasn’t alone and didn’t see the need to carry my grief around like a shameful little secret. 

I’m glad I shared on Facebook because I immediately had so much support in terms of condolences and reassurances; my inbox was flooded with friends and cousins sharing their similar stories and offering encouragement that it truly does get easier with time.  I felt surrounded by love, thoughts, and prayers, and I’m grateful for everyone who took a moment to say or do something sweet and encouraging. 

At first, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the bed.  Truthfully, even rolling over to face the wall took every bit of energy I had.  I cried nonstop and didn’t see how life could ever resemble anything normal again.  This wasn’t unhealthy, but it was bereavement.  I let myself wallow because, for me, that’s part of the process. (And I still will unapologetically wallow, as necessary.) 

In the following weeks, the nurse at the obgyn office gave me her number so I could text her with any recovery questions, I had friends sending me chocolates and cookies, neighbours cooked us dinner every night, co-workers took over all my end-of-year duties and lessons so I could stay home and rest, and my husband bought me a beautiful heart-within-a-heart locket, so I’ll always have a tiny heart close to my own.  I’m lucky to have had so many supportive people in my life during my darkest days, especially when we’re so far from home.

A few weeks later, we headed home for 2 months of glorious Canadian summer.  I warned everyone that I wasn’t going to be much fun, and everyone reassured me that I could just do what I could manage, no pressure.  I spent a lot of time with my parents, sister, and aunt, just being silly.  I celebrated my six-year anniversary with my husband, went on epic waterslides with my sister, watched my son learn and grow as he adapted to Canadian life and celebrated his second birthday with family, went out for lunch and dinner a lot, went shopping, went to the casino, went camping up north, went kayaking, took an aerial arts class, sang karaoke, got a relaxing massage, made some new friends, and got to catch up with some wonderful friends, most of whom I’ve been known for 30+ years.  I’m so grateful my husband and I were able to have this time where we were able to heal, enjoy life, and have a bit of normalcy, thanks to the amazing physical and emotional support of my parents and in-laws.  It ended up being a much better summer than I’d anticipated.  Being around loved ones does wonders for the soul.

But, I was still sad and that’s really normal.  When I was in Canada, I’d see my friends, and we’d talk about stuff, as good friends do.  Almost every time, I cried, ranging from a slight welling of tears to full-on sobbing.  This is because I feel like I can openly share with my friends and I’m a sensitive person, so tears come easily.  I’ve cancelled plans a few times, and that’s okay… I’m glad I have friends who understand my need to be alone and don’t judge me.  One day, I just couldn’t face it and didn’t even want to get out of bed, so I called up one of my best friends, who also happens to do motivational speaking and is one of the most inspirational people I know, and she took me to lunch, said all the right things, and pulled me out of my funk… that was what I needed that day.  Other days, my husband will take our son to play at the park so I can be alone, with him knowing full well that as soon as they leave I’m going to put Bjork’s version of Gloomy Sunday on repeat, devour an entire box of Oreos and ugly cry all over the house… that’s what I need those days.

Since returning to Hong Kong, September has been a whirlwind.  We struggled to get our jet lagged toddler back into a normal sleep routine.  I’m back at work, teaching grade 5 and 6 this year for the first time (and I’m loving it).  I’m also back in school, getting my credentials to teach the International Baccalaureate Diploma Programme.  We’re planning a trip to Australia in December, which we’re all super excited for.  I’m busy and struggle to find time to just have a moment for myself or with my husband, keep a clean house, keep my sanity, etc…. so pretty normal stuff.  Basically, my life is continuing on exactly as it was (which sometimes doesn’t make much sense that it can do that, and that makes me feel guilty when I’m having fun).  I’m moving forward with my life, coping well, enjoying things, and, on the whole, doing alright. 

But I’m also still not okay, and it’s absolutely fine to be not okay sometimes. 
  

I live this okay and not okay life simultaneously.  They’re merging and I’m okay more often than I’m not now, so I know I’ll be alright in the end.  I’m not depressed, though I feel like I am some days, but I’m fine, clinically speaking.  There is a little shadow of sorrow lurking in the wings and I think it will always be there, in a way.  I’m very sad and I’m likely going to continue to be for some time.  I will go through the grieving process without pressuring myself about anything and I will not apologize for it.  I do not need to justify my grief to anyone and no one but me gets to decide how I mourn or how long I mourn. 

I miss my baby.  I wanted that baby so bad.  THAT one.  I love my baby.  This is a child I held in my womb for a few months, in my hands for a few moments, and will hold in my heart for all eternity.  My pain is very real and it tears me apart.  And I’m not okay, but I’m okay with that.    

The End of the Tunnel

Many people already know that I’ve suffered from (and kicked the butt of) generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder and ocd since childhood.  I’ll talk about it openly and see no shame in this.  I try my best to not let this interfere with my daily life and, in fact, I feel like my struggles sometimes empower me because I know I can get through anything.  However, after giving birth, I was faced with a whole new, unexpected problem that hit me like a tonne of bricks upside the head and knocked me down for the better part of a year: postpartum anxiety.  If you’re like me, you’ve never even heard of such a thing before.  I suspect it’s more common than it appears but goes undiagnosed or is misdiagnosed as postpartum depression, which is an entirely different beast.  I just want to share my story so that other people know they’re not alone and that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

I’d had an enjoyable pregnancy with few concerns (I was that kind of pregnant lady you’d love to hate), my c-section went smoothly, my hospital experience was uneventful, and Jack was a happy, easy little guy.  Of course, there were the regular after birth annoyances like sleepless nights and not being able to find time for showers, but while these normal things were distracting me, this new evolved form of anxiety was drawing ever nearer.   

In the hospital, I was in a ward of 30 women and I was the only one with her baby rooming in.  I couldn’t imagine being away from him for even a second after he was born, but that seemed like a matter of personal choice or maybe a cultural preference.  I was in the hospital for 4 days and, despite recovering from a c-section (including severe referred pain in my shoulder), coping with the never-ending cycle of breastfeeding/diaper changes, and only having two hours a day to visit my husband (because visiting hours here are really that crappy), by far the worst part was walking around the corner to go to the washroom.  I had so many irrational fears about what could happen while I was peeing: someone was going to take him for vaccines and I wouldn’t be there to hold his hand, someone was going to disregard my birth plan and bathe him or give him formula, someone would switch him with another baby and another mom would leave with him but we wouldn’t notice for months or years (this was particularly irrational as he was the only white baby there).  It was always such a relief to get back to my hospital bed so I could be with him again.  Even at the time, I knew these thoughts were out of whack with reality, but rationalized it as crazy hormones running amok.  Really, the postpartum anxiety had started lurking in the corners of my mind.   

After I was released from the hospital, I had trouble leaving Jack, even with Harold (which is ridiculous because he’s the best dad ever).  It got to the point where I had trouble even walking to the other end of the room, let alone shower or take a nap, because I just couldn’t be that far from him.  It was the most intense separation anxiety ever.  Because of my c-section, I couldn’t get on and off the bed properly (it’s a pretty high bed), or lift Jack from the crib.  Not wanting to wake Harold for help every few hours, I created a little bubble where Jack and I stayed in the living room, him in his pop-up travel cot and me on the couch, an arm’s reach away.  This seemed practical and Harold respected the fact that I needed this bonding time.  I felt safe and comfortable with this, waking a million times a night to check his temperature, his diaper, the room temperature, or to make sure that he hadn’t died of SIDS or sepsis.  I figured this was probably fairly normal for a new mom and it was just sleeplessness playing tricks on me.  But this time, postpartum anxiety was ready to pounce.

While Jack nursed one morning, I opened my Facebook to see my newsfeed flooded with images of a drowned little Syrian refugee boy, washed up on the shore.  I could absolutely not handle it and that father’s pain became my own.  I looked at my boy, sleeping peacefully in my arms and that’s when my anxiety finally swept me away.  Actually, I still can’t write about it without crying, so I’m just going to leave it at that. 

After that, my need to be with Jack at all times only got stronger.  I cried in the shower, I freaked out while pouring a bowl of cereal, and I held him close at night, determined to protect him from all that was wrong in the world.  I initially only had ten weeks of maternity leave.  I was still trying to figure out my new role as a mother and I had to go back to work and spend the bulk of my day taking care of other people’s kids instead.  The guilt from that seemed insurmountable so I called my principal crying and told her I couldn’t possibly come back to work.  She was so understanding and supportive and told me to get a doctor’s note for a longer leave.  In the end, I had seventeen weeks, which was still nowhere near adequate, but I was grateful for any extra time I had with Jack. 

At my post-birth checkup at the clinic, I told them about how I was feeling and they set me up with a psychologist at the hospital.  I still go to appointments with her every few months and she has taught me about mindfulness and meditation.   

While back at work, I initially cried daily, while attempting to live in the moment.  I was so jealous of Harold and all the time he got to spend with Jack so I would Skype them and text constantly, wanting to know every little thing.  I spent 2-3 hours a day pumping (and having a love-hate relationship with my pump because I was glad that I could supply for my baby, but hated that it wasn’t directly).  I also resented my job.  Those who know me know that I love teaching, but I couldn’t get into it last year.  I just kept repeating to myself “If I was home, I’d still be on maternity leave.”  Luckily, my co-workers understood this and gave me lots of support. 

Now it has been over a year.  A few weeks into motherhood, a friend (who is not a mother and could not have anticipated how anxiety would take hold of my life this past year, but is obviously incredibly wise) told me that the first year would be crazy, and nearing his first birthday, I'd feel the fog begin to lift and things would start to normalize. She was right.  I had the whole summer off to spend with Jack and if I was at home, I’d be back to work too so I’m feeling much less resentful of my job this year.  I’ve slowly worked my way up to being able to leave Jack, not just for work, but for my own self too.  The opportunities are few and far between (thus is the life of a busy mom) but I now feel like I can go to the spa or karaoke without feeling guilty.  Eventually, I’d like to go back to my writing group, rejoin the choir, or finish my cake decorating class, but I’m not ready to miss bedtime yet though or be away in the evening after working all day, so I know those things will come later. 

For now, the important thing is that I’m finding balance, I’m getting adequate time with Jack while still working (and providing for our family is an important job!), and the anxiety is not gone but is very much under control.  I feel at peace with things.

An April Update (Nine More Beautiful Months)

It’s true what they say, how the days are long but the years are short.  As of last weekend, Jack has now been on the outside longer than he was on the inside.  I don’t know why, but that’s an important milestone to me, like the probationary period is over and he’s really and truly a part of the world.  To me though, he’s not just part of the world… he’s my whole world. 

So what has Jack been up to lately?  Here's a quick rundown.

Jack never really did roll over or crawl but has gone straight to standing.  He cruises along the sides of furniture and can stand, unassisted, for about 30 seconds before he needs to put his hand briefly on the furniture again to steady himself.  He hasn’t put the walking and solo standing skills together quite yet, but I think he’ll be taking his first independent steps within a week (which means it’s time to baby-proof the house.  Uggggh!)

His favourite food is anything with bananas or carrots, but he's willing to try just about anything, so long as it's not prunes or peaches (which is weird because peaches were one of my biggest pregnancy cravings).  He’s allergic to dairy though, as of right now.  That’s supposed to be common in babies before they reach a year, so I don’t think we’ll try dairy again until then because we don’t want a repeat of our poor sick baby. 

Jack loves music.  His favourite songs are Seven Years by Lukas Graham and Stressed Out and House of Gold by Twenty-One Pilots.  He’ll dance and even try to sing along… and when the song is over, he protests until we put it on again (no other songs will do).   He loves going out in his stroller and looking at everything.  He has four teeth, and two more on the way.  He’s 21.7 lbs.  He can say “Mama”, “Dada”, “I love you” and “I love baths” and a handful of other things.  Jack is an affectionate little guy who likes to hug, kiss, and cuddle.  He also has a sense of humour; he blows raspberries on our arms (actually, just on mine) or makes funny faces pressed against his playpen mesh, then looks to us for approval.  He's just started being really shy with people, but he warms up to them quickly.

He’s now met both sets of grandparents.  Harold’s parents were here in November and mine just came over Easter.  He loves them all very much and we’re counting down the days (76) until we can see them again.  

Early Glimpses

I ended up with what I think is an unusually high amount of ultrasounds during my pregnancy.  I didn’t mind though because it was nice to keep an eye on Jack. 

The very first ultrasound was when I was only 5 weeks pregnant.  I had a bit of a scare so we went to the emergency room at the hospital across the street from my building.  The rushed me through triage and did an ultrasound to detect the heartbeat (not even a guarantee at this early stage).  Jack’s heart, however, was pumping strong and steady, safe within me.  It made me cry (along with pretty much everything else I was to encounter for the rest of my pregnancy).  There was no visual with this ultrasound, but I was really sad that Harold was in a different room for the first heartbeat.  The hospital, in a Hong Kong fashion that I have really come to appreciate, erred on the side of caution and zipped me by ambulance to a nearby hospital that has an antenatal ward (the hospital where Jack was born), and admitted me for the night so they could keep an eye on things.  Obviously, everything was fine.  (I went from being at my own home to having a bed at the second hospital in less than an hour.  I really can’t say enough good about the efficiency of the Hong Kong public hospitals.)

Upon discharge, I was put on bedrest for an amount of time I just can’t remember now (again, erring on the side of caution).  I missed two birthday parties and one Christmas party, and went back to work for one day before heading to Canada for the holidays.  In that time, we wanted to see our little guy to make sure everything was still alright and I kept crying because Harold hadn’t heard the heart yet.  Many obgyns here have their own ultrasound machine in their office so I went to my private doctor and had an ultrasound.  Jack was doing great and we could see his little heart beating away.  For anyone who happens to come across this in a web search, if you are looking to supplement your public hospital care with a few private scans and checkups, I highly recommend you go to the New Territories.  It’ll be a fraction of the cost. 

My picture is the one on the right.  I was comparing it to the left one of twins on the internet because I thought mine looked like twins too.  Spoiler alert: it wasn't.

At 12 weeks, we had a standard scan at the hospital.  At this point, we found out that Jack was a boy.  Super early, but super obvious!  I also found out I had an anterior placenta, which means that everything is fine, but the placenta was attached to the front of my uterus instead so I’d be less likely to feel Jack.  However, I ended up feeling my super active boy very early on (I think it was about 14 weeks).   Through the whole pregnancy, except for the last few weeks, I did go for days at a time without feeling him because all the action was cushioned by the placenta.  For some really weird reason, they won’t print out a copy of the 12 week scan for the parents to keep.  However, they do give you an envelope to bring to another area of the hospital, so if you’re really careful with the opening the envelope, you can take a picture of the picture before delivering it. 

12 weeks <3

At 18 weeks, we had another standard scan (this time privately because the hospital was overbooked).  We got to count his little fingers and toes.  <3  The whole session was being recorded but I didn’t realize, so we actually have a video of it.  Unfortunately the video has audio and therefore captured me asking stupid questions that only a derpy pregnant lady would think of like, “Whoa!  Are those his brain waves?” when referring to a close-up of blood flowing in an out of the heart.

Structural scan.  How cute is that femur?

 At 25 weeks, I had some serious cramping so I went to emergency again.  Within about 10 minutes they had me in for a scan and I saw him happily sucking his thumb and hiccupping.  He had the hiccups ALL THE TIME in those days and still gets them quite often.  No pictures of that scan.  

At 30 weeks, we went to Annerley Midwives Clinic for a 4D ultrasound.  We actually ended up going twice (once for free) because Jack wouldn’t cooperate.  He faced backwards so we got a lot of really good shots of his spine, and we must have caught him during his afternoon nap.   The second time, I chugged a lot of orange juice before we went and it did work to make him move around but he was still facing backwards for most of it.  When he turned around, he was playing with his umbilical cord or putting his feet in his face, so we could see his very active personality, but seeing his face was going to be a lost cause.  These were the closest we could get, but they were just fleeting moments.

Only eight weeks to go…