Miles To Go Before I Sleep

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From: 3rd1stDaughterWhiteHouse.gov

Subject: January 24,

Idon’t have a lot of time right now. I have a few minutes before Noah’s due for his bath and his lunch, then his nap and I have to study, take my vitamins, then find time to eat and sleep myself. And I have a doctor’s appointment, another one. This is a follow-up to something I learned at the doctor a few days ago. The doctor was packed, but he’s a family friend and he made room for me. Good thing, too. I have a feeling that he and I are going to be seeing a lot more of one another over the next few months.

January 17: I made myself another doctor’s appointment today. I dodged the press on the phone, at my door, and in public. The thing about my visit was that…everything about my pregnancy doesn’t seem all right.

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I lie on the medical table and try in vain to adjust this damned paper gown around me. This is several kinds of futile. Eventually, I just stop. It’s not worth it. He’s going to see most of it in a few minutes anyway.

With the nurse’s help, I place my feet into the stirrups, which I hate. This is not a comfortable position. The door opens and I instinctively pull my knees together. Yeah, like that’s gonna help. He’s looking at my chart and peeking at me over the top intermittently. Yeah, real cute. He finally puts down the clipboard.

“Hello, Zoey.” I attempt a smile for him and I think I just make it. “How are we and the littlest Bartlet doing today?” I smile. Yay! Not. We are fine, as far as I am concerned. I shift around a little. I’ve never have liked the doctor. Not just this one, but any doctor (with the exceptions of Mom and Ellie).

Oh, God, he’s about to start looking at stuff. He lifts up the paper sheet covering my legs. I redirect my eyes. This is somewhere between bizarre and humiliating…Nope, it’s just humiliating. I’m starting to think that this was a bad idea. Yeah, I know this was a bad idea.

I jump a little as he starts the check-up. This is where I start thinking up baby names…I’m thinking Gabriel, Daniel, Michael…Jed, maybe, Abbot for a boy. I like Abbot, after mom of course. I like Jed, too. But man, both of those come with some legacy. And for a girl…Erica, Abbey, Sarah? No to Sarah, too overdone. Gina? Nice. Hmmm, what else? Mary, too general. Nicole, no. Ann, over my dead body. Besides, we already have one of those. More than one is redundant. Leigh, maybe.

Suddenly I realize that this part of the exam is over and the doc looks less than happy…With good reason, too. So much for baby names.

January 18: I went home after that and put Noah to bed before crawling onto my bed and curling into a miserable ball. I had things to think about. He told me that I had symptoms of the gestational complication, Placenta Previa. He, of course, said that he wasn’t certain as not to alarm me. But take my word for it, the harm had already been done.

He advised me not to worry and told me that we’d simply have to monitor the situation as my pregnancy progressed. “It shouldn’t be a problem,” he says. Lots of people say that. It’s a problem. I just don’t know whether that’s woman’s intuition talking or the living fears of young pregnant girl with everything to lose.

I don’t know.

January 19: I spent today worrying. My doctor and I shared a phone call. He, again, tried unsuccessfully to reassure me. It did not work. Some time later, the subject of my complication came up again. He said that unless it corrected itself that I might find myself on bed rest until the end of my pregnancy and that he would give instructions that I should either be induced or have a Caesarian-Section. As I think I’ve implied before, my pregnancy isn’t going as smoothly as I’d like.

I want so badly to end this experiment and to go and crawl into my mother’s arms. There are answers that she has that I need and I can’t get them, because that would without a doubt compromise my research. It’s just three more months until I graduate…I would be able to maybe hide this if I wasn’t approximately the size of a modest house. If this is me at three months, what hope do I have of concealing this at six? Yes, that’s right, no hope. No hope at all.

And to top it all off, Noah is cutting his first teeth. He’s so fussy now and there’s really nothing short of giving him his teething ring that I can do. Somehow, I manage to keep from being angry or irritated with him, because he can’t help how he feels, but at times, I just wanna lay down beside him and cry too. But there’s no one here to take care of me or I him, if I sit this one out. I just imagine that in about twenty years, I’ll get a break. That makes me want to cry, because I have one child. Just one and I’m exhausted, not to mention pregnant. I don’t have any help and soon they’ll be twice as many children to care for and still only one me.

It’s moments like this when I feel at my most hopeless that I hate Charlie for leaving me, for being a coward, and for being weak. And I hate myself for loving him nonetheless. I’m carrying his child, going through complications with his child, and am going to have to raise his child plus another one alone. Now, I realize that they may be better off, anyway. I’m not sure I’d want a coward influencing my children.

I’ll just have to be enough; God, I hope I’m enough.

My children will be loved and they will know it. They have grandparents, aunts, play-aunts and play-uncles, and cousins that will and do love them. I just have to hold out for a few more months. Just a few more. I love my little family already. We will be all right without Charlie. I just hope that he’ll be all right without us.

January 20: I’m over my melancholy for the moment. I know it will be back at some point, but I woke up feeling amazing. I was in the shower today and I noticed something different, really different. I knew I’d been gaining weight, but this is actual shape. A certain rotund quality has come to my belly and I saw later to my face. Yeah, I feel a little self-conscious, but at the same time, I feel like I’m actually ‘blooming.’ I am ‘blooming.’ It’s exhilarating to watch my son as he tries in vain to turn onto his tummy while rubbing the ever-protruding bump under my shirt

I’m someone’s mother. I’m two someones’ mother. I can’t help but, wonder about the little life growing so tenuously at the center of me. The complications haven’t left my head and I worry. I was scared at first. No, actually, I was terrified. I was pregnant and in college with a boyfriend who I wasn’t sure would (and didn’t) stand by me. Not to mention, my father is the President of the United States. I could’ve dealt with that if only that last thing weren’t so, but these people haven’t left me alone. They add to the stress of an already strenuous pregnancy. I want this baby now, there is no doubt about that. And my father is definitely excited. I’m sure that my mother would be if she knew with any kind of certainty. I would love for her to know, but it simply can’t be helped for the moment, therefore, there’s no more sense in thinking about it.

January 21: I took Noah to the park today. I won’t be making that a large habit again. I just wanted to be outside and study and rest, but as soon as we settled down on the grass, we were overcome by press and for a second I lost Noah. I also slipped and fell, which hurt like serious hell. I was hysterical because I was hurting and my son was missing. I started freaking out completely until some agent placed and squalling Noah in my arms and herded me towards my car at breakneck pace. I think I lost a few of my textbooks. It’s not like I needed them anyway. They were only all I had to study with.

It’s okay, though. I just had my agents replace them. They did however show up on Ebay this evening. Somebody bought them for two hundred dollars. There are stupid people in the world and I’m pretty sure I know some of them.

I have to go back to the doctor tomorrow, because when I fell I fell on my stomach and something I landed on left an ugly bruise on me. It may be absolutely nothing, but I just want to be sure. Complications, complications…

And no, that’s not a joke.

January 22: I cross my legs for what has to be the fourth time as I wait for my doctor to show up. I cannot comment enough on the discomfort of these paper gowns. My ass will be stuck to this bed. I hate doctors’ offices.

It’s bad enough that he has to be all in the baby-making organs. But I have to wait for him in a paper gown. That’s what I call two-parts embarrassing, one part Mom!

I rub the baby a little to give my little one their daily dose of attention. I wonder where the head is right now. Or the feet. Maybe I’ll find out today.

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I stare at the grainy black and green picture of my baby in a new kind of awe. He was checking out fetal development and asked if I wanted to get an early picture. I was game. And here we are with this little picture of my child. It’s too early to determine a gender, but I know it’ll be a girl. I just know.

Fetal development is fine, but we seem to be piling on the complications. I’m currently being monitored for Placenta Previa, Preeclampsia, hypertension, and gestational diabetes. All of which has led me to the conclusion that I won’t be having anymore children anytime soon. Definitely not.

But as I look at this picture and can hear my son waking up from his nap (what I call the time he sleeps from 6 p.m. to 9), I know that she will be worth it. I stare at the ceiling for a few more seconds before rolling off the bed to tend to my son’s needs.

I take the sonogram with me so that I can introduce Noah to his baby sister. He’s gonna have to get used to not being the only baby in the house anymore.

Yeah, it’s gonna be the teething thing all over again.

January 23: Mom took me to lunch today. Daddy had Noah. I heard they took a trip to the Sit Room. Anyway, Mom spent the whole lunch giving me the third-degree about my health. Apparently, my many doctor visits had gotten back to her. Not surprising.

I, of course, could tell her nothing and did tell her nothing. I told her to give me a while. I’m going to have to tell her before I tell everybody, right? Yeah, I thought so.

My father agrees. He hasn’t pressured me about it, but he is concerned about our relationship after all this. Me, too. So, today I gave her a little hint…

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“Mom, are you in the mood for more grandchildren?” My mother’s raised eyebrows make me snort my vanilla-strawberry shake.

“What?”

“How about a granddaughter? Would that be good?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I think you could use another granddaughter.” Mom blinks and holds up a hand to keep me from continuing.

“What are you saying?” She leans in close to me and lowers her voice. “Zoey, are you pregnant?” I lean back and paste a shocked look on my face.

“Me? Where would you get an idea like that?”

“The signs, Zoey. They’re all there. Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because, I can’t yet.” I rest my hand on top of hers. “But you can shop for me and hound Daddy to death if you want. I can’t tell you, but he can.” She gives me a skeptical look.

“Can he, now?” I nod. “Well, I shall do so.” She looks both ways before asking. “So, a granddaughter?” I shrug coyly.

“Granddaughter, what granddaughter? Who’s pregnant?”

“I have no idea.”

“I bet you don’t.” We share a smile. I see the concern in my mother’s eyes and I understand that she just wants to be here for me during this. I appreciate it, but for now, I’m gonna keep on going it alone until I can’t anymore. It gives me strength enough just knowing that she‘s with me. Because I’ve got miles to go before I sleep and I’m going to need all the help that I can get to see this through.

And just in case He’s listening…

A miracle couldn’t hurt.

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