Three pounds

Three pounds.

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around how small that really is.

Three bricks of Eversweet butter for my Newfie friends. Just better than a bag of sugar for you mainlanders.

But how small of a person would that be?

Kate was 4 lbs 7 oz when she made her entrance into the world. And, as awful as this is to admit, I thought she looked like a rat. Yes, yes – I was passed over for the annual mother of the year award – hard to believe isn’t it?

What would a person a whole pound less than that look like?

I’ve looked it up online – but pictures don’t seem to have the “compare and contrast” feature that I’m looking for. They’ve got these wee little beings in a glass box and it’s not like they’ve put in a standard ruler or something to compare them to. So I’m left wondering.

I know it’s small.

Heck, Kate was smaller than a baby doll and her first diapers were about the size of a folded Kleenex. When she cried it sounded like a kitten. But she was positively gigantic compared to her baby sister.

But how much smaller will her baby sister be?

And before you pull a husband and say – it’s a pound smaller, Louise. Imagine a sharp kick to the shin and let’s move on.

It looks like we’re going to find out just what someone that small looks like.

The probability of her going to term has been removed from the realm of all possibility. The absolute furthest we’re going is another four weeks and the OB guesses that it’ll be closer to two.

The fluid is low, still in the “normal” range – but at the lower end. So now I’m going to be visiting the hospital twice a week for ultrasounds and God know what other tests.

My blood pressure is up. If you’ve met me – you know how sarcastic I am so you can imagine my reaction when the nurse looked at me and said, “Oh, your blood pressure is up,” like it was the strangest thing in the universe.

It’s a miracle the top of my head didn’t completely blow off. But I managed to stay perfectly calm and say – “well it’s been a rough week”, all while fighting the urge to smack the stupid right out of her head. I should be nominated for an Academy Award.

I’m trying to stay calm. I’m fighting to stay positive. I’m willing her to grow and be healthy. I’m praying that’s she’s safe. I’m struggling to be strong. I’m hoping for a miracle. But mostly I’m scared to death.

Scared that she’s not really safer in than out. Scared that she’ll have to spend extensive time in the NICU. Scared that she’ll not be strong like Kate. Scared that she’ll be too much like Kate. The list is endless.

I wish I had something to distract me, something to engage my brain so I can stop the gerbil wheel from spinning out of control. Because, at the moment, I feel the world trying to slip sideways on me and I can’t for the life of me seem to stop it.