For Justice

I’m taking a break from telling y’all about our trip to DC because I just need to encourage a friend.  And I need for her to see in a very public way how much she is loved.  My dear friend is staring down brokenness in a sad way and I want so much to have just the right words to take all of her pain away.
 

But I just can’t. 

I have no idea what she is feeling or going through.  And, unfortunately, my own experiences with brokenness tell me that much of life’s adversity is like the children’s book Going on a Bear Hunt—you can’t go over it, you can’t go under it, you just have to go through it.  At some point in all of our lives, if we’re lucky enough to love to the point we risk our hearts being shattered, we all must take our turn walking through the valley of the shadow of death. 

And so I offer to her, and to you, my dear reader, the only thing I know to be true:  there can be no resurrection without a crucifixion.  There is no way to get to the glory of Easter morning without first stopping in the bloody pain of Good Friday.

When I first entered the hospital with Henry, there were many doubts.  We didn’t know whether I would live to see the next day, whether Henry would make it, or would events unfold that left Sloan and I making difficult decisions when we were just emotionally raw and grasping at the faith we were struggling to maintain. 

For some reason, every time I tried to pray I found myself speechless.  Words simply could not come.  Instead, when I shut my eyes, I could hear a little voice inside me, randomly, asking me the first question of the Heidelberg Catechism-- Christian, what is your only comfort in life and in death?  That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.  He has fully ­­­ paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.  He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven: in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.  Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him. 

The simple fact that I could remember it verbatim was certainly not because I once memorized it in Seminary but Divine intervention.  (Seeing as I could NOT remember all of it on the day of my final exam.  Nor could I remember all of it now.   Thank you, Google.)  So instead of praying, I just over and over reminded myself that I belonged.  That I’d been set free.  That I was being watched over and that my and Henry’s seemingly being at death’s door was not because God had taken a nap or was too busy fretting over events in the Middle East. 

The next day, our Pastor came to visit us.  He asked me how he could specifically be praying for our family.  He didn’t seem to be saying, “How can I and the staff be praying for you,” rather he was just my spiritual leader gently asking what I thought I needed.  Sloan asked for wisdom, for healing, to make it through the weekend alive.  I asked that I’d be able to stay in the hospital for a good long while.  He confessed that was the first time he’d ever heard that request.  And then, quietly, almost as an afterthought, I asked him to pray that I wouldn’t believe the lies that were loitering about my heart and mind.

Right then and there, he took my hand and began to pray aloud.  He prayed that I would know that Jesus was for me.  That Jesus adored me.  That Henry and I were precious to God.  He prayed for God to give me the faith to trust in Him and the strength to not believe every lie coming at me.  He prayed for me to have a soft heart, a heart that would not become brittle or bitter from having suffered.  He prayed for me to believe that God was good despite all present evidence to the contrary.

So this, my darling friend, is what I pray for you.  For you to not believe the lies.  I trust that somewhere deep down you know what is true about yourself—that you are lovely, and strong, and smart, and funny, and a great friend, a great Mom, and a great writer.  But I also want you, as we enter into Easter, to believe what is true about God—He is for you and you are not facing this brokenness alone.

God is not foreign to being let down.  Just tonight Henry and I were talking about how when Jesus asked his best friends to pray for him and be with him because he was grieving and they took a nap.  (To which, Henry said, “They slept in a garden.  That’s so silly.”)  Jesus knows what it is like to be betrayed.  He knows the cost of a broken heart, of unrequited love.   It is for this very thing that Jesus died. 

You are loved.  You are cherished.  Your name is written on his hand.  

I don't like new people. Oh well.

With the year anniversary of my going into the hospital, God has really been working in my heart. As I've written before, I've been struggling with the seeming randomness of His blessings and grace and wondering a) how in the heck did I get through it, and b) what about all the other women with similar stories.

Last night I was praying and pondering what I could do. I've been working on a book about all of the blessings God showed us throughout our infertility, misscarriage, and difficult pregnancy, but have been plagued by the remoteness of it coming to fruition and my love for procrastination. I was thinking that I could take baskets to women in the hospital like I did for the woman at my church--full of soft toilet paper, bendy straws and post-it notes--but then I remembered that, as a general rule, I don't like meeting new people. I pretty much assume that if I don't know you, there's probably a good reason for it. After all, I'm like a wet sponge. Saturated.

So today, for Valentine's day, Henry and I went to pay a visit to my nurses on 3 West at Henrico Doctor's hospital. I took them goodies and we laughed about how many things I had up on my walls and how no one was allowed to visit me when Guiding Light was on. How there were pictures from my nieces and nephews everywhere. They said they'd used my making up of a schedule and adhering to it as encouragement for many patients and I confessed that it wasn't the schedule that got me through it, but God and God's good use of them and my doctors.

Then a nurse told me that she had a patient there that had been admitted at 23 weeks (exactly when I went in) a couple of days ago, and that she was pretty down and scared and would I be willing to talk to her. Before I'd even had time to think that I'd be talking to someone I don't know I said yes and I was pushing Henry's stroller into a hospital room.

I met this women who like me, had her feet high up in the air. She was very thankful to see me and asked me tons of questions. We talked about my schedule, how I had billions of pillows, the best way to cut meat with one hand, bed pans, hospital food, greasy hair, the fear of losing your child, the nurses, ultrasounds, meds, basically everything that I went through. We laughed. And then all of the sudden I was talking about how being in the hospital was a blessing. That it was hard--but what the enemy meant for harm has made me a better mom, a better wife, a better listener. I told her how just knowing that it was God's plan for my family didn't make going through it any physically easier, but it gave me peace. And I told her that I thought to have a sense of humor about it all was a gift from God too. That I thought that when the Bible talks about the fruit of the Spirit, the reason peace is listed after joy is because joy is how we get to peace. And then I asked her if I could pray for her and I did!

And I am planning on taking her a basket of goodies next week. And I'm looking forward to it.

I got the contact information for the head nurse at Henrico Dr's Hospital and am going to contact her about getting permission to make and deliver baskets to women waiting on bedrest. I would have my contact information in the basket and also tell the women to let their nurses know if they would be okay with a visit from me. (While I do have a heart for these women, I also don't want to barge in on strangers who are stuck in bed and can't get away from me unless I'm invited in.) And I've contacted the pastors at my church to see if they would partner with me by asking if other women want to joing me and gathering donations of things to put in baskets and the baskets themselves.

My aim in all of this is to glorify God by: a) encouraging pregnant women on bedrest by meeting some of their physical and emotional needs, b) providing hope and humor in a difficult time by sharing my story of God's faithfulness to me, and c) establishing relationships with these women and praying for their babies to be healthy and to come to term. I do not see this as a door to door evangelism project. In fact, the thought of that makes my skin itchy. Rather, I see it as me providing some practical ways to make their hospital stay's easier. I think if this is done, God will do the rest.

Who knew I'd get excited about meeting new people? What is God thinking?!?

A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall

One of Sloan and my favorite songs is Bob Dylan's "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" and it has been a hard rain kind of falling week for me. Sadness mixed with poetry mixed with hope. Just full of those things that haunt you. Mainly it has been a week to reflect on the mercy of God, His goodness to our family, and the seeming randomness of it all. In a nutshell, the complexity of God's grace.

It was about a year ago this week (February 16th, to be exact) that we went to the doctor's expecting a routine ultrasound only to find out that I was in labor, 4 cm dialated, and would be admitted to the hospital. I was 23 weeks pregnant and so full of fear. I remember asking my friend Joe to pray for God's will to be done, because that just wasn't something I could do. If it was God's will to take Henry home, that I wanted no part of it. I wanted my way, my son, my life back. That was my heart that first day.

The next day, no less fearful, but I suppose more composed our pastor came to see us. Teary eyed, I remember telling him that the night before, for some unknown reason, all I could do was say over and over in my head the first question and answer to the Heidelburg cathechism (thank God for Seminary classes forcing me to memorize it). Question: What is your only comfort, in life and in death? Answer: That I belong--body and soul, in life and in death--not to myself but to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ, who at the cost of his own blood has fully paid for all my sins and has completely freed me from the dominion of the devil; that he protects me so well that without the will of of my Father in heaven not a hair can fall from my head; indeed, that everything must fit his purpose for my salvation. Therefore, by his Holy Spirit, he also assures me of eternal life, and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him. (The simple fact that I remembered this at all is truly a work of the Holy Spirit as I've always been a day before the exam crammer!)

But over and over I couldn't shake the truth of this--that no matter what may happen--I belong to Christ and nothing, not even the loss of a child, can shake that. And that led to me realizing that because of God's promises to me, Henry, although too small even to be born yet, was God's too. That Henry's only comfort in life and death was, would be, and is that he belongs body and soul to Jesus Christ. And then I knew that to hold onto something that tightly, even the very life of your child, is harmful. Not because life isn't precious or a miracle, but because it is a gift. No--not even a gift--a loan. Henry doesn't and has never belonged to me. I've never belonged to my family, my husband. We're on loan and at some point in time, we will return home.

So I asked our pastor, Steve, to pray that I would remember the truth. Of course to pray for the safety and health of Henry, but that no matter what, I would not forget that God is for me and loves me. Truefully, I think getting over the loss of a child would be easier than getting over believing that you've been forsaken by God. I don't want to trivialize that loss--but to believe that God doesn't love you? Where does that leave you? Without hope in the hard rain.

More introspection came also this week as I left Henry in the nursery at my Bible Study for the first time. About 20 minutes later, as I'm trying to lead my group, I'm crying because I miss him so much. Not because I'm worried about him or concerned he's unhappy (he was having a blast and didn't miss me at all!), just because I missed his smile, smell, touch, laugh. And then I started crying more because if I, a flawed, self-absorbed human, missed my son this much in just 20 minutes, How much more must God love me and miss me when I ignore him? Or how much more must God love me if He gave his only son to die in my place? No way in heck would I even let Henry go for an hour just to help people who are mean to me, much less let him suffer on their behalf.

It has also been a difficult week as an aquaintance of mine was recently hospitalized during her pregnancy. Henry and I went to visit her and take a basket full of goodies--mints, post-its, gossip magazines, soft toilet paper, lotion--basically all of the stuff I learned I needed in the hospital. I tried to encourage her and to let her know that despite all of my good humor and laughter at peeing in a bed pan, it is a difficult and scary time. Two days later, at 23 weeks, she delivered her baby girl. Her daughter did not make it through the day.

I am haunted by this. I hold Henry tight, smother him with kisses, and cry at the pain her family must be feeling and wonder why God chose to loan us Henry longer. I dance with him until he starts trying to wriggle away, constantly singing John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy." I want to scream at the top of my lungs, "Lord, I'm grateful, but I don't understand!"

And I don't have to understand. The truth is--God loves this grieving family. Desperately. His heart aches for them and is near to them in their sorrow. It is also true that this sadness was part of His perfect plan for them, and also, knowing them, feeling this ache--for me as well. How do I manage to put these two things together? I don't know. Life isn't a puzzle; the pieces don't always match.

All I know is that a hard rain is falling and I'm ever so grateful I belong, in body and soul, to Him.

Big Wheels Keep on Turning

A lot has happened today. For starters, I'm pretty sure Henry is having a growth spurt. In fact, if I think my belly is twice as big today as it was yesterday. The masseuse even commented on how it looked like Henry has grown since Friday. So maybe he weighs around 6 lbs by now? Henry has also enjoyed snuggling in uncomfortable positions all day long making my back hurt like crazy. Add this to the fact that I'm uber tired and unbearably hungry, (and having hot flashes), and I've been pretty whiny. Apparently, most pregnant women have swelling in their ankles, but bedridden pregnant women have their swelling in their back. So this makes my back even more uncomfortable. But the end is in sight...

I got new privileges today as I'm 34 weeks tomorrow. I get to take wheelchair rides for 30 minutes to an hour a day and now get showers every other day. Yippee! The plan (at this time) is at 35 weeks to give me some walking around privileges. At 36 weeks I would have no restrictions but would need to stay here for a couple of days to work on my strength. (This is important seeing as just sitting up to eat gets me winded and lightheaded.) At 37 weeks, Dr. Murray said she would send me home with an induction scheduled for 38 weeks. So my prayers have changed. Again. When I first got here it was that Henry would stay put for as long as possible. Then, as he has grown larger, it has been that he would enter the world as soon as soon as his lungs and innards were ready. Now my prayer is that he'll give me at least a couple of days of sleeping in my own bed and setting up some things at home.

For today's wheelchair ride, I took a tour of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (the NICU) and spoke with a Neonatologist. I was very encouraged. Apparently, Henry has about a 15% chance of having immature lungs and that all of the scary long term issues have subsided. He said that there is even the possibility that Henry could bypass the NICU entirely and go straight to the Progressive Care Nursery (which is the step between the NICU and the regular Newborn nursery.) Tomorrow, Sloan and I are planning on taking a tour of the PCN.

Once it rains and some of the pollen washes away, I hope to wheel around some outside.

Yummy Weekend and Happy 6th birthday Joshua!

This past weekend rocked. Maybe it was opening lots of gifts, eating cake, cookies, brownies, shrimp, Turtle Chex mix, and the like (which, by the way, did not mess with my blood sugar). Maybe it was blow drying my hair, wearing real clothes and make up for the first time. Maybe it was all the hugs and kisses from my brother's kids. Maybe it was my friend Stef flying all the way in from Dallas to surprise me. Who knows? Probably some strange mix of all of the above.

I am getting antsy for Henry to be born. I figure at the longest now it will only be four more weeks from Tuesday. May 22nd to be exact. 38 weeks. I have certainly earned my elective induction card and the earliest my OB/GYN will do it is then. But mainly I am excited about giving him kisses and cuddles. And I want to sleep in my own bed. Yeah, I know that Henry won't let me sleep for long. I think Sloan is looking forward to playing Legos with Henry when he gets older. We bought Joshua some Star Wars Legos for his birthday and Sloan saw a Legos kit that lets you build the entire Bat Cave and now he wants it. I said, "So what you're saying is that in about 4 years I'm going to lose you and Henry every Saturday to Legos?" Sloan said, "How come just Saturdays?"

I'm a Big Kid Now!

I just got back from my pelvic exam and I have stayed the same!!!! This is precisely what the doctor was hoping for and we are both very excited about the news. She gave me a choice between an extra shower a week or potty privileges and I chose potty privileges. I am very excited. I also now get to sit up to eat my meals. Rock on!!!

Potty privileges also means I get to...brush my teeth without a nurse bringing me my toothbrush and spit into a sink rather than a cup... wash my face with something other than a baby wipe...wear shoes occasionally...look in the mirror...not talk to my friends who visit over a bucket of pee...and, possibly the most important of all, FLUSH!

33 Weeks

Today I am 33 weeks pregnant. I have been at the hospital for 61 days. Henry is doing well and is very active. It is very funny to watch my belly gyrate as he wiggles around. I have my next pelvic exam on Thursday. Dr. Murray says she is hoping that things will have stayed the same. If I have remained stable, then I should get bathroom privileges and possibly a couple of wheelchair rides next week. She even offered an afternoon trip outside on a pretty day, however, I confessed that seeing as this is the first spring in recent memory during which I've been able to breathe, I'd rather not sit out in the pollen factory.

I have been watching a lot of the coverage regarding the massacre at Virginia Tech. I have been horrified by both the senseless violence and the idiotic responses of so many outsiders. For example, there was this yahoo from Radford at one of the press conferences who kept asking if the police knew if anything like this was going to happen in future. What? Or how come no one tried to jump on the shooter because that is what he would've done. Sure you would have, hero. I also don't know why so many news outlets found the silliest students they could find who simply spread rumors they heard from a friend whose friend was on campus and heard from their girlfriend that people were scared. I'm also confused as to anyone honestly believes that they could have shut down the university right after the 911 call and how they would've suggested doing this. I remember college and I'm pretty sure that I rarely was awake that early in the morning and if I was by some unfortunate event awake before 10 am, I wasn't checking anything for news coverage. And were they really expecting the doctor's to release the names of the victims and discuss their injuries?

My phlebotomist this morning exemplifies this stupidity. She believes that really the shooting may be a government conspiracy. That we should have some sort of way of communicating with people because what if this was a terrorist attack. That Universities should have a police presence at all times with guns and that teachers should have been calling their students. I said, "so you mean you want to live in a police state with a giant phone tree?"

I do not mean to sound jaded, it is simply that I cannot stand that more people are concerned with placing blame on those who have done nothing but work their butts off to help the victims than on facing the fact that everyday we are confronted with evil and the person to blame for this tragedy is the shooter. We live in a broken world and if we forget this we are fooling ourselves. And yet, the fact that an elderly Holocaust victim gave his life placing himself between the shooter and several students tells me that despite the evil abbounding, God is at work amongst us.

Two and a Half hours I'll never get back

Sloan and I had a relatively uneventful weekend. I had a massage and we watched movies.

FYI--Do NOT rent the movie Marie Antoinette. It was excruciatingly slow. I will say that at least it was a pretty movie. Great period costumes and shots of Versailles. In the two months I've been on bed rest in the hospital, I can honestly say that watching this movie was the first time I was bored. The high point of the movie was when someone said, "Your Highness--the people have taken the Bastille." I said to Sloan, "Oh, praise God! They'll be dead soon!"

We did, however, redeem the weekend by watching Father Goose. Leave it to Cary Grant to save the day. If you haven't seen it, it is one of his last films and is very cute.

My Son Has Given Me Wings

My days are pretty boring these days. This is a good thing. My doctor says that you want to be interesting at a cocktail party but boring at the hospital. So I thought I'd give you a look at what is roughly my daily schedule.

6am--The nurses come in for my first dose of Nephedipene of the day and to test my blood sugar. (This keeps me from having contractions.) In order to get this med, they take my vitals as my blood pressure has to be 90 over 60. Lots of times my pressure is too low, but I've found that laying on my back usually raises it just enough. My low blood pressure is also one of the reasons the Dr's are hesitant for me to move around a lot. The low blood pressure is a side effect of the Nephedipene. We also listen to Henry at this time. I fall back asleep after this.
7-7:30--Dr. Murray makes her rounds. (She usually arrives around 10 minutes after I fall back asleep.)
8am--Usually by the time I fall back asleep, the nurse comes back in with my Heparin shot (to prevent blood clots). I get the shot in my belly and it is a good day when Henry doesn't kick me while I get my shot. I also get my breakfast at this time and tune into the Today Show for my daily dose of Al Roker.
9:15-9:45ish--I get my blood sugar tested again an hour after I finish eating. I also usually get put on the monitor for my hour long Non-Stress Test where they check for contractions and fetal heartrate. When the sound of Henry's heart beating doesn't lull me to sleep, I press a button every time I feel him move. The nurses always comment in hoe beautiful Henry's strip is.
10-11--Live with Regis and Kelly. Finish my NST. Bathe and get dressed for the day.
12--Lunch and then an hour later, my blood sugar gets tested. I usually get online at this time or sleep.
2--Time again for my vitals and Nephedipine.
3--Guiding Light and playing on the computer.
4--Ellen.
5--Dinner and then an hour later--blood sugar tested and MASH on the Hallmark Channel.
8--Another Heparine shot in the belly and either NBC or HGTV. Play with my Webkinz online.
10--Vitals, Nephedipene, listen to Henry and pray that I only get up to pee a couple of times in the night.

Occasionally I pull out my little hand mirror and check out my ever growing belly. In the past few days, I can see that Henry has both grown and found himself an odd position. I look like I have wings underneath my ribs. Dr. Murray tells me it is his butt on my right and his feet (which she guesses must be big like his Daddy's) on my left. It is really quite one of the oddest things I've ever seen.

I think I'm Gonna Puke

So I made it to 32 weeks! I feel a bit like a kid learning to swim. I doggy paddle to Mommy and then Mommy takes three steps back. First the goal was 28 weeks. Then 30. Then 32. Now 34. But I'm excited to have made it this far.

Sloan and I celebrated by eating PF Chang's and I ate way too much. About halfway through my lemon pepper shrimp I said, "Ugh. I'm full, but it tastes so good." I even ate so much that my blood sugar was a bit high. I'm now nursing feeling grotesque and bloated with a Diet Ginger Ale. I'm so full an hour later that I'm a bit winded. From eating. It is like Henry's heiny and my giant lettuce wrap filled stomach have moved into the neighborhood where my lungs used to live.

Happy 12th Birthday Caleb!

First, I want to send a big birthday shout out to my nephew, Caleb. Happy Birthday!

I am in much better spirits today. I spoke with Dr. Murray and she had thought I had been only having 2 showers a week thus far and wanted me to go back to that. When I told her, no, I'd been having three a week since week 27, she gave me back my third shower. So today, I have smooth legs and clean curly hair. She also has given me strict orders to eat cake at my baby shower in two weeks.

Dietary has also been getting my meals correct today. Usually about three times a week my meal gets messed up and they send me something carborific and slathered in sugar that I can't eat. Well, adding fuel to the fire yesterday was that every meal was messed up. And when they send the wrong thing it usually takes about 45 minutes for my nurse to remind the cafeteria of my order and then receive. And I've always been snippy when hungry and pregnancy doesn't help. So at 6:45 last night, when she brought my correct dinner, the cafeteria worker tried to explain to me how it was my fault my meals were messed up.

"Maybe you don't understand how to fill out the menu or how it works. Are you new?"
"Umm, no. I've been here 2 months."
"Wow. That's a long time."
"Yeah. And I figure it's about time for y'all to get my meals right."
"You are filling them out wrong. Even though the first day is Sunday, we don't look at it until Monday so the Sunday is actually next Sunday."
I paused. "Hmm. First of all, that is asinine--which means it's stupid. In the Western Hemisphere, we read from top to bottom and left to right. You have Sunday at the beginning of this menu. If you mean for Monday to be the beginning of the week, Monday should be at the top. Secondly, by your backwards logic, I should be receiving today last week's menu's Sunday's meals." I pull out that menu. "This is not what you sent. I'm diabetic. I'd never order French Toast with maple syrup. Or macaroni and cheese."
"Oh. Well. You need to learn to write the menu."
Now, in my mind, I want to say to her Listen you greasy haired tongue ringed cafeteria worker, I've been stuck here in bed for 2 months. You work in the cafeteria. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who is at fault here. Instead I said, "Um, no. I don't think it's that."

Yeah, I know. It wasn't very Christian of me. But it felt great to be a bit snippy. I also finally cracked open my bar of Sugar Free Dark Chocolate. It rocked! So if you happen to be at Westbury Pharmacy and see the GuyLian fine Belgian dark chocolate No Sugar Added--feel free to bring me some chocolate. Studies show that dark chocolate reduces your risk for heart attacks, strokes, and in my case, mental breakdowns.

Who's Your Daddy?

Today was a good day. My fingernails and toes are lovely. I felt a bit like a celebrity having the manicurist come to me. And since I was admitted to the hospital on the day she shaved her head, I liken myself to Britney. In rehab maybe. Except not so trashy. My toenails are OPI Red and my fingernails are a nude pink called "Who's Your Daddy?" I picked it for the name alone. In honor of Britney.

I also have once again fallen completely in love with Sloan. He is adorable. He calls me regularly, gasping, "I need my wife!" And after much TV watching, I've found a TV dad that reminds me of my wonderful man. They both adore their wives, are funny, and fabulous daddies to their kids--the perfect combination of silly and strict. So those are their similarities. But there are differences as well, which I'll give you as clues so you can guess who is Sloan's act-a-like. #1. Bad sweaters. #2. Sloan is white. #3. Sloan is not an OB. That's right--I'm married to Cliff Huxtable!!! Sloan took this as a a compliment. I mean who doesn't like Bill Cosby!!

Yeah for Grooming

What's a sure thing to perk a girl up? A MANI-PEDI!!! After spending much time trying to organize my spa services, the day has finally come for me to do bed rest in style with a manicure and pedicure. So please, no calls tomorrow at 3:30.

It was interesting to explain my predicament to the girl at the Spa who is coming. She was concerned about massaging my legs and so I decided to let the sweet girl in on a few things. I said, "Um, yeah that's fine--but just know that I can't get out of bed." She seemed to be okay with that. Is it bad that I didn't explain that I only shave my legs now on Mondays and that I can't even do that very well? Or is it worse that I didn't tell her that I don't wear pants?

Should be interesting.

Deflated

No new privileges.

My cervix is still dilated. In fact, I'm about a cm more dilated than last week at 2.3 cm. So I'm on my head for at least another week. But Henry is doing well. He appears larger (they didn't do measurements) and also does not appear to have much hair yet. And he is quite the wiggler.

29 weeks...

I am still waiting for Dr. Troyer to stop by to give me an ultrasound. Dr. Murray (my regular OB/GYN) stopped by and applauded me for my low blood sugar and Henry's activity level. Apparently, I am her star patient. She did, however, tell me she'd be prescribing physical therapy and suggesting a nanny for helping me with Henry as I will be very weak from having been in bed for months. I'm a little bit sad about this as I'm not going to want to share Henry with anyone and also with the realization that I'm going to be too weak to take care of him on my own.

On a different note, I've had the opportunity to watch a bunch of baby having TV shows and every time the parents always say, "We just want our child to be happy." Maybe I'm reading to much into this or have become a cynic, but I just think this is a dumb thing to single out as the ONE thing you want for your child. Is this me being oversensitive or is this really an unrealistic expectation shaped by a hedonist and impatient culture? If I had to pick ONE thing for Henry--it sure as heck wouldn't be happiness. I think it would be for him to know he is loved. And then maybe for him to be honest and to have a sense of humor. Seems to me you'd be better off wishing a character trait for your child, because, let's face it--happiness is too dependent on outside circumstances. And there are so many things so much better than happy--joyful, hilarious, proud, satisfied. OK, I feel a bit like Tobey MacGuire in the movie Pleasantville right now.

Sure, I'd love for Henry to be happy, but wouldn't wishing him patience serve him better? Sloan and I know better than most that Tom Petty is right--waiting is the hardest part.

Happy Birthday Stef!

How 'bout them VCU Rams?!! Let's go TARHEELS!

Oh, how I love Fridays! I've had a massage, a shower, and Sloan will be here all weekend!! And I spent the whole morning napping.

I have now been in the hospital for one month. All the doctors are pleasantly surprised that I have kept labor at bay this long. They keep telling me that I'm doing a great job. I suppose that all of my lolling prior to my admission to the hospital was just training for the serious lolling I'm doing now. I have, however, become quite the self-sufficient patient. I've mastered the bedpan, moving my bed up and down, maneuvering my 8 pillows without any falling on the floor, and I do all of this with my bed tilted to a 30 degree angle.

Missing Carbs and my doctors

Yesterday's ultrasound went well. My fluids are fine; Henry is wonderful (he now weighs 2 lbs 10 oz), and my cervix is still dilated 1.5 cm. However, because both my doctors (the obstetrician and the maternal-fetal medicine specialist) are on Spring Break--the doctors covering me this week do not feel comfortable giving me any new privileges. One of the nurses said, "So, I hear they may let you up to go to the bathroom." I said, "Um, yeah, I started that rumor." So it is with great anticipation that Henry and I await the return of Drs. Murray and Troyer.

I also have been doing well with my finger pricks and blood sugar. But I desperately miss carbs, drinking the whole carton of milk, fruit, and regular Coke. I don't think I realized how sugar and carb heavy the hospital diet was until now. Basically when I have a snack I get to choose between cheese cubes and cheese cubes. But I love my cheese, so at least I'm not lactose intolerant.

Hee Hee and Willie Wonka

Sloan and I had a relaxing weekend. We watched this really groovy Lamaze video. First of all, this DVD was obviously dubbed from a VHS tape made in the late 70s/early 80s. Seondly, basically everyone--women and men--had mullets and short shorts on. There also was a man who looked just like Billie Dee Williams. Nothing like child labor with Lando Calrissian. Sloan and I decided that it actually is a good thing we couldn't take this class in person as we are not mature enough. The instructor said things like..."Concentrate on your special place"..."Stroke it out"...and "You can use both hands." When she started teaching one of the breathing techniques and said "Make the pattern hee hee blow" Sloan and I just lost it.

Sloan is the best husband in the whole world. This weekend he brought me clean laundry, helped the nurse change my linens, watched HGTV with me, hung up pictures in my room, fetched me water, and even helped empty and clean my bedpan. He even sung the Willie Wonka song each time he did this because the gloves they use in my room are blue and look like Johnny Depp's gloves. He certainly is my favorite.

My Son and My Elephant Rock (27 weeks)

My usual Tuesday ultrasound got postponed until today and Dr. Troyer was very pleased. My amniotic fluid is perfectly fine. Sweet Henry has plenty of room to wiggle around in. He currently weighs 2 lbs 5 oz and is is the average 27 week size in all of his measurements, save for his femur bones which are average for a 28 week old. So he will be tall like his wonderful daddy. He even posed perfectly for us and I have some new profile pictures. My cervix is also looking better; I am now roughly only 1.3 cm dilated. Dr. Troyer said she felt like she won the lottery with my ultrasound. Because of this, I'm going to only 1 ultrasound a week and I get to have three 2 minute seated showers a week.

Today I also had the nurse rearrange my room. My left hip had begun to bruise from laying on it all the time, so they moved me so that I can see the TV from either side. Very exciting.

I've also become addicted to my Webkinz, Elliot Reid. I've started decorating his room, playing in the arcade, feeding him, jewel hunting, and he even gets a job to do everyday.

A big shout out to my sister, Sonya, my niece, Rachel, and my friend Blair for working in Henry's nursery and hanging his curtains.

Hitting the Wall

It finally happened. This past weekend I decided that it sort of sucks to be in the hospital. Mainly I just miss Sloan. I balled my eyes out last night when he left to go home, clutching at him begging him to stay. My parents were also in town over the weekend which seemed to stress me out from disrupting my routine.

I have also decided to become crotchety. Not mean, per se, but I've come to the conclusion that I don't have the energy to lay on my head while trying to not go into labor and try to please everybody. I have begun to play the "because I'm in the hospital trying to keep my son alive card" without guilt. Basically this means I no longer feel compelled to entertain my guests other than offering them a chair and a Twizzler. I'm pretty sure that this is healthy.
I also think that my breakdown could have been from Al Roker withdrawal. This morning he was on Paradise Island tubing and swimming with dolphins. Bonus points for Al for giving me the weather whilst wearing a wet suit!

Sloan and I are also proud to announce the adoption of our Webkinz Elephant, Elliot Reid. My brother's children sent the adorable stuffed Internet pet to me and came up with the name Elliot. We added the Reid in honor of Dr. Elliot Reid on the TV show Scrubs, except our Elliot Reid is a boy. I went to the website to register him today and played some games with him, all of which were too difficult for me. (I am choosing to blame this on my lack on mouse and having to use my laptop's touch pad.)
Today I also tackled shaving my legs for the first time since being admitted. As I did it while laying in bed, it was quite a challenge.
Today I laughed because scientists are stupid. Apparently some Spanish scientists just learned that exercising is good for your lungs and last week, some other scientists came to the conclusion that American teens are self-centered. Next week I am expecting a study out of Canada to tell us that eating Asparagus makes your pee stink.