This rock will become a monument to grace

I had two miscarriages before I got pregnant with Henry.  When I made it to the 12 week mark, we finally exhaled.  We’d made it out of that “iffy” time of the first trimester safely.  Certainly it would be smooth sailing from there on out, right?

I was 14 weeks pregnant when after bathing the kids for whom I nannied, I noticed my pants were soaked.  I figured the kids splashing had gotten me and moved on.  But upon hanging up their towels, I saw that I was covered in blood.  Like my socks were wet.  My face went pale, I stumbled into the office of the dad.  I stuttered, “Umm…”  He took one look at me and said, “Go.  Go now.  I’ll call Sloan.”  

I drove to my doctor’s in a daze.  Within minutes I was in the ultrasound room, exhaling as I saw the tiny birdlike creature that was Henry safe and sound.  I had placenta previa and was put on modified bedrest.  At 18 weeks, it became apparent I had a weak cervix and was put on shots to help reduce my chances of preterm labor.  At 23 weeks and a day, I was 4 cm dialated and admitted to the hospital.  

We spoke with countless doctors covering all of our options.  If Henry was to be born this early, there would certainly be complications.  Words like “viability” and “quality of life” were tossed around.  Unbeknownst to me, our perinatologist asked Sloan in the event of an emergency whom was he supposed to save.  Both, he said.  You save them both.

At 34 weeks and a day, Henry arrived.  6 weeks early and not without some feeding difficulties, but within two weeks he was home safe and sound.

During Grace’s adoption, we were initially placed with a little girl whom we named Emma Sloan.  We’d met the birthmother and our little daughter.  I hired painters and had loads of dresses and bibs quickly monogrammed, Emma Sloan.  I’d begun to tell Henry about his new little sister Emma.  Heck, I’d even changed my facebook photo. But then, 8 days after Emma had been born, I received the most difficult call I’ve ever received.  In the commonwealth of Virginia, a birthmother has 10 days to reinstate her parental rights, and this is what Emma’s mom had done.  I literally fell to the floor in my kitchen like some bad Lifetime movie.

But then our case worker began telling us about M.  You see, my family had been this girl’s first choice, but we’d been unavailable.  Our case worker didn’t want to pressure us and certainly was not expecting an answer right away, but would we consider a placement with M?  Quickly, assuredly, I said No.  I just wanted to grieve.  I wanted to pack up all my teeny tiny pink things, set them on fire, and then throw myself a pity party.  I knew God had promised good to me, but this was NOT good.

I mean, we didn’t even start our adoption journey having our profile being open to all races!  We’d begun, like most other well meaning white people, being certain that if we were called to adopt across racial lines we’d know.  And we didn’t know, so we filled out that our profile should only be shown to Caucasian birthmothers.  We said we didn’t want to confuse Henry, were uncertain about our parents’ response, and were unfamiliar with cultural customs.  We said we didn’t want to have to be the poster family for adoption and go give speeches about it in churches.  (Ahem.)

And then, out of nowhere, I was putting our son to bed, praying the Lord’s Prayer, and I got stuck.  God’s word pierced my heart.  I began crying because I could not speak the words “On earth as it is in Heaven”.  It suddenly dawned on me that I had been called to adopt transracially…I’d just let that call go to voicemail.  

And thankfully, Jesus came for me.  He pursued my heart.  He showed me my sin was interfering with the grace he was so desperately trying to give me.  We soon switched our profile to include all races.

Which is a good thing, because that day in the kitchen, I saw firsthand how little that stuff matters.  Seeing me collapse, Sloan took the phone.  Our case worker told him all about M.  That her doctors had stated they would not allow the birthmother to parent the child, but Bethany could not find a family willing to accept this placement.

Sloan pragmatically told the case worker, “Let us pray.  Let us grieve.  But don’t rule us out just yet.  We will call you on Monday.”  I remember looking at him thinking, “What are you doing?  I don’t need to pray about this.”  Fortunately, I was too busy sobbing uncontrollably on the couch to voice this.  Sloan sat next to me and held me.  And through my tears, I heard that ridiculous pursuing love of Jesus speaking to me through my husband.  Sloan said, “For whatever reason, Emma was not our daughter.  I believe this girl is.  I’m afraid too, but we cannot allow our sin to get in the way of what God is doing.  Let’s do this.  Let’s love this girl.  Let’s be the ones to tell her that Jesus has not left her an orphan.”

We called the case worker back immediately.  After all, she was a baby without a Mommy and I was a Mommy without a baby.

This moment, this tender caress and soft conversation in my family room, is the dime upon which our marriage, our lives, and our relationships with Jesus turned.  It was like meeting Sloan for the first time and once again falling head over heels in love.  It was also the first time I understood that trusting Jesus didn’t mean I had to understand His plans.  Or even not be afraid of His plans. It simply meant that I had to take Him at His word—that He, not my child, not my spouse, not even our family’s health, was my security.  That it was the Risen Christ upon whom I was to hang my hopes and that this child was part of the good work prepared in advance for me.  

And so we chose to love her and through God’s mercy, our resolve turned into genuine joy.  Within hours of saying yes to baby M, we were talking to NICU nurses.  They told us of the great pain she was in.  That she was unable to settle down enough to eat or sleep.  That at this point, she was failing to thrive, and were we really certain we wanted her?  Livid, I told the nurse this wasn’t the SPCA, but my daughter she was talking about.  The first time I held that sweet child, she quieted.  She took 5 ounces of formula and drifted off to sleep as her Daddy whispered in her ear, “We are here for you, my sweet.  Jesus loves you.  Jesus is fighting for you, you needn’t fight anymore.”  

This is why we named her Grace.  Because despite all of my own sin, my hemming and hawing and excellent excuse making, God kept pursuing us, entreating us to trust Him, and to receive His good gift to us.   Despite our grief at the loss of Emma, we found true, deeply rooted joy.  And from the first time I held her, I was smitten.  

So it should not have been such a shock to me to learn this morning that there would be roadblocks in the pursuit of our third child.  On June 2^nd, we submitted our Letter of Intent to pursue the adoption of Charlie.  These typically get approved within a week.  Having not heard anything in awhile, I began to worry.  We returned home from vacation to a cryptic voicemail from our agency.  

I immediately began coming up with worst case scenarios.  Chin@ was going to deny our letter of intent.  They were not only going to deny our accepting the referral of Charlie, but were even going to say we couldn’t adopt from Chin@ at all.  Sloan assured me that this wouldn’t happen.  I snapped at him, “I need you to feed my crazy for just a minute.”  He laughed and said, “I will not.  That boy is our son.  End of story.”  

But then I realized that actually, the worst case scenario would NOT be if Chin@ rejected us, but if something happened to that little boy whose picture is on our mantle and is forever embossed on my heart.  Something that prohibited him from being adopted by anybody.

So to some degree, I was relieved this morning when I spoke to our case worker.  That little boy is fine.  But yes, there are some pretty major roadblocks to our adoption of any child from Chin@.  To the point that our agency is sending a worker to Chin@ to advocate on our behalf in person. 

So at this point, it is as it has always been, in Jesus’ hands.  And he is for us.

A friend this morning reminded me of when Jacob thought he was alone, sad and using a rock for a pillow and then bam!  Jacob had a dream of God coming to him on a ladder and Jacob knew that he was not alone.  Nor are we.  God is here with us in our pain.  He has not been blindsided by this.  While the roadblock may be so big it can be seen from space, it is but a speck to him.  So like Jacob, we are confident that this rocky pillow will become a stone in a monument to God’s grace to us.  

Are we heartbroken?  Yes.

Are we frightened?  Yes.

Are we without hope?  NO.  My prayer is the same as it was that first night we found out Emma was not ours.   

Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief.

From October 31, 2009

Dear Lord,

I thought I'd already fought Goliath.  Remind me that it was You who felled my giants and You are eager to do it again.  And again.

Apparently, You are not done forming Your image in me.  Give me the strength to be rescued by You.  Help me to stop splashing about in my own strength.  Give me the faith the drown in You.  Thank you that it matters not if I can hold onto You.  YOU WILL NOT LET ME GO.

Help me to not believe the lie that I am alone in this.  Grant me the faith to trust You as I step out in faith once again. 

You say You are the lifter of my head.  Lift it. 

I want to see Your face.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come.  'Tis grace that's brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home.

Longing for Regularity

It is epiphany. The official end to Christmas and our entrance into what is known as "Regular Time." I kid you not, this is the official title the Church has given to all time that is not Lent, Pentecost, Advent, or Christmas. Usually, I like to wait until Epiphany to pack away Christmas, but we had to get rid of the needling tree to make room for the buckets of toys that the Pickle received.
But this year's regular time is anything but regular for the Phillips family. It is an advent of sorts for us as well. No, no, I'm not pregnant. Just having the itch to be. And I hate being pregnant. Not even mentioning the whole bed rest in the hospital ordeal, I was not a happy pregnant camper. (Or maybe I was as about as happy as a camper who is pregnant could be.)
But this time around, the advent is different because I know more about the trials of getting pregnant, the heartbreak of not being pregnant, of loss, of "spotting," and the efforts it takes to keep me pregnant. So this itch to have another baby is mixed with a lot of fear. And I hate being fearful. I'm pretty sure it is the opposite of being faithful. But if I'm going to be honest, I am afraid.
Afraid of the hurt that will inevitably be mine should I not get pregnant. Afraid that God's plan for our family is for Henry to be an only child. Afraid that what God really has for us is adoption. Afraid of the monetary cutbacks that will need to be made to make a way for me to get pregnant or even to adopt (which is MORE expensive than IVF!) Afraid that we will get pregnant and that the surgery to keep me pregnant will hurt. Afraid that I'll get pregnant with twins and I'll end up in the hospital again. Afraid that I won't be able to hold on 34 weeks and a day and our child will be born too early and then afraid that I won't be able to Mommy adequately to a child with all the needs a preemie can have for a lifetime. Afraid that in the midst of all this pain and fear I'll believe the lie that I've done something to deserve all this and that it's just further proof that God isn't who He says He is and is, in fact, out to get me.
I had an ultrasound yesterday to find out how my uterus is doing. It was some weird type of ultrasound, but it appears that my girl parts are all in working order and so I won't need to have surgery before trying to get pregnant like I did last time. So that is a blessing. But I was sort of hoping to need surgery. Which is weird because it would mean finding childcare for Henry and recoup time and all, but on some level, it would be something I could do that would be a successful step towards getting pregnant. And to me, that beats waiting on the Lord any day. (Having surgery would also give me a 2 week "get out of going to the gym without guilt" pass, and that would be freakin' awesome!)
We also got a talking to by my wonderful OB/Gyn, Dr. Murray. I love Dr. Murray and I know she loves me, Sloan, and Henry. But she was very candid about the risks of multiples with IVF and the difficulties that presents with my incompetent cervix. She said that even with a stitch to keep me shut, twins would be difficult, but doable. But with triplets, she feared that my body wouldn't hold up and so she would be forced, as my doctor, to recommend things she knew we wouldn't agree to. She even confessed that she wouldn't want to make those ethical decisions, so that we should just put in 2 embryos, no matter what the fertility specialist says. When Henry was born, he was the result of 3 embryos being transferred. But I know she is right.
But this fear is strange. I have no doubts as to what God can do. I have no doubts as to His goodness to me and my family. I see it clearly every time I look at Henry and his snot covered face. And I'm even certain that my heart will make it through it. No matter what happens. That on the other side of things, I will be blessed by my adversities. That what seems treacherous will be for my good and are all part of a plan devised by my Father who loves me. I know and believe all these things. And yet, I still fear the hurt. I wish there was another way.
I wish I could really enter into regular time. Get pregnant the regular way. Stay pregnant the regular way.
But God is not content with me being regular, which I guess, is a compliment.

Part Two (Sorry for the Delay)

Around 4:30 in the morning I could sense that the contractions were getting closer and more intense. My epidural had a button on it so I could press it and get more drugs, but I was hesitant of getting too numb because I didn't want to slow labor down any more. The doctor checked me and I was between 6 and 7 cm dilated and she told me to press the button. That it'd be a couple more hours and I'd still be able to push, so why didn't I just drug up already. God bless Dr. Braun (the on call doctor.)

At this point I realized that my suspicions were correct and, at last, I was going to have a baby. Today was the day. But I also realized that it was Wednesday and my doctor's day off. Henry would be delivered by Dr. Schoeffler. I like Dr. Schoeffler. He's great, but still, I was a bit disappointed. Dr. Schoeffler came in around 6:30 and told me to call Sloan and get him to the hospital. He said when Sloan arrived he would break my water and we'd get this show on the road. He assured me that we were in the home stretch and that Henry would be here well before lunch time.



I called Sloan a little before 7. Groggy, he answered the phone, "I just fell asleep. Can you give me thirty more minutes." "Um, I'll see what I can do but I'm having a baby this morning whether you're here or not." "Fine. I'll be there in a few."



Sloan arrived around 7:45 only to realize that for some reason he had taken both of our cameras home with him the night before. We now were going to have a baby and had no camera. I also was bummed because the speakers I'd ordered for my Ipod hadn't come in yet and so my groovy mix I'd made for labor would have to be scrapped. Fortunately, Laurie, my trusty masseuse was now my nurse and brought in her boom box and began playing classical music to calm me down.



Dr. Schoeffler broke my water around 8:30 and said he'd be back to check on me in an hour. He wanted me to take my time and "labor down" so that I wouldn't have to push much. Apparently this would be better for Henry. Around 9 am, I sent Sloan to the gift shop to buy a disposable camera. Laurie also came in to tell me that Dr. Murray called and she was frantically trying to find child care for her kids so she could come deliver Henry. Dr. Murray requested that I try to hold on for an hour. At this point, I'd starting getting nauseous and shaky, so I was wary about my ability to do much of anything.



Sloan returned with the camera and Laurie said that Dr. Murray called and she was on her way with her kids in tow. I was shaking more fervently and was having trouble breathing. Laurie checked me and I was 9 cm dilated and apparently "in transition". They gave me an oxygen mask and this helped with my shaking and my nausea.



Around 10 til 10, Dr. Murray showed up. Her kids were apparently at the nurses station being watched by one of my nurses from the Antepartum wing. She was in flip-flops, a t-shirt and shorts. She said, "Okay, so the nurses are sufficiently giving my kids sugar right now. Let's see what is going on and then I'll change and we'll see about meeting Henry." She lifted the sheet and said and without having to use her hands she said, "Okay, I can see his head. There's not time for me to change into scrubs. We're going to have a baby." So Dr. Murray put booties over her flops and a smock over her t-shirt and told Laurie to call NICO and get their team here. It was around 10 o'clock.



So we geared up to have a baby. As Dr. Murray was prepping, I said, "I want to just apologize in advance if I cuss at you or poop on you." She laughed. She assured me that it wouldn't be the first time and not to worry. It was very strange pushing as I wasn't sure how hard I was pushing from the epidural. Laurie told Sloan to grab my left leg and he was a bit thrown by his being asked to actually participate rather than just stand by my head and tell me to breathe. I could see the reflection of what was going on in the TV screen and I kept thinking of that episode of Grey's Anatomy when Miranda is having her baby and she tells George to stop looking at her Vajayjay. I ask Sloan if he can see Henry and he sheepishly says "Yes" but makes it clear that he's not crazy about looking. Dr. Murray tells me to be quiet, that I can't push if I'm talking.



As I push, I look at Sloan and he is making a strange face as if he is pushing along with me. "Why are you making that face?" I ask. "Stop it. You look like an idiot."



"I just want to encourage you," he says. "You're doing great."



All of the sudden there he was. This slime covered person being pulled from me. They clamped his cord; the Dr. cut it, and they whisked him off to the NICU team and then we heard him crying. As they put him on the warming table and were taking care of him, the clamp on my cord slipped and suddenly there was blood spraying everywhere. It was on the walls, my doctor's face, the NICU teams' backs, my legs. Dr. Murray and Laurie got it taken care of and then told me it was time to push again for the placenta. Sloan assures me that there is nothing on the planet more disgusting than seeing the placenta being delivered.


"Is he okay?" I asked.

"He's perfect," Dr. Dhande, the neonatologist, assured me as he handed me this sweet bundled boy.

"He looks just like me," I said. And he does. He has my hair line, my almond shaped eyes, my loud voice. But he has his daddy's big feet, long fingers, and detached earlobes. Sloan took pictures of us with the gift shop camera and then they whisked Henry off the the NICU.

Welcome to the World--Part One

OK, so this is going to take awhile to update, so thank you for your patience. Most of my time is spent either at the hospital, pumping, or getting Henry's room ready so the blog has taken a backseat. I started trying to update it last week, but ran out of time, so I'll do this in installments until we are all caught up. As of now, he is doing well.

As most of you now know, Henry Marshall Phillips entered the world on Wednesday, April 25, 2007 at 10:12 am. He weighed 5 lbs, 1.3 oz, and was 18.5 inches long. He has very long fingers and toes and BIG feet--just like Daddy. Henry's feet, in fact, the same size as his shins! He also has his father's ears, but pretty much everything else looks like me. He has a head of dark hair and remains very wiggly.

So I went into labor at about 4:30 am on Tuesday. The day I turned 34 weeks. I woke up with painful contractions and they hooked me up to the monitors, an IV for fluids, and gave me my anti-contraction meds. Unfortunately (for me), my contractions, while intense enough to make me curse and writhing in pain, were not showing up on the monitor, so the doctor did not think I was in labor. It also sucked because it took several attempts to get my IV hooked up and eventually they called a Pediatric nurse to put it in. Around 6am, they gave me Nubain, some pain medication and I passed out.

When I woke up around 9am, it was again to a lot of pain. Because I sensed that this would be the day, I called Sloan and said, "I think today is the day. But the doctor doesn't think so." He showed up an hour later for a brief visit. I also took a shower, blew dry my hair, and put on make-up as I knew birth would be an ugly, sweaty affair and I didn't want to start out in the negative column. I then asked the nurse for some Tylenol to see if this would take care of the pain I was having consistently every 10 minutes that apparently was not contractions as the nurses assured me I was not in labor.

The Tylenol did not work. Eating lunch made me very nauseous and I basically just laid around writhing in pain for much of the afternoon. I was not in a good mood, so my nurse again called Dr. Murray to come check me. This was around 2 pm on Tuesday. Apparently my cervix had opened a bit more, but I was still only between 3-4 cm dilated and she thought these contractions were just Braxton-Hicks contractions and ordered me some Stadol and more IV fluids.

Unfortunately, my IV from the morning had to be redone as it had closed despite the "heplock". So three different Antepartum nurses tried and then they called down to Labor and Delivery. Laurie, my trusty L & D nurse who has been giving me massages twice a week, came up and said she had called the Anesthesiologist to come give me my IV as I'd been stuck enough already. After waiting 45 minutes for the Dr. to come, my nurse gave it one more try and it worked. I hated the Stadol. All it did was make me drunk. It did not make the pain go away, it just made me too tired to complain about it. The Dr. showed up an hour later to give me my IV and I was already in la-la land. Around 5, the pain intensified and I called my nurse to bring me more drugs. I told her that if this wasn't labor, I could not do this for another three weeks to bring Henry to term.

She called my Dr. again, saying, "Poor Mrs. Phillips, she rarely even asks for Tylenol and never complains and now she's cussing, arching her back in pain and banging on the bed rails." They decided to check and see if I had a bladder infection or kidney stones. My nurse gave me more Nubain. But this time it did not have much of an affect. Around 6:30, my nurse called the Doctor and said, "I'm sending Mrs. Phillips down to Labor and Delivery. I don't care what the monitor strips say, she's in labor." I called Sloan to tell him and he arrived shortly.

So downstairs I was still writhing in pain, begging for an epidural. But Dr. Murray said I had to wait until I could get blood drawn to check to make sure all of my blood thinner I was taking to ward off clots was out of my system from this morning. I could not have an epidural if it had not left my system. I began cussing again. Sloan laughed at this as often times I would try to whisper the cuss words or part of them, but say the wrong part silently. He reminded me that it was not the "mother" part of my apparent favorite word that was problematic.

And people kept calling him on his cell phone and my cell phone to check on me. Each ring was met with disdain. "I don't care if it is Jesus on the phone. Tell him I'm in $%#@ labor and not in the mood to talk." He turned off both our cell phones.

Finally, my favorite phlebotomist, Ernie showed up and took my blood. He said he'd put a rush on the order and was gentle enough to find the only vein that hadn't been punctured that day. God bless Ernie!

About thirty minutes later, the anesthesiologist showed up with my epidural and in ten minutes, I was out of pain. I highly recommend epidurals. Over the course of the night, I kept calling the nurse in the ask if she saw contractions on the monitor as I sensed them. She said, "Barely." Hmm. But they kept me on the epidural and flipped me from side to side every hour (so that the epidural worked evenly.) I also had ice packs all over me as I was burning up.

Around 1 am, I sent Sloan home. He had been sleeping on the floor and was coughing up a storm. I figured at least one of us should get some sleep before our son was born and knew it wouldn't be me. He had been coughing for awhile thinking he had a cold, refusing to believe that he has allergies. I kept asking my doctor to explain to him that you could develop new allergies as you aged, and she said, "I'm staying out of this, but she's right." So Sloan went home.

More to come later...

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!

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.

I'd like to thank the Academy...

In the movie "America's Sweethearts," Allan Arkin plays this granola guru with crazy sayings (Life is a cookie, for example) who teaches John Cusack to name the things he is grateful for when life gets harried. I think this is a good idea, however, I do not think simply being thankful is enough. In the end, we all have Someone to be thankful to. There are so many moments for which we all are grateful, and yet I fear that we rarely say thank you to the appropriate parties. It would be a shame to simply lump all good things together and say, "I thank God for being good to me." (Though not to acknowledge this would be shameful as well.) So I want to specifically acknowledge some of the things that I am grateful for.

1. I thank Sloan for doing all of my laundry, making sure that I have sugar-free stuff in my fridge, and for uncomfortably cuddling with me in my hospital bed.
2. I thank Nurse Donna for teaching me how to use the bedpan all by myself like a big girl.
3. I thank Nurse Khristine for making me laugh, helping me with my knitting, and just being the all around bestest nurse in the whole world. I thank her too for telling me my belly is cute.
4. I thank Drs. Tidey, Murray, Troyer, and Love for their understanding of a mom's need to see her baby and supplying Sloan and me with over 20 different ultrasound photos.
5. I thank William, Sarah Grace, Caroline, and Natalie Johnson for drawing me loads of pictures to decorate my room with. And thanks to my great sister-in-law, Pam, for mailing them to me.
6. I thank Kate and Lee Cross, Chris McMahon, Heather Oberle, and my parents for bringing me soft toilet paper.
7. I thank the Hale family for bringing me loads of books and a computerized Sudoku game.
8. I thank Steve and Marti Shelby for bringing me communion.
9. I thank Sonya and Blair Collins for working on Henry's nursery and also John and Kaden Reece for putting Henry's crib together.

I know there are more people I need to thank out there, but they're playing the music and this gold statue is a lot heavier than it looks...

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.

26 weeks and counting...

Yesterday was a busy day. My friend Kaden visited and then I hosted a knitting class with another antepartum mommy and a couple of nurses. Then I had an ultrasound with Dr. Troyer. My amniotic fluid is still low, but she thinks is will take awhile to readjust since they took me off the Indocin. So she will come back on Friday to check on me. She has instructed me to drink at least 120 oz of water a day between now and then. If my fluids do not go up, she will put me back on the IV. So yet again, my day will be centered around using the bedpan. Ugh!

I am still dilated between 2-3 cm, but since I have not had any contractions in 10 days and Henry still has great movement so I GOT TO TAKE A SHOWER TO WASH MY HAIR!!! Granted, it was only a 2 minute shower and I had to sit while doing it, but it felt great. Dr. Troyer will asses if this shower and the pressure on my cervix had any negative affects on Friday. If things look good, I may be able to have my seated 2 minute showers twice a week. Thank God I have curly hair to combat flat, greasy bed head!

Since I made it to 26 weeks, Sloan brought in yummy Mio's pizza and we celebrated by watching a little Law & Order.

First Blog Post

I am going to try and update this as often as possible, however, it is a tedious task while I'm not allowed to sit up or even lay flat in the bed. As for now, Henry is doing great and I am holding steady dialated at 2cm with less funneling than I had when I was admitted 10 days ago. I haven't had any contractions either since last Friday. The doctors are hopeful that I'll make it to 28 weeks (March 13th).
Tomorrow is 26 weeks.

Thanks to everyone who has called, emailed, and visited. I'm putting a moratorium on people bringing me books b/c I've now got about 10 to read. (Which is a great problem to have.) If you really want to bring something with you, snag a roll of soft toilet tissue from your house before you visit.

I have another ultrasound with Dr. Troyer tomorrow so I'll let you know more then.

As for now, if you want to "share" in this experience with me--I'm going to try to give you a daily challenge of tasks I've mastered. So today, see if you can shave your armpits while laying down with your feet above your head.

Also, for more on the rationale on my lowered head position, Google "Trendelenburg Position."