Nesting

I’ve spent most of today organizing Mollie’s room.  Half organizing, half nesting, half sorting and prepping hand-me downs for a consignment sale.  Yes.  That’s three halves.  That’s how busy I’ve been.

I think, perhaps, for the adoptive mother, nesting is integral to the adoption process.  Even more so for the international adoptive parent with a photo of a child a world away.  With a biological pregnancy, a woman nests as she imagines her family growing.  She envisions the snuggle time as she selects bedding, imagines the click clack of tiny church shoes in the foyer as she hangs smocked dresses on small pink hangers.  These dreams are coupled with the inner kicks and nudges she feels as her little one grows safely inside her.

I nest not only because I dream of our family in the future, but because I long to be close to Charles and Mollie.  To feel the nudge and flutter of them growing.  I long to know they are safe and warm.  To hear their heartbeats or see them flicker on a screen.

I don’t even know if they’ve eaten today.  I chuckle at the irony that I’ve hemmed and hawed at the pros and cons of putting Mollie in a crib versus putting her straight into a twin.  But y’all, right now they are most likely sleeping on the floor.  Perhaps even a dirt floor. I will literally have to teach my three year old son to use a pillow. Does it really matter that he will be on the bottom bunk?  

I stay up every night until midnight to pray.  Not because I’m super spiritual.  But because at midnight on the east coast it is 7am in Lumbumbashi.  And in that quiet darkness, I feel as though they are right here.  I close my eyes and if I lay still enough (and Sloan isn’t snoring too loudly), it’s almost as though I can hear them waking up.  Charlie all grumpy and wanting to go back to sleep and Molls bright eyed and bushy tailed, playing in the satin sheets I’ve bought for her.

I pray for their days.  I pray that they will eat more than once.  I pray for clean water.  I pray they’ll receive the care packages we’ve sent.  I pray that they’ll get to eat meat this week.  I pray that their foster mother will be loving and kind.  I pray that they will be told Jesus loves them and that their parents are coming for them.  I pray that God will introduce us to them in their dreams so that we won’t be strangers when we first meet.  I pray that God will bind up their memories of the Congo in a tender place so that when they’re ready to remember, it won’t be lost.  That they’ll always remember what their first mother smelled like.  That I will know how to foster a love of their country, but that I won’t force it upon them.  I pray that I will be patient with them and they with me.  I pray for Henry and Grace to understand that for awhile, we will need to focus just on Charles and Mollie.  I pray for them to share, be kind, and to be patient with them as they learn English.  I pray that Charlie and Mollie learn English quickly.  

So as we gear up to fundraise some more, know this:  yes, yes, we certainly would like to invite you to join us on our adoption journey.  And we are expecting God to go before us and provide financially for this adoption.  But each tshirt sold, wreath wrapped, frame painted is how I tell my children I love them.  It’s my proverbial pregnant tummy rub; it’s all I got.  

For now.

no baby

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.

For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.

And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?
As it is written:
"For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered."

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:18-39

Obedience, Black Bikers, and My Blogatical

Stairscream is gone.

Henry has now gotten the drill of coming down the steps on his own. He even re-latches the gate. (The fact that Henry can both unlatch and re-latch the gate, as well as figure out any anti-finger in socket device makes me think that any efforts to baby proof against him are futile.)

He also now knows to bring his diaper and lay on the floor for diaper changes.

He no longer throws his empty cup every time it is empty. About half the time, he hands it to me, say "Mommy" and then sign, "More, please." And even says thank you without being prompted when it is handed back to him. I can certainly tell that people (myself included) have been praying for him to have an obedient and humble heart. Thank you, Jesus. Now could you please give me one?

He has, however, not understood that "George is a monkey so he can do things you can't do." (This is the little legal jargon they say every Curious George episode.) And apparently, Henry CAN do the things George can. Like climb up out of his bed onto the top of his dresser to look at books and change his CD in his CD player. So now his bed is in the middle of the room.

Jenny (holding Henry who just loves looking Gray), Shannon (holding Gray), and me.

It has also helped that my dear friends Jenny and Shannon came over Wednesday to bring lunch, do chores, and "crazysit" me. (Does anyone else find it odd that no one in this picture is holding their own child and that Shannon left her 2 boys with Sugie?) Henry is very sweet with Gray. He giggles and runs around in circles for him and gently rocks his car seat. He also really likes Gray's froggy shoes.

We are very excited to take him to the beach. I have learned that it is supposed to rain all week. So we've looked up the Children's Museum, Aquarium, and various other child friendly activities. I've also learned that grizzly is an equal opportunity offender. As in, next week is Black Bike Week in Myrtle Beach. I was unaware Bike week was segregated. And let me be clear, it is all bike weeks that frustrate me. I merely find it both sad and comical that there is Black Bike week. (Sad because it is the 21st century and there are still groups that segregate and comical because Black Bike Week has a funny alliteration quality to it, particularly when my mom said, "Well, you know the blacks are coming on their bikes next week." "What?" I said. "All of them?") The bikes are noisy, the restaurants are full, and for the most part, the Phillips family has different grooming standards than bikers. Of course, I've only been at the beach during white bike week. When in front of the bar "Suck, Bang, Blow" there was a large construction sign signaling "Body found here Thursday night. Call 911 with info." So maybe black bike week will be entirely different. Maybe the first family will be there to classy the place up.

But as to next week. I will not be blogging. I will be taking a blogatical. I know this puts some of y'all's panties in a wad as I'll be finding out whether or not I'm pregnant next week. But I want to give my family some space. I want to leave my options open and not feel like I have to blog about every little thing. I want to simply feel and not parse my feelings for some greater truth. I will be in contact with some people in Richmond, so I'm sure were you to do some snooping, you'd be able to find out what is going on with Q and Tenderoni.

When trying for Henry, the first round was a bust. So I binged on wine, cigarettes and a giant bag of flaming hot cheetos. My friend Shannon had just met me and was on the church staff at the time when I emailed our pastor my plans. She says she was very concerned. Apparently, our dear pastor, knowing me, said," Nope. No need to worry. For her, this is the appropriate response."

The second round, we conceived but knew we would lose the baby. I didn't want to talk about it. To anyone. I was pretty much silent for a couple of weeks. Sloan says this is the most afraid for me he's ever been.

And then the third time, you know, the one they say that is the charm? Well I was sounding my barbaric yawp across the mountaintops.

I will be writing. Even though I said I didn't want to parse my feelings, just feel them, the truth is--I don't really get what I'm going through until I write about it. Hemingway once wrote that "The writer must write what he has to say. Not speak it." So I'm taking my laptop and my journal. And you may or may not get glimpses of it when I return after Memorial Day.

I will be reminding myself that no matter what happens, it is part of God's good plan for our family. That He will grow our family. In His perfect way and His perfect time. I've seen Him do it in the past and He will continue to be faithful. He can't not be faithful. He's a lot better at parenting than I am.

Have no fear, upon return, I'm sure you'll see some pictures of the pickle being cute on the beach. And I promise, should I see a road sign that says "Body Found" I will take a picture.

Not just a girl's name

Hope.

People say a lot of things about it.

Don't get your hopes up.
Don't give them false hope.
Hope is the thing with feathers (Emily Dickenson poem).
Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. (Shawshank Redemption)
I hope you dance. (Gosh, do you remember that cheesy Lee Ann Womack song?)
When all hope is gone, sad songs say so much. (Elton John)

And if you've ever been to a wedding, there is a good chance you've heard 1 Corinthians 13 where the Bible is pretty clear that God likes hope. In fact, He places it in his "top three things that really matter list." And God tells us that in Him, we have a living hope. As in, our hope is not in the past, nor the distant future, but is applicable at all times.

As you can tell, I've been thinking and hoping a lot these past few days. And sometimes I'm embarrassed to admit just how hopeful I am. The "ville" I grew up in, Glendaville, is the land of hopes and dreams. You know that joke where the two kids are standing in poo and one kid is so excited because he is sure with all that crap there must be a horse somewhere? Well, that's my mom. And so, during the longest 11 days of my life, I'm shovelin' a lot of crap because I'm just certain there's a horse around here somewhere.

Some of you are worried about this. That I'll get my hopes up and be disappointed should I not be pregnant. That I'm jumping the gun saying to Henry, "Mommy can't pick you up because there are babies in her tummy." I say this to him because: a) I want him to know that there is in fact a good reason I'm not picking him up and it has nothing to do with him or my love for him, and b) because I know he has no idea what I'm talking about. I think he thinks I'm crazy. He peers at my belly as if to say "Lady, that ain't a baby. I've seen babies. That's just unfitness." (I also say this very loudly when he is mad at having to walk with me across a parking lot and has just sat down in the middle of the road. I say it so the people going in and out of Target will stop judging me for letting my son sit in the road and scream and seemingly do nothing about it.)

A friend even said to me the other day, "So what are you going to do if this doesn't take and you're back at square one?"

1. Not helpful.
2. I don't know. Probably cry. And cuss. And pray. And drink heavily. Maybe even smoke a few cigarettes. I told my Bible study that I was planning on puking next Tuesday one way or the other.

The truth is I'm not thinking about it much. Not because I'm unaware of that possibility, but because I know a little something about loss, grief, and disappointment. You cannot prepare for it. At all. Any attempts to prepare for loss is simply time wasted. Because it never happens the way you thought and then you feel like a boob for spending all that time preparing for this thing. I mean, if we aren't pregnant, the roof will cave in. So it really seems silly of me to not just go ahead and make it a high rise. Roofs caving in hurt, no matter from what height they fall.

I also know about hope. Red (from Shawshank) is right--hope is a good thing. It is a gift. And it is rude to the Giver of hope if I don't open the gift and enjoy it. To say to God, "Hmm, I'm scared I might not like what you have for me, so instead of enjoying it, I'll just sit it on the mantle still wrapped." In fact, Scripture tells us that Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. (Proverbs 13:12)

So yes. I am going nuts about this. I've yanked off the paper like a toddler at Christmas and am enjoying this hope anabashedly. I'm thinking of names. I analyze every time I pee to discern whether or not I'm peeing more than usual. (I think I am.) I keep grabbing my chest to see if it's sore. (Sort of. But I am on all those hormones.) I'm having loopy dreams that wake me up. And when I'm awake, I have to go pee. The nuttiest thing is that I'm pretty sure I can feel my cervix and it is sore. It ached my entire pregnancy with Henry. My OB tried to tell me that it is a medical impossibility for one to "feel" one's own cervix, but I can. And maybe I am and maybe I'm not pregnant. Maybe I'll find out I'm psychosomatically experiencing pregnancy symptoms. That will be pretty embarrassing. Oh well.

At least my heart will not be sick.

Because my hope does not rest in Baby Q or Tenderoni. It never will. That's too much of a burden for a child to bear. My hope rests in Q and Tenderoni's Creator. Should I not be pregnant, He will be close at hand and very understanding when I yell at Him.

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.

More ladies for lovin'

WELCOME TO THE WORLD Margaret "Maggie" Bowden Kirkpatrick, born to my high school friends Katharine and Jay Kirkpatrick. Weighing in at 7 lbs and 20 inches long, she was born yesterday morning, on my dad's birthday, as I predicted.

Also, my college roomie Theresa and her husband Aaron found out that despite earlier ultrasound predictions, that they too are having a GIRL who will also be named Maggie.

What is this? Why are you people takin' my girl name? Had Henry been a girl he would've been Emma Sloan, but more and more lately I've been thinking of my grandmother Johnson, my best friend from growin' up, Meg, and also Katharine's mom, Margaret Ann, aka "Momma Hall" and was planning to name the next Baby P (if it's a girl), Margaret and call her "Meg." So what doin'?

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...

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?"

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.

Hungover

I spent most of yesterday nursing my food hangover. I will not be having any PF Chang's for awhile. A good long while. So my asparagus, half of a baked potato, and mystery meat with gravy dinner last night was not met with much love. Particularly since I knew Sloan was at a business dinner at Bookbinder's eating filet mignon and lobster.

Dr. Murray measured my belly yesterday morning and it was 33 cm, which is about 1 cm above average. She estimates that Henry weighs between 4 1/2 and 5 lbs. Which isn't surprising as he now wakes me up with his wiggling on a regular basis. Now that we are past 32 weeks and creeping closer to 34, I've stopped praying that he'll stay put for a long time. I'm now praying that he'll come as soon as his lungs and brain are ready and hopefully not too early in the morning. He can fatten up when he gets here.

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.

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.

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...

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.

I'm Hungry

I think Henry is having a growth spurt, which is a double-edged sword, as we are still figuring out my diabetic diet and I spent most of yesterday hungry. The cafeteria messed up my menu, sending me regular food, so there were large portions of things on my tray that I could not eat. But I've discovered that I like sugar free Carnation Instant breakfast and that has helped (it also helps meet my chocolate needs). I've had more snacks so that has helped. It is a bit like I'm on the South Beach diet.

I still miss Sloan. A lot. Bunches and bunches.

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.

Still Lovin' Bacon at 28 weeks

YEAH!!!! We have made it to our first goal of 28 weeks. My next goal is 30 weeks--March 27th.

Today has been the first day of my " Non-concentrated Sugars" diet. And they forgot my bacon again at breakfast, so I had the nurse order me some and I had it for my mid-morning snack. It has also been my first day of finger pricks to test my blood sugar and so far so good. The doctor does not believe that I'll need to take pills or shots. So this is good.

Also, my cable came back on today after lunch so I am once again able to watch Guiding Light.

I'm still waiting for Dr. Love to drop by for my weekly ultrasound. I am hoping things are either the same or better with my cervix so that they let me lay flat for a couple of hours a day. But for now I'll look forward to Bacon-wrapped scallops from Capitol Ale House. Yummy!

I love bacon

Today has been a laundry list of annoyances.

For starters, I did not sleep well because I dreamt all night about giving blood. Seriously, I was at the movies with Martin Lawrence when my church's Associate Pastor came to draw my blood. I think I dreamt this because today was also my three hour blood sugar test. This began with a 6 am blood draw, followed by chugging even more yucky orange soda. Then I tried to go back to sleep before my next blood draw, but spent most of that first hour with my head in the trashcan afraid I was going to throw up and then have to drink the Glucola again. Then I had blood draws at 8:15, 9:15, and again at 10:15. I was able to sleep between the 2nd and 3rd draws, so that was good. (Although it meant I slept through the Today show.)

Secondly, because of the blood test, I had to wait to have my breakfast until 10:30. AND THEY FORGOT MY BACON!!!! It took every ounce of courage not to cry when I lifted the lid to my breakfast and saw half of my plate empty. You have to understand--breakfast is the one meal here at the hospital that is always good because every day I get my two slices of yummy pork fat goodness. And because I ate breakfast so late, the nurse couldn't call down to the cafeteria for more bacon.

Thirdly, as if the bacon debacle wasn't enough, I find out that I do have gestational diabetes. So far they will be adjusting my diet before they do anything else. If you visit me, you could be the beneficiary of this as I'm giving away the pounds of chocolate I've accrued while being here. When the dietitian came to work out my menu with me, we actually discovered that my sugar intake probably increased since being in the hospital because most of the stuff I buy for Sloan and me is low-carb and until the hospital, I didn't have dessert with every meal.

And lastly, my cable went out around 2:3o today and remains out. I missed my Guiding Light, but hopefully it will be back on for Heroes tonight. Thank God for my laptop and Elliot Reid, my wonderful Webkinz.