Category Archives: pregnancy

The Birth Story (Part 2)

Read Part 1 here

We arrived at the hospital around 1:00 am.

Anyone who has ever given birth in a hospital is painfully aware of the annoyance that it the labor and delivery triage room. Never mind that I couldn’t walk from the car to the front door without stopping for a contraction. Or from the front door to the check-in desk. Or that I had to wait a minute before signing my name on the medical release forms because I was in so freakin’ much pain. I still had to go directly to the hospital equivalent of a cubical to be strapped to annoying monitors and have my cervix checked to make sure this wasn’t just some amusing game of make believe that I was playing.

Of course, I now understand why.

You see, while I was panting my way through admission forms, an ambulance pulled up. Out came a pregnant woman on a gurney, lying on her side and writhing in agony. No one expected her to sign her name during the peak of her contractions…She went straight upstairs to her own curtained cubical. By the time I got there, she was yelling and screaming about how she was in the WORST PAIN EVER and they had better get her a doctor because her last labor was less than an hour, start to finish. And she knows labor because she’s already had six kids. And WHY THE HELL won’t anyone give her anything for the pain because she is surely about to die!

Over the course of the next three hours, I learned that she had already spent eight hours in the triage room a couple of nights earlier, this was the worst hospital that she had ever been to, and OH MY GOSH it is time for her to push! She knows it!

Oh yeah. And I also learned that she was only dilated one centimeter and the monitors weren’t recording a single contraction. Mind you, no privacy laws were broken for me to obtain this information. Everyone in that room knew it because she didn’t shut up. Ever. I listened to her screaming and moaning for three solid hours.

I have now fulfilled my quota of the number of times I should hear the F-word for at least the next year or so. As I told Sean at the time, I pitied whatever orderly would eventually have to clean the pea soup off of the walls once her head inevitably started spinning.

At one point, I asked my nurse how many times a week they get patients like that.

“Oh about once a shift, probably,” she sighed.

If that is the case, the triage room really should have an isolation chamber. No woman who is legitimately in labor should have to hear that.

But this is supposed to be my birth story.

When I got to the triage, they checked and found that I was already dilated six centimeters. Woo Hoo! I have never gone in and actually been that far into labor. Despite the obvious fact that I wasn’t faking it, they hooked me up to the monitors, rendering me unable to move around to deal with the pain. OK, now that is bad enough for the standard 20 minutes of monitoring. It is intolerable when you are left there for three hours.

I found out later that I went into labor on a particularly busy night. My transfer to an actual room was impeded by a combination of no rooms being available and, once one was ready, my nurse and midwife having the audacity to be off delivering someone else’s baby instead of dealing with me.

And so, since I’m not a demanding screamer and Sean tends to express his desire to just run in terror from the room throughout the whole birth process, I laid in the bed strapped to the monitors and unable to do anything to effectively deal with the pain (and I’m pretty sure Fairy Teamsters Local 666 spent the entire time using those ice picks on my lower back).

By the time they finally moved me to a room, I was dilated eight centimeters. If the situation had been different, I may have been so encouraged by how far dilated I was and gone for the natural birth that I have always wanted. Instead, I was terrified and begging for the epidural. It didn’t even occur to me that I could now move around if I wanted. I was informed that they had to do blood work and get a bag of fluid in me before that would be possible. Later, when I begged my nurse to tell me that I could get the epidural soon, she put her arm around my shoulders and told me to prepare myself for the possibility that they may not be able to do one in time. Hello, terror.

I effectively fought against my body (great, huh?) and, after more than an hour of horrendous contractions in my room, got my epidural a little after 5:00 am. Shortly after that they broke my water, which was meconium stained. I was informed that this meant that we would need to have someone from the neonatal intensive care unit on hand when I delivered—just in case.

Around 7:00, the midwife who had been working with me (who I had never met before I came to the hospital since she is newer in the practice) and another midwife (the one who had delivered all of my other children) came in to tell me that they were set for a shift change but the first one could stick around to deliver me if I wanted since I was ready to push. How do you nicely say, “Um, thanks but no thanks”? I went for a noncommittal “whatever works best for you,” and was thrilled when the midwife that I know stayed in the room.

I won’t get all graphic on the details of pushing. I will say that the nurse suggested giving me some pitocin once. Just once. My reaction to that was probably the most assertive I was about anything during the whole labor.

At 8:12 am on July 29th, after just under an hour of pushing, Violet was born. They were able to suction her before she cried and she was able to come straight up to my chest and stay there. The NICU person never had to touch her. She was 21 inches long, 6 pounds 15 ounces, and had an amazing head of almost black hair.

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Between the weight and the hair, if I hadn’t been there I wouldn’t have believed she was mine.

As everyone was doing the things that are done right after a baby was born, Sean sent out a tweet announcing her arrival. When I laughed about him tweeting so quickly, the nurse commented that she had never used Twitter, but liked Facebook. As the Facebook discussion continued, I commented that I had a blog.

“Oh, that’s right,” my midwife said, “you’re the one who writes about her vibrator.”

Gasp.

Seriously, people, my nurse visibly recoiled from me.

“Well, I don’t know about writing about stuff like THAT on my Facebook page,” she mumbled.

And suddenly I found myself stammering about how I wasn’t that kind of person, but the elderly man who owned our house before we did apparently was, and OH MY GOSH you would not believe how much a World War II era sex toy resembles a hand mixer…

This is not how I pictured those first magical moments with the miracle of a new life on my chest and my woman parts being tended to.

After I gave birth to Eli, I was talking to the third midwife in the practice and had mentioned the post about the antique vibrator. She insisted that I show her, then had me email pictures to her. When I went in for my six week checkup after Eli was born, I found out that she had taken the pictures into the office.

A year and a half later, it would appear that the whole office still thinks of me as “The Vibrator Lady.”

Lovely.

Everything from that point was mostly normal. Apparently, I am the best patient ever since more than one nurse commented that she wished all of their patients were as easy as I am. Personally, I just enjoy the peace and quiet and would rather they all just leave me the heck alone while I’m there.

Violet almost didn’t get to come home at the same time I did. She was jaundiced and just on the border of having to go under the lights. Luckily, though, they finally decided she was ok and we came home together.

So far, the adjustment is going well. The boys adore their little sister. Violet is still in the sleepy newborn stage, though, so I haven’t declared myself The Amazing Conqueror of the Mommy World just yet.

IMG_2604

If things are still going this well a month from now, though, I’m buying myself a tiara and a jeweled scepter.

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Filed under Parenting, pregnancy

The Birth Story (Part 1)

I suppose that it really is time that I write out the whole birth story before I forget the whole thing. And, really? It is amazing how much I remember, forget, remember again, and marvel at how fluid the details of the whole thing can be. Of course, that’s what happens when you go all night with only an hour of sleep and bone-crushing pain.

Sorry if you’re reading this and hoping for an uplifting, “contractions don’t really hurt” sort of birth story. This is more of a writhing in pain with my eyes rolling back in my head sort of a story. Not that it necessarily had to be, but that’s just how it ended up.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I should start by saying that I was having contractions off and on for an entire week leading up to when I went into labor. Not the eye-rolling, bone-crushing ones. Just a little more noticeable than the braxton hicks ones I had been having for a long time. On Tuesday morning (July 28th), they were definitely different. More frequent. More intense.

I told my mom that I wouldn’t be surprised if something happened soon. She told me she went to the hospital, certain she was in labor with my brother (her fourth) and it wasn’t anything. So, you know, I was probably just being overly-hopeful and would be pregnant forever. Or something like that. She’s a never-ending supply of encouragement.

I told Sean that I wouldn’t be surprised if something happened soon. He reminded me that we weren’t even close to the weekend and having a baby this early in the week really wouldn’t fit into his schedule very well. He’s lucky he was twenty miles away, tucked safely in his office at that point.

I went through the day like that. Nothing I couldn’t deal with, but definitely more than I HAD been dealing with.

And then we sat down for dinner. That’s when the contractions picked up some more in intensity and started to feel kind of real. I told Sean, and then I sucked it up because we had to take the kids to soccer practice. That’s right. I spent an hour and a half trying to keep my younger children off of the soccer field IN LABOR. Contractions were probably still ten minutes or so apart for most of the time, but they were enough to make me stop whatever I was doing, which is a little inconvenient when the one-year-old is heading for a group of six-year-olds kicking balls in every direction.

Practice ended, I told Sean that SOMETHING was happening (although I still wasn’t totally convinced that it was the REAL thing), and we headed to the store. Labor or not, we were out of crickets for the gecko and milk for the family. Wyatt went into the store with me to make sure I made it back out, and Sean headed to Sonic to buy the slushies (What? Did you think I was kidding about having a slushie for labor?). This is the point at which Sean sent out a tweet saying that he didn’t think I was going to make it until the weekend. And this is what his office mate tweeted back:

She needs to respect the schedule and grab the duct tape.

Pity me for the lack of sympathy that I endure.

We got home and I had Sean put the kids to bed so I could sit down and relax. Based on past experiences, I was determined to do things that would make the contractions go away if it wasn’t the real thing. So I kicked back, closed my eyes, and dealt with the pains that still were about eight minutes apart and something I could deal with.

Around 9:30 or so, my mother called to see how I was doing. I told her that this might actually be it and asked if she would want to come sleep in our spare bedroom so she didn’t have to get a call in the middle of the night. That’s when she told me that, after getting stung repeatedly while messing with her bees earlier in the day, she had taken a Benadryl to deal with the swelling. Then, when that didn’t get rid of the swelling, she took another dose before she was due for one. So now? Well, she thought she should probably just go lay down in her own bed before the Moon Fairies dancing around her living room decided to form a union and attack her with ice picks (it’s an election year and Grandma is feeling a little uneasy about the union folks this time around…). Um, yeah. There’s nothing to ease you into labor like the realization that the person you plan to leave responsible for your children is loopy on antihistamines. We agreed that we should both go and try to get some sleep.

I tried to sleep. Really, I did. I wasn’t successful, though. As things continued to intensify and I became increasingly convinced that it wasn’t going to stop, I decided that, blood-thirsty fairy folk or not, it really would be a good idea to have my mom come over and sleep in the guest room. Around midnight, I called and told her that I thought I would end up leaving for the hospital sometime during the night so I wanted her to go ahead and come over. She said she’d be right there. I decided to get up and pack the last few things that I wanted to take with me.

Wow.

Changing positions had a definite effect on me. The only way I can describe what I experienced is to say that ten minutes later I was calling my mother to ask where she was (it just doesn’t take that long to walk next door, folks) because it turns out that I needed to leave for the hospital…NOW.

A few minutes later, she was in the house and we were in the car. I spent the next twenty minutes twisting and moaning (and begging to PLEASE STAY AWAY FROM THE SPEED BUMPS) towards the hospital and an experience that I just wasn’t anticipating…

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Filed under pregnancy

The Real Deal

Yes, I really was in labor last night.

Violet Abigail H. was born this morning at 8:12. She is 21 inches long, 6 lbs 15 oz (!!!), and has a ton of dark hair. I will put up pictures later, when I get around to taking some (I know, I’m horrible). You’ll just have to take my word—she’s a cutie.

I’m not going to go into the birth story at this point (I’ve still got an IV in my hand and a sleep-deprived, addled brain). I will say that, for the first time, my body was cooperative and I didn’t need Pitocin. Also, every maternity ward triage should have a mandatory sound-proof booth to put the screamers in. Especially for busy nights where women who really are in labor are forced to lay in there for three hours before being taken to a real room. Just sayin’.

More to come…

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Filed under pregnancy

Ouch.

The big question now is: Is it for real, or will it peter out and leave me exhausted for the day tomorrow?

All I know is that, if I’m not having a baby tonight/tomorrow, this is one heck of a pregame show.

Oh, and suddenly, I’m having a huge HOLY CRAP moment. I’m having a baby. A BABY. Five kids, people.

Suddenly, everything is feeling very real.

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Filed under pregnancy

Week 39–Perspectives

Awhile back, my mother commented to me about the fact that I had stopped posting regular pregnancy updates. There really has been a few reasons for this, but the main one had to do with what I had to say. You see, this being my fourth pregnancy, I don’t have the same wide-eyed wonderment that tends to be felt by those going through it for the first time. And, this being my fourth pregnancy in FIVE YEARS, well…It wears on a girl.

And while I know how thrilled I am about the impending arrival of my daughter, most of what I had to say about being pregnant may have come off as a tad whiny. The truth is, pregnancy is frequently a pain in the butt (both literally and figuratively). When I stopped writing about it was about the time that I didn’t feel I could write about it honestly without frequently mentioning that fact.

The thing is, I also understand that a significant portion of the people who read my blog would give anything for the opportunity to experience all of the hemorrhoids (again with the literal and figurative) of pregnancy. You can’t go through four years of infertility without it leaving a permanent memory of just how desperate that desire can be, or just how annoying whiny pregnant women who don’t know how good they have it are. It’s all about perspective.

So, in what I DESPERATELY (imploringly, please, please, please God I’m begging you) HOPE is the last of my pregnancy updates, I’m going to talk a little bit about how my perspectives on pregnancy have changed over time.

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I’ve Always Wanted a Big Family…

Even before our struggles with infertility, I always wanted to have a lot of kids. I just never considered how hard it would be. And it is hard. Last week, my neighbor agreed to watch my kids for me while I went to my appointment with the midwife since my mom was out of town being a politician (she’s keeping her schedule pretty clear right now, but it IS a reelection year for her…). The stars were all aligned, and I was home in under an hour and a half.

“I don’t know how you keep up with it all day, every day,” was the first thing she said to me.

I just smiled and looked around my house.

“Um, obviously, I don’t,” was the best I had to offer.

And it’s true. Lately, I’ve felt like I’m standing next to the Hoover Dam, trying to plug cracks with bubble gum. I never stop moving, but I just don’t feel like I’m making any progress.

For a long time, I have wondered how truly huge families do it. I mean, I get how you make it work when you have 16 kids and half of them are 12-years-old and up. That’s a no brainer. But I’ve wanted to ask one of those moms how she managed it all when she only had little kids.

Recently, I got my chance.

My sister-in-law is the fifth of sixteen (!!!) kids. Her parents came for a visit recently and we all went to a local museum together. As we were walking back to our cars, I asked her mom how the heck she made it all work before she had older kids to help with cooking, cleaning, and wrangling younger children.

She smiled a wise, sweet smile and said, “I’ve got nothin’.”

OK, that’s not verbatim, but it’s close enough. Basically, she told me that having five little kids was the hardest time period of her life and that it was virtually impossible to keep up with it all.

I feel like I finally made the pilgrimage to Mecca, only to find a plastic fortune-teller in a sealed phone booth.

All My Bags are Packed, I’m Ready to Go…

I have never—in any of my pregnancies—nested. Who knew that it would just take carrying another estrogen-bearer for me to finally start acting maternal. I have made it through my “To Do” list, thought of more tasks, done them, and am running out of things to burn off my nervous energy.

I have rearranged bedrooms. I have sorted baby clothes. I have picked produce from my garden. I have made a regular habit of going to the local farmer’s market (this week, I found out that “cukes” is gardener slang for cucumbers—word to yo’ Mutha Nature…fo’ shizzle). I have packed the baby’s bag for the hospital. I have made a list of things for my hospital bag (I refuse to pack that early, since no amount of nervous energy will lead me to deprive myself of makeup for a couple of weeks).

But as I have prepared for labor, I have realized just how different my perspective on what I “need” is from my first pregnancy. When I was pregnant with Wyatt, I took childbirth classes, read books, and scoured the internet for hospital bag packing lists. On the big day, I showed up with an MP3 player full of music with subliminal relaxation messages, unscented oil, lotion, essential oils, focal points, comfort objects, socks full of rice, candy to suck on, snacks for Sean, slippers, and my blankie. Honestly, people, I needed a bellhop.

A couple of weeks ago, I told Sean that this time I will be happy as long as I have my own pillow, a slushie from Sonic (I need to find out how late that place is open, just in case I need to take that into consideration when timing my departure to the hospital…), and this book:

pride and prejudice and zombies

Yes, seriously. I have always loved fractured fairytales, so the idea of fracturing classical British literature? It is taking every ounce of self-control I have not to start reading it yet. Sean thinks that I am a tremendous dork. I think that he is completely lacking in creativity and vision.

Oh, and my MP3 player? Since I haven’t taken the time to remove Sean’s playlists from my Zune, there is a good chance that I could be delivering this baby to Sammy Hagar.

Timing is Everything…

A month or two ago, Sean mentioned to me that his office mate’s soccer league was having sign-ups. Our older two having been talking about doing soccer for quite some time so, what did I think?

I thought I wanted to know when it would start, would they be in different age groups, and how many nights a weeks would this involve?

Well, they would be in different age groups. It was a two night per week commitment (each), and practice started last week. But, since we had connections, we MIGHT be able to get their practices and games on the same night. NO PROMISES.

I told Sean that he needed to decide if HE was willing to make that big of a commitment, since I was going to be dealing with a newborn, thankyouverymuch. He signed the kids up.

A few weeks later, his office mate, Brian (the league’s director), called with a proposition. If Sean agreed to be the assistant coach on Noah’s team, they could put Wyatt  on Brian’s wife’s team and there would be no question that practices and games would be on the same days. As I sat listening to Sean’s side of the conversation, he agreed to the deal. Then they started talking about coach training sessions and what not.

At one point, I heard this:

“Um, that could be a problem.”

Pause.

“Well, because my wife is supposed to be having a BABY that week.”

Pause. Chuckle.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure she’d agree to do that for you.”

I looked at my husband, smiled, and said, “Oh, he wants me to have the baby a week early? That’s fine by me!” And I gave him a big thumbs up.

Sean shook his head.

“No, he thought it might be better if you held off an extra week.”

“Adequately expressing how I feel about that,” I informed him, “would require an entirely different single-digit hand gesture.”

Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby…

It’s true—I’ve reached the point where I feel like I’d do just about anything to be one person again.

Between friends, relatives, and people that I go to church with (most of whom also fall into that “friends” category), I know SIX OTHER PEOPLE who were due within a month of me. All but one of them has now had her baby (or babies, in the case of the one with twins). The lone hold-out is due basically the same day I am. But I’m the one with the tendency to go late. Which means, Angie, that if you have your baby this week, I fully expect you to show up at church on Sunday with a pillow shoved down your dress—just in case.

And while I sat this week wondering if the intestinal bug my kids were passing around might work as well as castor oil and Who wants to share a drink with Mommy??? I know the advice I’m bound to get from my midwives:

Sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Ahem.

Yes, I understand the concept. It all has to do with prostaglandins and cervical ripening and what got the baby in will get the baby out…blah, blah, blah. 

Whatever. There is just something very wrong about having to look at my husband with the same sort of functional equivalence as a tampon dispenser. And he’s done this enough times that he knows what’s up on that subject. I mean, honestly people—I WADDLE when I walk. And there is nothing less sexy than feeling like a duck.

This is one area where infertility and pregnancy are a whole lot alike. Whether you are desperately TRYING to get pregnant, or desperately trying to NOT BE pregnant, marital relations just aren’t the same when they are planned as a means to an end. ‘Nuff said.

Of course, I have a theory that it isn’t really the prostaglandins, anyhow. I think it has more to do with the fact that anyone who has ever needed a drink of water at JUST THE WRONG MOMENT knows that kids just don’t want to acknowledge that IT even happens. And there’s just no denying IT when you’re that close to what’s going on. Of course the baby would do anything it could to get out of there if IT is happening that frequently.

Not that my theory helps me any. After all, I don’t think that lesser measures like just making out in the kitchen would seem nearly as disgusting to the baby as it does my other kids. It may send them running, but I doubt the baby would care one way or the other.

So I have to be content with just waiting it out. At the very least, I can take comfort in the fact that my stomach is now so enormous that my butt once again has the appearance of being a normal size (I’m all about the silver linings).

See? Perspective is everything.

belly collage2

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Filed under A Scary Look into My Mind, Books, infertility, pregnancy

To Do: Done.

I wish I could say that my lack of writing lately has been due to the laid-back, restful life that I am leading as I go through these last few weeks of gestating. You know, like how they tell working women to start maternity leave a couple of weeks before their due date so they can rest up and be prepared for the marathon of labor and the impending sleepless nights.

Riiiiiight.

There has, of course, been the added stress of my father-in-law’s surgery and stay in the hospital. Sean has spent a lot of time there, which has left me alone with the boys during parts of the day when I would normally have a little bit of help. Originally, they thought they would be sending Tom home on Thursday, but he ended up having several hours of racing heart rate that day (significant enough that he had to watch them pulling out paddles in case they needed to shock him back to life), as well as some breathing issues. He finally came home today.

And then, there has just been life. The normal, day-to-day stuff, as well as the extras to keep things interesting. I would claim to be nesting, but it isn’t like I’m doing all of this stuff out of some hormonal urge. It just needs to be done, and it makes more sense to get it out of the way before the baby is born.

Today, I decided to do it in quite the frenzy. It is past 10:30 pm and I’m just finally sitting down and trying to wind down. Honestly, though, I’m rather proud of all I’ve accomplished today.

I started out by going to our local farmer’s market. The deals were not nearly as good this week as last, seeing as how we showed up last week right as a massive storm was rolling in. Somehow, it is hard to get excited about normal prices when you’ve scored a dozen peaches for two dollars. Not that it matters. I’m not supposed to be their to score deals. The fact is, it’s an election year for my mother and every politician needs to be seen with a baby. The vendors seem to be remembering Eli. No word on how long she’ll give me off before Violet and I will be expected to make an appearance after her birth.

I came home and cleaned the fish bowl, the gecko vivarium, and the ferret cage. We won’t even talk about how horrible that last one was.

We have wanted for awhile now to move rooms around. Last week, we convinced Wyatt to move into the bedroom downstairs with Noah. In a few months, Eli will move in with Caleb. The only thing we had left to do was to convert our small bedroom, where we have kept all of the boys’ dressers, into a spare bedroom (which will, eventually, become Violet’s room). The only problem is that that room was essentially the equivalent of a walk-in junk drawer.

With Sean’s help, we got all of the dressers and junk out. I washed the walls (no small feat, given my size) and scrubbed the carpet. Sean has begun setting up the bed. Tomorrow, we’ll bring in the dressers so I can organize all of the baby’s clothes.

My other albatross of a room was the school room. In the past week, all of our school supplies have shown up (amazing, considering everything was two weeks late last year). A good portion of today was spent packing up all of Noah’s supplies from last year, then unpacking everything for Noah and Wyatt this upcoming year. Which, of course, felt incredibly stupid since I was packing and unpacking the exact same freaking books, given that Wyatt will be doing what Noah did last year. Oh well, it’s done. (And, yes, I did officially get Wyatt enrolled. Funny, once I sent those IQ test results in, it was only a couple of days before everything was taken care of and his materials were shipped.)

In between the big projects today, I went to the grocery store, sorted clothes to go to my new nephew, and cleaned and froze TEN POUNDS of strawberries. Someday, when I’m not so busy, they will become jam.

Most of my To Do list has been crossed off. Now, I just need to find a rice field to give birth in while life goes on.

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Filed under Daily Life, Patting myself on the back, pregnancy

Exhale.

Given how quiet it has been here over the past week or so, it would be easy to assume that I had fallen off of the face of the earth. Wishful thinking, I suppose, could conjure up thoughts of me going into labor and having the baby early (this is no longer an evil thought, since I’m far enough along for her to be just fine).

Nope.

I’ve been passing the time with such delightful pursuits as miserable illness overwhelming stress. Doesn’t that sound like so much fun?

You know how I’ve mentioned that my husband and two of my kids ended up with ear infections after catching a little cold? Well, I didn’t suffer the same fate as they did. Oh, no. That would be much to mundane. Instead, I spent a week hacking like an asthmatic chain smoker (something I’m still fighting with to some extent) while enduring an ear infection on one side of my head and a SINUS INFECTION of the other side. Are you familiar with the character Two-Face from Batman?

two face

It was kind of like that, only both sides were evil. Sleeping, obviously, was a joy.

In the middle of all of that, I drug my exhausted body to my weekly (WEEKLY! We’ve reached the weekly stage!) appointment with my midwives and found out that I was anemic. That, my friends, explains sooooo much of the past several weeks. I can’t tell you how comforting it is to find out that there was a medical reason for how I’ve felt, and not just that I was turning into an intolerably lazy slob.

As they say, though, time (and, apparently, iron supplementation) heals all things. Other than the persistent smoker’s cough, I’ve been pretty much back to normal for a couple of days now.

That means I was all better just in time to go into a mad-dash freak-out about the church commitments I had for this week.

About a month ago, I was asked to host (and be the sole speaker for) an activity about self-reliance and maintaining food storage in case of an emergency. I should probably point out the fact that I was not the first choice for this. That distinctions would go to my mother, who has done a lot of research on these topics over the past several months, has a year’s supply of food stored, keeps a large garden, planted a small orchard this year, and (for the love of pete!) is raising honey bees.

And me? Well, as I told the women who came to the activity last night, me teaching on this topic was a definite case of the hypocritical leading the blind. Except for the fact that a lot of them know what they are doing, so they don’t qualify as blind. But me, with my couple of months of famine rations and first little garden ever? Sooo not qualified. But the discussion was good and no one felt the need to repeatedly correct me, so I guess it went pretty well. Either that, or they all took pity on my obvious stupidity. It could go either way.

This morning, we had a sports/game activity for all of the Cub Scouts. What I had originally thought was supposed to be a multiple-game activity put together by all six leader had turned into just me responsible for the whole thing since everyone else was working/at school/out of town. And I was sick. And responsible for another activity. And had no clue what to do. And I was freaking out about it. Thankfully, at the last minute I found out that one of the other leaders wasn’t out of town after all and she had it under control. Talk about your white knight moment. I spent this morning watching the kids play wiffle ball.

Then, I came home and let out a huge sigh of relief.

All of my major events and stress-inducers before the baby is born are over with. Well, except for finishing writing (and, heaven forbid, MAILING) my thank you cards from the awesome baby shower my friends and family held for me a couple of weeks ago. I am so lame for not having that done yet. Seriously, you should see all of the cute outfits, blankets, and jewelry this little girl will be starting life in. I love it.

So now, I just focus on not going crazy while waiting out the last few weeks. I’ll just work on being ready  for the upheaval of a new baby. And take a few moments to breathe.

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Filed under Church, Daily Life, pregnancy