Ryan is almost two months old and I still feel like I'm trying to get my bearings. Some of that may be due to the fact that I had a few tiny unrealistic expectations. Miniscule, really.
Like I thought losing the baby weight would be no problem. I mean, my body was awesome during pregnancy. My blood sugar got progressively lower as my pregnancy continued. I felt good. I slept well. And until the last few weeks, my blood pressure was beautiful. Oh, and I managed a reasonable weight gain--25 lbs. (At least, that was my gain before being admitted to the hospital. I was pumped full of fluid there so I have no way of knowing what my final gain was before Ryan was born.)
So I assumed people were crazy when they told me it would take some time to lose the weight. I mean, yeah...time. Like, 3 weeks? 4? Surely by the time I returned to my classroom I would be able to button my pants again. After all, I could still slide all of them over my hips and my legs stayed the same size.
De. Lu. Sional.
I have always been a chubby girl. Rotund, even. But at my fattest, the roles on my stomach were always relatively flat. To quote Jen Lancaster, "A pretty fat." I didn't realize when people told me to take loose clothing to hospital what they were actually saying was "You may look four months pregnant for a while. Get used to it."
True to form, I look like I'm getting ready to identify the gender of my next baby. And I'm seriously struggling to keep from beating myself up over all the progress I made last summer in the exercise/weight loss department.
I mean, I wanted this. I wanted a baby more than anything in the world, and I am SO grateful for him. So why I am a little depressed over this development? Because I'm a girl. And there's something in girl code that says, "Oh things are going too well in my life. I have to find something to piss and moan about."
So before I get all look-at-my-baby's-two-month-pictures-and-how-much-he's-grown-and-why-can't-he-stay-a-baby-forever-how-does-time-go-this-fast, I thought I'd get this out of my system.
When people said, "Oh, you totally lose weight breast feeding," I heard, "You might become an international model if he nurses for longer than 10 seconds."
Epic fail, that one.
Even though nursing is supposed to filter most of the sugar out of my body, I still seem to struggle with my lady lumps (and not just the ones producing food). Weird, right? So now I'm back to really limiting sugar in my diet and I'm working toward cutting white flour completely (again).
Actually, that's the upside of this whole story: I found a wagon and I chased it down so I could get on. And that is largely due to the fact that I returned to my school about the time the faculty has logged a joint 400 lb weight loss.
It was like getting a kick in the teeth...but the kind that makes excited because now you can get veneers.
So in the footsteps of my friend, Morgan, who set a goal to walk 100 miles in 50 days, I'm pledging to walk/run 100 miles in the month of June.
Anyone else up for the challenge? Let's hashtag it in twitter: #100inJuneChallenge
What else do you do to get back on the proverbial wagon? I'll take all the advice I can get.
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Ryan's Birth Story: Part 3 (The Final Frontier)
Part 1
Part 2
I specifically waited until Grandma had left the room and Daddy was sleeping to have my break down. I didn't want to add stress to an already stressful situation, but those hot tears and sobs needed to be spent before I completely imploded.
I didn't really expect crying to help; I was just fighting frustration. After an almost perfect pregnancy, I found myself without much faith that my body was capable of doing something that came naturally to many women. I could almost taste the c-section that would be required, and, to be honest, I was afraid.
I wasn't two minutes into my tear fest when my replacement nurse came in to check the monitors and had her own panic attack. She was sure something was really wrong. Unfortunately, Grandma chose that exact moment to return to the room.
The nurse was scared. Grandma thought the nurse made me cry.
And here is where you get a few notes about Grandma. Before you were born, Grandma was a social worker with the Department of Health and Human services. She regularly dealt with insurance companies and often had the privilege of dealing with people who were less than forthcoming with information.
Because of this background, Grandma developed what your uncles and I like to call Mom personality #1 and Mom personality #2.
#1=An extremely naive woman who is non-confrontational and usually in a good mood.
#2=You know how National Geographic says more people are killed every year by angry hippos than any other animal? Well, your Grandma can channel her own angry hippo. And it ain't pretty.
Typically, Angry Hippo is reserved for insurance companies and lazy people; however, in the 5 nanoseconds that passed between your Grandma coming back into the room, registering my tears and turning to my nurse, I saw that Angry Hippo had swallowed whatever part of Mom Personality #1 had been present.
For the rest of the day, your Grandma (who I learned is extremely agile and protective) hawk-eyed every.single.procedure. And while I never would've described her as a terrifying woman, I certainly wasn't going to poke the bear. My nurse must have sensed the change in atmosphere because she was pretty low-key for the rest of her shift.
Around 9 am, Dr. S came in to check the progress of our through-the-night-Pitocin-gamble. We were all frustrated to learn I had only dilated to 2.5 centimeters. Dr. S scratched her head and said, "Well, I'm inclined to suggest we break your water and see what happens from there. Though, we can take you for a c-section if you'd rather."
I explained that I really wanted to avoid a c-section, and she responded, "I really think your body can do this, and we have some time. Let's break your water and see what happens."
Now I had read three different pregnancy books in the last nine months. Not one of them indicated what would happen if the doctor broke my water. So if you are ever planning to get pregnant ever (your wife, I mean), read carefully:
As soon as the doctor breaks your water, every muscle in your body is going to relocate to your uterus and spasm like you've been running from some crazed man trying to kill you. Truthfully, though, it's just your uterus trying to kill you. No worries.
For those of you who have never experienced a contraction, imagine some invisible force has reached inside your body and gripped your uterus. Then, in order maximize your pain, the force grows tentacles and wraps them around every available muscle in the tri-state area.
Thankfully, I reacted with the strength and grace that begets my personality. In other words? I panicked. Panicking is my spiritual gift, you know...or you'll learn sometime before you turn 18.
I don't mean to blow things out of proportion here because once I got my bearings and could focus on breathing, the contractions were manageable. But that first one? I just wasn't prepared. Call it a theme in this story.
My day nurse, Megan, said the average dilation activity after a woman's water breaks is a centimeter an hour. But us? We spit in the face of average. So when I still refused to dilate much in the hours following my water breaking, my doctor began discussing the options.
And by options? I mean our lack of them.
But you know us. Dad and I definitely reveled in the hilarious before those decisions were made.
When I'd labored for several hours, my nurse asked if I was ready for some pain medication. I wasn't quite ready for the epidural, but I was tired enough to need something to take the edge off of each contraction--mostly because in order to manage them I needed to sit straight up, propping myself on my arms with the soles of my feet touching. I was tense and there was no way of knowing how much longer it would take before I got to look at your sweet face.
So my nurse brought me Stadol.
As soon as the drug hit my IV, I learned that it is possible to hallucinate while maintaining a firm grasp of reality. Any time I closed my eyes, I felt like I was being transported to an alternate reality. Everything looked as real as it did if my eyes were open, but I knew it couldn't be real. For example, there was a squirrel who kept pulling on my underwear. When I opened my eyes, I could still feel that stupid squirrel pulling on my underwear, but I also knew, laboring like I was, that I wasn't wearing underwear.
For a full report of all the hilarious things I saw, you'll have to contact Grandma. She wrote it down, blessed soul that she is.
Most of the day felt 15 minutes long to me--mostly because it was tedious. There was little change until late into the evening when I finally started to dilate. My body, trying to make up for lost time, seemed to dilate three centimeters at a time. And that was really promising.
Until my temperature spiked.
For some unknown reason, I developed a 102.4 degree fever and that was a definite cause for concern. We didn't know what was causing the fever and any sort of infection would impact you negatively. Immediately, the doctor started pushing antibiotics and discussing a C-section. She told me we had a limited amount of time before this situation was serious, and then left Daddy and I to talk.
Something far worse than contractions grabbed me after that conversation. Daddy and I both cried and tried to figure out what we should do before God reminded me of my word for the year: peace. So with little recourse, and no ability to make an informed decision, we called PastorJosh and asked for prayer.
It was around 10:30 in the evening and most of the people in the waiting room were clearing out and heading home in hopes of getting some sleep before returning to meet you. A few minutes after that call, many of those same people returned to that waiting room to pray for us...for you. Even more received a call or text from PastorJosh and got out of bed (even though Easter Sunday was the very next day) to pray until we were holding you in our arms.
Thirty minutes later? I was pushing.
Nurses warned us that first time mommies can push for hours before a birth occurs. I smiled and told my nurse you were going to be born today. Since it was after 11 pm, my nurse smiled and nodded, but she didn't look convinced.
Forty minutes later, at 11:46 pm, you were here.
People think I'm weird when I say this, but the actual birthing experience was one of the best experiences of my life. By the time I was pushing, I was so excited to hold you. The nurse commented she'd never seen anyone smile while pushing (and it was freaking her out a little). But I couldn't help myself. I grinned the entire time. The doctor told funny stories. We laughed like family.
And partially, I think that's how it was meant to be.
Peaceful. Hopeful. And the complete fulfillment of what I'd waited 8 years for.
Total, it took 97 months to meet you.
And every single second was worth it.
So many people have waited for you.
And loved you.
This is just the beginning of your story, Ryan.
I think there's probably a lot of laughter to come. (Including a few hilarious stories about Daddy and putting your stroller in the car for the first time...)
And I'm so excited to tell every single one until you can tell your own.
I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always.
Mommy
Part 2
I specifically waited until Grandma had left the room and Daddy was sleeping to have my break down. I didn't want to add stress to an already stressful situation, but those hot tears and sobs needed to be spent before I completely imploded.
I didn't really expect crying to help; I was just fighting frustration. After an almost perfect pregnancy, I found myself without much faith that my body was capable of doing something that came naturally to many women. I could almost taste the c-section that would be required, and, to be honest, I was afraid.
I wasn't two minutes into my tear fest when my replacement nurse came in to check the monitors and had her own panic attack. She was sure something was really wrong. Unfortunately, Grandma chose that exact moment to return to the room.
The nurse was scared. Grandma thought the nurse made me cry.
And here is where you get a few notes about Grandma. Before you were born, Grandma was a social worker with the Department of Health and Human services. She regularly dealt with insurance companies and often had the privilege of dealing with people who were less than forthcoming with information.
Because of this background, Grandma developed what your uncles and I like to call Mom personality #1 and Mom personality #2.
#1=An extremely naive woman who is non-confrontational and usually in a good mood.
#2=You know how National Geographic says more people are killed every year by angry hippos than any other animal? Well, your Grandma can channel her own angry hippo. And it ain't pretty.
Typically, Angry Hippo is reserved for insurance companies and lazy people; however, in the 5 nanoseconds that passed between your Grandma coming back into the room, registering my tears and turning to my nurse, I saw that Angry Hippo had swallowed whatever part of Mom Personality #1 had been present.
For the rest of the day, your Grandma (who I learned is extremely agile and protective) hawk-eyed every.single.procedure. And while I never would've described her as a terrifying woman, I certainly wasn't going to poke the bear. My nurse must have sensed the change in atmosphere because she was pretty low-key for the rest of her shift.
Around 9 am, Dr. S came in to check the progress of our through-the-night-Pitocin-gamble. We were all frustrated to learn I had only dilated to 2.5 centimeters. Dr. S scratched her head and said, "Well, I'm inclined to suggest we break your water and see what happens from there. Though, we can take you for a c-section if you'd rather."
I explained that I really wanted to avoid a c-section, and she responded, "I really think your body can do this, and we have some time. Let's break your water and see what happens."
Now I had read three different pregnancy books in the last nine months. Not one of them indicated what would happen if the doctor broke my water. So if you are ever planning to get pregnant ever (your wife, I mean), read carefully:
As soon as the doctor breaks your water, every muscle in your body is going to relocate to your uterus and spasm like you've been running from some crazed man trying to kill you. Truthfully, though, it's just your uterus trying to kill you. No worries.
For those of you who have never experienced a contraction, imagine some invisible force has reached inside your body and gripped your uterus. Then, in order maximize your pain, the force grows tentacles and wraps them around every available muscle in the tri-state area.
Thankfully, I reacted with the strength and grace that begets my personality. In other words? I panicked. Panicking is my spiritual gift, you know...or you'll learn sometime before you turn 18.
I don't mean to blow things out of proportion here because once I got my bearings and could focus on breathing, the contractions were manageable. But that first one? I just wasn't prepared. Call it a theme in this story.
My day nurse, Megan, said the average dilation activity after a woman's water breaks is a centimeter an hour. But us? We spit in the face of average. So when I still refused to dilate much in the hours following my water breaking, my doctor began discussing the options.
And by options? I mean our lack of them.
But you know us. Dad and I definitely reveled in the hilarious before those decisions were made.
When I'd labored for several hours, my nurse asked if I was ready for some pain medication. I wasn't quite ready for the epidural, but I was tired enough to need something to take the edge off of each contraction--mostly because in order to manage them I needed to sit straight up, propping myself on my arms with the soles of my feet touching. I was tense and there was no way of knowing how much longer it would take before I got to look at your sweet face.
So my nurse brought me Stadol.
As soon as the drug hit my IV, I learned that it is possible to hallucinate while maintaining a firm grasp of reality. Any time I closed my eyes, I felt like I was being transported to an alternate reality. Everything looked as real as it did if my eyes were open, but I knew it couldn't be real. For example, there was a squirrel who kept pulling on my underwear. When I opened my eyes, I could still feel that stupid squirrel pulling on my underwear, but I also knew, laboring like I was, that I wasn't wearing underwear.
For a full report of all the hilarious things I saw, you'll have to contact Grandma. She wrote it down, blessed soul that she is.
Most of the day felt 15 minutes long to me--mostly because it was tedious. There was little change until late into the evening when I finally started to dilate. My body, trying to make up for lost time, seemed to dilate three centimeters at a time. And that was really promising.
Until my temperature spiked.
For some unknown reason, I developed a 102.4 degree fever and that was a definite cause for concern. We didn't know what was causing the fever and any sort of infection would impact you negatively. Immediately, the doctor started pushing antibiotics and discussing a C-section. She told me we had a limited amount of time before this situation was serious, and then left Daddy and I to talk.
Something far worse than contractions grabbed me after that conversation. Daddy and I both cried and tried to figure out what we should do before God reminded me of my word for the year: peace. So with little recourse, and no ability to make an informed decision, we called PastorJosh and asked for prayer.
It was around 10:30 in the evening and most of the people in the waiting room were clearing out and heading home in hopes of getting some sleep before returning to meet you. A few minutes after that call, many of those same people returned to that waiting room to pray for us...for you. Even more received a call or text from PastorJosh and got out of bed (even though Easter Sunday was the very next day) to pray until we were holding you in our arms.
Thirty minutes later? I was pushing.
 |
| Our first meeting, Baby Boy. |
 |
| Daddy snapped all sorts of pictures. You were perfect even directly after birth. Most babies aren't cute at this stage. |
 |
| Ryan Christopher March 30th, 2013 8 lbs, 0.8 oz. 22 inches |
And partially, I think that's how it was meant to be.
Peaceful. Hopeful. And the complete fulfillment of what I'd waited 8 years for.
Total, it took 97 months to meet you.
And every single second was worth it.
I think there's probably a lot of laughter to come. (Including a few hilarious stories about Daddy and putting your stroller in the car for the first time...)
And I'm so excited to tell every single one until you can tell your own.
I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always.
Mommy
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Ryan's Birth Story: Part 2
 |
| 39 Weeks, 4 days pregnant--Right outside the hospital on Thursday |
Friday, March 29
If there's anything you're going to learn about your father, Ryan, it's that he doesn't sit well. So going into our second day at the hospital, I had honestly hoped you would make your appearance quickly because I wasn't sure which expensive piece of hospital equipment Daddy would choose to "experiment" with first.
To be honest, I was also a little nervous about the prospect of induction. The one thing Dad and I took a hardline stance on was Pitocin. We just didn't want to expose you to large amounts of this particular drug, and I also knew it had the potential to make labor more intense in the long run.
The nurse came in around 8 am to remove the Cervadil and assess our overnight progress. Over the next several hours, Megan (my nurse) and I got along really well. But my initial reaction was less than favorable. Why? Because she was the first person to inform us the Cervadil did absolutely nothing. And had I known that would be the theme for Good Friday? The crying would have commenced at that very moment.
Dr. J came in to see us and get the ball rolling on the Pitocin drip not long after 8 am. He determined that it was best to start slow and increase the medicine slowly. We were grateful for his approach because he reasoned there was no need to use a large amount where a small amount would do the job.
You had been at station -1 for the last three weeks, so I assumed a small amount of Pitocin would be our ticket to the big show. But in case you aren't seeing the theme here, my assumptions regarding your appearance into the world were largely off-base. I also thought I would be able to walk while in labor to help my progress; however, my blood pressure and the necessity of the IV made that reality an impossibility.
I wish I could give you a detailed account of the day after our initial meeting with the doctor, but most of that day's events swim together in my mind. At one point, I even told the doctor I'd felt nauseated for about 15 minutes before the nurse indicated I'd told her the same thing two hours before. Time, while important, was impossible to measure outside of contractions and progress.
But those were elusive in that first day of induction.
My contractions wouldn't strengthen. I didn't dilate. I didn't efface. I tossed and turned in my bed praying for something to happen, and I even cried--twice, actually--out of frustration at the whole process.
The most exciting thing that did happen on Friday was probably when my blood pressure cuff wouldn't stop airing up. I was caught so off-guard, I didn't have the presence of mind to rip it off. Your Grandma and Daddy, the only two people in the room at the time, both jumped across my bed to help, but by the time the cuff was ripped off my arm, the damage had been done. I now had a very sore arm, a bruise the size of my palm and a fear of the blood pressure cuff I wasn't allowed to remove.
People showed up off and on throughout the day. Your Uncle Ronnie and Aunt Sheena made it in from Ohio. Uncle Timmy and Aunt Nikki drove in from their AFB. Friends. Cousins. Grandparents. The hospital chaplain (who is also a friend). Their visits were a nice relief from the tedious reminder that nothing was happening. Of course, your father did his best to provide a bit of comic relief, too. At one point in the evening, he even attempted to put a surgical glove over his entire head and blow it up with his nose.
(He wasn't successful, by the way. The gloves were a size medium so he requested a size extra large from my night nurse. She apparently also had a pretty interesting sense of humor because she hunted for that glove for a full 40 minutes before telling us there weren't any available.)
After almost 12 hours of Pitocin, my primary doctor (Dr. S--who was on call for the weekend) came in to discuss our options. She identified our situation as "gray area" for her, and said we could continue the Pitocin through the night or stop it and restart it the next morning. Since I hoped to make as much progress as possible before the next day, we chose to continue the Pitocin through the night in hopes of delivering you early the next day.
Dr. S ordered the nurse to stop the Pitocin for a couple of hours so I could eat a real meal--I'd had nothing but liquids since the night before--and then restart the IV at 10 pm.
The anticipation was intense, and after a whole day of no progress, I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown...
To be continued
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Ryan's Birth Story: Part 1
Ryan,
I watched your little back rise as you were laying on my chest today, and I thought about how important it was that I take the time to write this part of your story. But your Momma? She's picky about words. This couldn't be one of those stories, as they say in the movie Big Fish, with "all of the facts and none of the flavor." Frankly, that would be missing a large portion of the way your Daddy and I see the world. And I truly hope you grow up to see the humor in the most stressful moments of your life.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, March 28th
I went to my regular appointment with the fourth doctor in my practice hoping I had progressed in dilation and effacement. The Wednesday before I had experienced some pretty hard contractions and was disappointed they completely stopped the next day so I was ready to hear some progressive news.
After a quick check, Dr. J informed Daddy and I that I was still only 1 cm and around 60% effaced. He was, however, concerned because my blood pressure had taken a sudden jump this last week. While everything was OK as far as you were concerned, he recommended we head to the hospital to be admitted for observation. Then, he said, he would come by later in the evening to discuss possible induction or the next course of action.
Daddy and I headed home in order to gather a few essentials, eat lunch and then, two hours later, found ourselves walking into the hospital.
We quickly found out it was a crazy day on the second floor. Labor and Delivery was so busy, in fact, that there were women laboring in triage rooms and I had to share a room (atypical for this floor, I was told) with another woman who hadn't progressed enough to be moved. Of course, even if she had, I'm not sure where they would have put her. In that short night, there were about eight births total--including one set of twins.
When we first walked into the room, my roommate was telling the nurse that she would not, under any circumstances, take an epidural. "I'm tough," she reasoned out loud, and was echoed by her husband who assured the nurse she was a strong person.
I raised my eyebrows because 1. I am not tough and 2. I realized pretty quickly this labor stuff was no joke. It didn't take two hours before that same woman was declaring her overall hatred for the hospital, her doctor, Jesus and her own husband. She hit the bed and moaned "Ohmygod" repeatedly. I looked at your dad and said, "Umm...I'm not sure I can do this..." He responded wide-eyed, "Me either."
I won't share all of the things she hollered, but you should know her vocabulary was colorful and entertaining. Unfortunately, she didn't make labor look appealing. So it's not surprising I got a little sick to my stomach when Dr. J came in to let us know we wouldn't be going home without a baby. My sudden spike in blood pressure wasn't temporary, and he felt induction was our best course of action. He reasoned that you weren't in distress, but it was best to make these decisions when baby was still healthy and safe.
Daddy and I looked at each other, looked at the sheet separating us from Armageddon over Mommyhood, and agreed that if this would keep you safe? We were all in.
About an hour later, nurses came to move the moaner. She apologized on her way out, but the damage had been done. I was n.e.r.v.o.u.s. When she was gone, I made the nurse sit down and talk to me. I was sure that woman was transitioning from a 6 to a 7 and I just wasn't sure I was capable of handling something obviously so painful. The nurse smiled and said, "She moved from a 2 to a 3 while she was in this room. She was a little out of control so don't worry. I'm sure you'll be fine."
"Can I have her epidural and mine?" I asked, not really kidding.
"Listen," the nurse said. "When the time comes, focus and breathe. Don't waste time yelling or creating more drama in your room. Your body knows what to do. You'll be fine."
Everything at that point seemed to happen really fast. I got a new nurse due to shift change. A couple hours later, I got a new roommate--a former student at my high school, in fact--who I will refer to as Typhoid Mary because she hacked all.night.long. Loudly. After telling the nurse she smokes a pack a day.
Sigh.
We really didn't have the option to be choosy, though. My new nurse was given direction to give me Cervadil in order to finish the process so dilation could begin. I think that started at 11 pm, but I honestly can't remember due to the sleep aid I was given. All I do remember is periodically waking up as your monitor was readjusted so we could keep tabs on your sweet heartbeat.
(A side note to you: You, child, are a mover and a shaker. The nurses repeatedly commented on how active you were and How.Much.You.Move. Of course, you were out of space. I was 39 weeks 4 days, but you were 8 lbs and 22 inches at birth...so you were tired of people invading your space with monitors, hands, stethoscopes, etc.)
Daddy couldn't stay with me in our shared room. There just wasn't space for him. He scoped out a prime spot in the intensive care waiting room one floor up and left to get some sleep (or attempt to get some sleep) before the events of the next day. The next thing I remember, it was 4 am and Andrea (my nurse) was moving me into a birthing suite. Our induction with Pitocin would start that same morning so it was important I was as relaxed and comfortable as possible before proceeding. I called Daddy and he made himself comfortable in our new space.
Good thing, too, because we were there for a while.
To be continued...
I watched your little back rise as you were laying on my chest today, and I thought about how important it was that I take the time to write this part of your story. But your Momma? She's picky about words. This couldn't be one of those stories, as they say in the movie Big Fish, with "all of the facts and none of the flavor." Frankly, that would be missing a large portion of the way your Daddy and I see the world. And I truly hope you grow up to see the humor in the most stressful moments of your life.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, March 28th
I went to my regular appointment with the fourth doctor in my practice hoping I had progressed in dilation and effacement. The Wednesday before I had experienced some pretty hard contractions and was disappointed they completely stopped the next day so I was ready to hear some progressive news.
After a quick check, Dr. J informed Daddy and I that I was still only 1 cm and around 60% effaced. He was, however, concerned because my blood pressure had taken a sudden jump this last week. While everything was OK as far as you were concerned, he recommended we head to the hospital to be admitted for observation. Then, he said, he would come by later in the evening to discuss possible induction or the next course of action.
Daddy and I headed home in order to gather a few essentials, eat lunch and then, two hours later, found ourselves walking into the hospital.
We quickly found out it was a crazy day on the second floor. Labor and Delivery was so busy, in fact, that there were women laboring in triage rooms and I had to share a room (atypical for this floor, I was told) with another woman who hadn't progressed enough to be moved. Of course, even if she had, I'm not sure where they would have put her. In that short night, there were about eight births total--including one set of twins.
When we first walked into the room, my roommate was telling the nurse that she would not, under any circumstances, take an epidural. "I'm tough," she reasoned out loud, and was echoed by her husband who assured the nurse she was a strong person.
I raised my eyebrows because 1. I am not tough and 2. I realized pretty quickly this labor stuff was no joke. It didn't take two hours before that same woman was declaring her overall hatred for the hospital, her doctor, Jesus and her own husband. She hit the bed and moaned "Ohmygod" repeatedly. I looked at your dad and said, "Umm...I'm not sure I can do this..." He responded wide-eyed, "Me either."
I won't share all of the things she hollered, but you should know her vocabulary was colorful and entertaining. Unfortunately, she didn't make labor look appealing. So it's not surprising I got a little sick to my stomach when Dr. J came in to let us know we wouldn't be going home without a baby. My sudden spike in blood pressure wasn't temporary, and he felt induction was our best course of action. He reasoned that you weren't in distress, but it was best to make these decisions when baby was still healthy and safe.
Daddy and I looked at each other, looked at the sheet separating us from Armageddon over Mommyhood, and agreed that if this would keep you safe? We were all in.
About an hour later, nurses came to move the moaner. She apologized on her way out, but the damage had been done. I was n.e.r.v.o.u.s. When she was gone, I made the nurse sit down and talk to me. I was sure that woman was transitioning from a 6 to a 7 and I just wasn't sure I was capable of handling something obviously so painful. The nurse smiled and said, "She moved from a 2 to a 3 while she was in this room. She was a little out of control so don't worry. I'm sure you'll be fine."
"Can I have her epidural and mine?" I asked, not really kidding.
"Listen," the nurse said. "When the time comes, focus and breathe. Don't waste time yelling or creating more drama in your room. Your body knows what to do. You'll be fine."
Everything at that point seemed to happen really fast. I got a new nurse due to shift change. A couple hours later, I got a new roommate--a former student at my high school, in fact--who I will refer to as Typhoid Mary because she hacked all.night.long. Loudly. After telling the nurse she smokes a pack a day.
Sigh.
We really didn't have the option to be choosy, though. My new nurse was given direction to give me Cervadil in order to finish the process so dilation could begin. I think that started at 11 pm, but I honestly can't remember due to the sleep aid I was given. All I do remember is periodically waking up as your monitor was readjusted so we could keep tabs on your sweet heartbeat.
(A side note to you: You, child, are a mover and a shaker. The nurses repeatedly commented on how active you were and How.Much.You.Move. Of course, you were out of space. I was 39 weeks 4 days, but you were 8 lbs and 22 inches at birth...so you were tired of people invading your space with monitors, hands, stethoscopes, etc.)
Daddy couldn't stay with me in our shared room. There just wasn't space for him. He scoped out a prime spot in the intensive care waiting room one floor up and left to get some sleep (or attempt to get some sleep) before the events of the next day. The next thing I remember, it was 4 am and Andrea (my nurse) was moving me into a birthing suite. Our induction with Pitocin would start that same morning so it was important I was as relaxed and comfortable as possible before proceeding. I called Daddy and he made himself comfortable in our new space.
Good thing, too, because we were there for a while.
To be continued...
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
I haven't given birth...yet.
*A brief note to all interested parties*
I do have a bumpdate; however, I'll probably wait and post it with pictures of the nursery sometime this weekend. My mom is finishing curtains and we have purchased a glider (which may not make it into the pictures as it's not due to arrive until next week) so I'd like to get some updated pictures on the blog for those who are interested in that sort of thing.
Favorite ishellbent sure Ryan will make his debut on Sunday (also Favorite's bday), and there are definitely some signs that indicate he's going to come sooner rather than later. Can you ever really tell, though? Babies can be so darned unpredictable. If you're a betting person, though, here are the latest updates:
We have one more shower on Thursday and an appointment to meet with our tax accountant on Friday. By then, I'm hoping to have finished the last week of lesson plans I have to write for my sub and be 80% caught up on grading. I think the last thing on my docket will probably be the 85 Julius Caesar papers from my sophomores. Frankly, though, I'm impressed we've gotten this far.
The end game here is an actual baby. And most of the time I'm still surprised I'm getting one of those.
Stay tuned for the (according to Favorite) soon-to-come announcement of his birth :)
I do have a bumpdate; however, I'll probably wait and post it with pictures of the nursery sometime this weekend. My mom is finishing curtains and we have purchased a glider (which may not make it into the pictures as it's not due to arrive until next week) so I'd like to get some updated pictures on the blog for those who are interested in that sort of thing.
Favorite is
- Over the last two weeks he has dropped significantly.
- I am having contractions. They aren't regular or particularly painful, but they're definitely happening.
- At my last appointment, I was 50% effaced and beginning to dialate. (My next appointment is Thursday afternoon.) The doctor also gave us the stern "if-you-feel-these-things-come-to-the-hospital" speech.
- It has become particularly painful to walk. My hips and back are sore fairly consistently and I've developed this need to hold my belly when I move because it feels like he's going to fall out at any given minute.
We have one more shower on Thursday and an appointment to meet with our tax accountant on Friday. By then, I'm hoping to have finished the last week of lesson plans I have to write for my sub and be 80% caught up on grading. I think the last thing on my docket will probably be the 85 Julius Caesar papers from my sophomores. Frankly, though, I'm impressed we've gotten this far.
The end game here is an actual baby. And most of the time I'm still surprised I'm getting one of those.
Stay tuned for the (according to Favorite) soon-to-come announcement of his birth :)
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
It Just Isn't The Same
I have a confession.
I used to watch Teen Mom.
Ok, ok. Maybe "used to" is a little too...past tense? Occasionally, when Dr. Drew interviews the girls, I still tune in to episodes of Teen Mom.
(Or read about them online.)
(It's like a train wreck. I just can't seem to look away.)
Most of my viewing time is spent wondering if the show really is accomplishing all that Morgan Freeman hoped: namely, reducing teen pregnancy rates. I struggle to determine if it is an honest and open look at the difficulty of parenting while still needing a parent or if it gives attention-seeking teens one more reason to get knocked up.
And it's not like I just struggle with those questions while playing Couch Commando with the remote. In my five (limited) years as an educator, I've seen way more than my fair share of teen mothers (and, to be fair, fathers). But despite all of my exposure, I have no idea how to respond to these very real, and often frustrating scenarios.
Take today, for example: I apparently enraged a student when I told him/her it was ridiculous his/her significant other was bringing their now month-old infant to the school for lunch. Let me give you the rest of the details: 1. The person bringing the infant was walking. 2. It was snowing (a lot!) outside. 3. I am sending 3-4 students home a day due to flu season. 4. The person bringing the infant was actually going to sit in the cafeteria with the majority of the student body to "show off" (their words, not mine) the new baby.
I understand that teenagers don't always make the best decisions; however, this particular incident left me chewing my tongue to the point of tasting blood--and not just because toting a month-old infant around outside in the snow to present him to whatever virus is floating in the cafeteria obviously indicates horrible decision making skills.
I had to shut my mouth because I will never see these situations outside of the spectacles of infertility.
(In my defense, I've managed to keep from sarcastically making comments like "Wow. I wonder how many of those people are going to be around to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over your six-year-old when you all are 21. Oh, wait. I do know. Almost none of them. Because they will be in the business of starting their adult lives while you are learning to navigate the life of a first-grader. Glamorous, isn't it?!")
It goes without saying that a fifteen year old is going to possess a certain amount of naivete when it comes to child rearing. After all, the fact that they still need parents to help them make difficult life choices pretty well means their parenting skills are non-existent. What I can't always explain is the almost uncontrollable surge of fury I have when these situations are aired openly and regularly in my presence.
As Ryan's due date (quickly!) approaches, I find myself waivering between panic, ecstacy and complete unbelief. The latter occurs daily--which is odd given that my stomach shifts on it's own and I really need to add a "team lift" sticker to my wardrobe as standing up on my own has become a little difficult. Regardless, I've said a hundred times how grateful Favorite and I have been to receive this opportunity. And over the course of this pregnancy, we've been given the multiplied blessing of sharing our joy with friends (and family) who have found themselves miraculously expecting after years of struggle.
To put it simply: For me--a several other people I know--this is a big deal. Huge. Gargantuan.
And I refuse to share any part of that experience with someone who is using their "crisis" situation to gain attention.
Some will probably see that as a little selfish. It's your perogative to believe that's who I am. But I can tell you honestly that all I really want is the blessing of his birth and his life. Other honorifics, while extremely awesome and very gratifying, are unnecessary in light of him.
I certainly don't mean these "teenage pregnancy" babies are worthless or less of a blessing because of the situation in which they are born. I just don't know how to navigate my "this is really special, waited for and miraculous" with their (very often) "we just didn't have a condom; I wanted someone to love me; I need this baby to get some attention from other people."
So tomorrow, another day closer to my due date, I am going to attempt to find a way to encourage the student who just delivered a healthy baby while keeping the conversation from connecting my impending delivery to her recent experience.
Similar or not, we just aren't the same.
I used to watch Teen Mom.
Ok, ok. Maybe "used to" is a little too...past tense? Occasionally, when Dr. Drew interviews the girls, I still tune in to episodes of Teen Mom.
(Or read about them online.)
(It's like a train wreck. I just can't seem to look away.)
Most of my viewing time is spent wondering if the show really is accomplishing all that Morgan Freeman hoped: namely, reducing teen pregnancy rates. I struggle to determine if it is an honest and open look at the difficulty of parenting while still needing a parent or if it gives attention-seeking teens one more reason to get knocked up.
And it's not like I just struggle with those questions while playing Couch Commando with the remote. In my five (limited) years as an educator, I've seen way more than my fair share of teen mothers (and, to be fair, fathers). But despite all of my exposure, I have no idea how to respond to these very real, and often frustrating scenarios.
Take today, for example: I apparently enraged a student when I told him/her it was ridiculous his/her significant other was bringing their now month-old infant to the school for lunch. Let me give you the rest of the details: 1. The person bringing the infant was walking. 2. It was snowing (a lot!) outside. 3. I am sending 3-4 students home a day due to flu season. 4. The person bringing the infant was actually going to sit in the cafeteria with the majority of the student body to "show off" (their words, not mine) the new baby.
I understand that teenagers don't always make the best decisions; however, this particular incident left me chewing my tongue to the point of tasting blood--and not just because toting a month-old infant around outside in the snow to present him to whatever virus is floating in the cafeteria obviously indicates horrible decision making skills.
I had to shut my mouth because I will never see these situations outside of the spectacles of infertility.
(In my defense, I've managed to keep from sarcastically making comments like "Wow. I wonder how many of those people are going to be around to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over your six-year-old when you all are 21. Oh, wait. I do know. Almost none of them. Because they will be in the business of starting their adult lives while you are learning to navigate the life of a first-grader. Glamorous, isn't it?!")
It goes without saying that a fifteen year old is going to possess a certain amount of naivete when it comes to child rearing. After all, the fact that they still need parents to help them make difficult life choices pretty well means their parenting skills are non-existent. What I can't always explain is the almost uncontrollable surge of fury I have when these situations are aired openly and regularly in my presence.
As Ryan's due date (quickly!) approaches, I find myself waivering between panic, ecstacy and complete unbelief. The latter occurs daily--which is odd given that my stomach shifts on it's own and I really need to add a "team lift" sticker to my wardrobe as standing up on my own has become a little difficult. Regardless, I've said a hundred times how grateful Favorite and I have been to receive this opportunity. And over the course of this pregnancy, we've been given the multiplied blessing of sharing our joy with friends (and family) who have found themselves miraculously expecting after years of struggle.
To put it simply: For me--a several other people I know--this is a big deal. Huge. Gargantuan.
And I refuse to share any part of that experience with someone who is using their "crisis" situation to gain attention.
Some will probably see that as a little selfish. It's your perogative to believe that's who I am. But I can tell you honestly that all I really want is the blessing of his birth and his life. Other honorifics, while extremely awesome and very gratifying, are unnecessary in light of him.
I certainly don't mean these "teenage pregnancy" babies are worthless or less of a blessing because of the situation in which they are born. I just don't know how to navigate my "this is really special, waited for and miraculous" with their (very often) "we just didn't have a condom; I wanted someone to love me; I need this baby to get some attention from other people."
So tomorrow, another day closer to my due date, I am going to attempt to find a way to encourage the student who just delivered a healthy baby while keeping the conversation from connecting my impending delivery to her recent experience.
Similar or not, we just aren't the same.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Ryan's Community
I would tell you that I'm probably going to MIA this next week, but since my presence has been minimal on my little part of the interwebs, I doubt anyone is shocked. It only takes so many old women "tsking" and looking at your belly when you say you have four more weeks to induce a bit of a panic about the fact that this baby may very well come before his scheduled due date and CLEARLY he does not understand his mother at all if he cannot stick to the discussed and acceptable date of March 22nd which is still a full week before his ACTUAL due date.
This next week is going to be full of grading so I can *finally* catch up with the advanced class I've been neglecting and grade the recent projects from my sophomores. My mind has been so occupied with the things I have to do that little space in my brain has been available to construct any sort of understandable sentence--even when my heart has been itching for the opportunity to write.
In the few spare moments I do find, I write Ryan letters longhand. I talk to him about this pregnancy. About the type of man hope he will be. About the fact that his daddy was convinced he was a girl... Things I'd like him to know that I may not remember when they've passed.
In the back of my mind, I file subjects I'd like to discuss with him. Sometimes I mentally write whole letters about how long it took me to become comfortable with who I am, and the fact that living honestly and openly with the people you've been given is the most functional type of Christianity.
But the closer I get to holding him for the first time, the more I realize that these aren't things that will need to be written in letters. They've been written on the faces and in the hearts of the people who have committed themselves to us--come hell or high water.
Their encouragement and hopes for us have been functionally shown in tiny onesies and more than three thousand baby wipes. And before those gifts were a possibility, in the silent steps they took beside us while we continued to walk.
There will never be a blog post or ink pen sufficient enough to explain to him the blessing of community. And heaven knows that's one subject I will write over and over again with no sense of satisfaction as to its conclusion. I'll never quite get it right.
But I'm grateful to be in their sphere.
Even when they tell me he's coming early.
(Or call him Doug. But that's another story for another day.)
This next week is going to be full of grading so I can *finally* catch up with the advanced class I've been neglecting and grade the recent projects from my sophomores. My mind has been so occupied with the things I have to do that little space in my brain has been available to construct any sort of understandable sentence--even when my heart has been itching for the opportunity to write.
In the few spare moments I do find, I write Ryan letters longhand. I talk to him about this pregnancy. About the type of man hope he will be. About the fact that his daddy was convinced he was a girl... Things I'd like him to know that I may not remember when they've passed.
In the back of my mind, I file subjects I'd like to discuss with him. Sometimes I mentally write whole letters about how long it took me to become comfortable with who I am, and the fact that living honestly and openly with the people you've been given is the most functional type of Christianity.
But the closer I get to holding him for the first time, the more I realize that these aren't things that will need to be written in letters. They've been written on the faces and in the hearts of the people who have committed themselves to us--come hell or high water.
Their encouragement and hopes for us have been functionally shown in tiny onesies and more than three thousand baby wipes. And before those gifts were a possibility, in the silent steps they took beside us while we continued to walk.
There will never be a blog post or ink pen sufficient enough to explain to him the blessing of community. And heaven knows that's one subject I will write over and over again with no sense of satisfaction as to its conclusion. I'll never quite get it right.
But I'm grateful to be in their sphere.
Even when they tell me he's coming early.
(Or call him Doug. But that's another story for another day.)
Monday, February 18, 2013
Little Navajo--34 Weeks/Baby Shower/Nursery Update
How Far Along: 34 Weeks
Size: Ryan is likely a little over 18 inches long and is almost 5 lbs--the size of an average cantalope.
Gender: It's a boy--Ryan
Christopher!
Movement: He's so big and the skin across my stomach is stretched so tight, it's impossible for him to make a movement without us noticing. Favorite is fascinated by this development and regularly insists on watching my belly dance.
Sleep: Most of the time, I don't sleep well for two days in a row, and then fall into an exhausted sleep on Day 3. For the most part, I've been averaging around 5 hours. So I may be a little out of it some days, but I'm totally functioning!
Maternity Clothes: I wear them most
days. In fact, the picture above should be a pretty good indicator that my belly is approximately the size of a large watermelon and just as oblong. It looks a little strange when I sit down.
Symptoms: Pretty much all the normal symptoms of pregnancy--a huge belly with a clearly active human being inside, occasional difficulty sleeping, heartburn and slight back pain. Nothing unmanagable or super-uncomfortable--oh, and if gratitude can be considered a symptom? My heart is overflowing with it.
Aversions: Today I ate cereal and corn on the cob. Nothing else really sounded good.
Cravings: Still on a milk kick. I can't explain it.
What I miss: I'm so grateful to be pregnant. I can't think
of one thing I should be missing.
Feeling toward pregnancy:
I cannot lie: Joy, gratitude and dead panic.
I have an admission to make that I may have denied in the past: I am a control freak. There. I said it. And when it comes to my classroom? I'm the worst kind of control freak. It's not that I think others are incapable; I just have a hard time investing in a group of kids and then leaving six weeks of lessons in someone else's hands--especially when I know everyone has his/her own style of approaching material.
Will it be worse than my approach? Probably not. My sub is a seasoned teacher who could run circles around me--particularly when it comes to teaching the writing process. But it's my classroom. You know?
So I'm praying I can just write general plans for each week, leave the information and let it go.
Oh, and I'm still praying Ryan does not choose to come early...
Best Moment this
week: Sorting through all of our gifts and finally sitting down to read some of the notes in the cards.
Oh, and Favorite moved us out of the trailer officially. I know that's not really pregnancy related, but now that Ryan's arrival is close, we both seem to feel the need to make our house as home-y as possible. It's weird how a baby has pushed us to organize things and build furniture (a kitchen table--thoughts to come) in order to feel as comfy and at-home as possible.
What I'm looking forward to:
Finishing the nursery.
First on the list is washing clothes and diapers and organizing them in the closet. I've ordered some cloth-diaper-friendly detergent online and it should be here next week. That means closet organization starts next week. But I did want to show you some of the progress we've made. (This is for you, Aunt Sheena!)
Curtains and the closet haven't changed much, so I'll leave those pictures for another day.
Still to come:
1. Some sort of glider. They are pretty expensive; Favorite and I are trying to determine what would work best for the space while maintaining our financial sense. (A $1200 chair is so not an option.)
2. A couple of tables. I haven't checked Goodwill yet, but we know we'll need a small table to put beside the glider for a lamp and other things as well as another table for the awesome, dragon humidifier and the super cute turtle night light.
3. The women who threw my shower also gave me some of the decorations. Favorite and I are going to hang a bouquet of chinese lanterns on one side of the room over the glider.
4. Decorations over the crib. I have no idea yet.
5. Book slings.
6. Something decorative for toy storage. In the future we'll have to develop something a little more substantial, but for now? Something decorative would be awesome.
7. Curtains. Mom and I have already discussed this issue, and we think we have a plan.
And that's about it for now. I should've taken a picture of my diaper bag that arrived this week, too, but I'm feeling lazy right now.
And completely excited for this new stage of life--well, when I finish feeling like I'm going to throw up over sub plans ;)
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| The cake at my shower included a blanket that matches the chevron colors in the nursery. |
Size: Ryan is likely a little over 18 inches long and is almost 5 lbs--the size of an average cantalope.
 |
| The sweet ladies from my church who threw this shower went all out. You ever feel like you've been blessed with people you don't deserve? Me, too. (And I really don't look pregnant from the front--I just look like I have a gut. Ha!) |
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| The CCL (who is sitting beside me) sews. Part of her gift included some really sentimental items. Then she cried and I refused to look at her so I wouldn't cry. But among some of the really cool items was a wipes case with Ryan's initial. |
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| Two Bumbo seats are totally going to be blessing. We're keeping one at home, and Favorite suggested we keep the other one at the car. That way, no matter where we are, Ryan will have some easy-to-transport gear. |
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| That hat? Is a crochet hat complete with Yoda ears. And my kid will wear it until I can no longer jam it on his little head. Oh, and there WILL be pictures. |
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| Favorite's Nanny hand-quilted a blanket for Ryan. |
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| This is Favorite's Nanny. |
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| My mom shocked the beejeezus out of me by giving Ryan a quilt--her first ever. I had no idea she was working on something like this, but the sweet people at a local shop who have been guiding her through the baby bedding process helped her put this together. You can see the look on my face--I was so proud! |
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| The CCL and I have a lot of similar facial expressions. After asking around A LOT and looking at different reviews, Favorite and I registered for a Diaper Champ. My MIL gave us this, and I think it was probably the best choice for us. We do intend to try cloth diapering; however, most of the info we read indicated it will be about 8 weeks before Ryan will fit the diapers well. And even if cloth diapers work for us, we will likely use disposables when we travel and if we get a bit behind on laundry. In the long run, the Diaper Champ should help with either--lined with a trash bag or a wet bag. |
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| And baby boy clothes? Can be so.cute. We got a variety of sizes which was super awesome. On a slightly unrelated side note, we keep praying Ryan will be Favorite's size and get his height from my brothers (who are both at least 6'). That way a Division I Football scholarship might actually be a possibility. Well, unless he gets his coordination from me. LOL. |
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| Favorite even showed up for the end of the party to help load gifts and enjoy cake. And for those wondering: he's well on his way to losing all of his pregnancy weight :) |
I have an admission to make that I may have denied in the past: I am a control freak. There. I said it. And when it comes to my classroom? I'm the worst kind of control freak. It's not that I think others are incapable; I just have a hard time investing in a group of kids and then leaving six weeks of lessons in someone else's hands--especially when I know everyone has his/her own style of approaching material.
Will it be worse than my approach? Probably not. My sub is a seasoned teacher who could run circles around me--particularly when it comes to teaching the writing process. But it's my classroom. You know?
So I'm praying I can just write general plans for each week, leave the information and let it go.
Oh, and I'm still praying Ryan does not choose to come early...
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| We're hoping to instill a small amount of musical talent in him with cool presents like this activity mat. What baby doesn't want to kick at piano keys? |
Oh, and Favorite moved us out of the trailer officially. I know that's not really pregnancy related, but now that Ryan's arrival is close, we both seem to feel the need to make our house as home-y as possible. It's weird how a baby has pushed us to organize things and build furniture (a kitchen table--thoughts to come) in order to feel as comfy and at-home as possible.
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| Ryan's "bed" for the first 2-3 months. |
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| Another first weeks home "bed." Fun story: This randomly showed up on our doorstep on Saturday. Favorite and I opened the box to discover BigBro and SILSheena decided to send us more presents--not just because they're awesome, but also because they need Ryan to have a comfy place to sleep when we visit Ohio :) |
First on the list is washing clothes and diapers and organizing them in the closet. I've ordered some cloth-diaper-friendly detergent online and it should be here next week. That means closet organization starts next week. But I did want to show you some of the progress we've made. (This is for you, Aunt Sheena!)
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| A starting point: changing table side of the room. |
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| A starting point: crib side of the room. |
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| The changing table upgraded. We added a pegboard and decorated with various baskets and items. Not all of these things are staying on the changing table (obviously), but I'm still in the process of organizing and getting things together. Most of the stuff on the pegboard will probably say there. Frankly, I think it was a really useful project and it came together quite nicely. We just spray painted and framed it out on the wall. |
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| Mom is working on bumper pads this week. |
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| A better bedding shot. |
1. Some sort of glider. They are pretty expensive; Favorite and I are trying to determine what would work best for the space while maintaining our financial sense. (A $1200 chair is so not an option.)
2. A couple of tables. I haven't checked Goodwill yet, but we know we'll need a small table to put beside the glider for a lamp and other things as well as another table for the awesome, dragon humidifier and the super cute turtle night light.
3. The women who threw my shower also gave me some of the decorations. Favorite and I are going to hang a bouquet of chinese lanterns on one side of the room over the glider.
4. Decorations over the crib. I have no idea yet.
5. Book slings.
6. Something decorative for toy storage. In the future we'll have to develop something a little more substantial, but for now? Something decorative would be awesome.
7. Curtains. Mom and I have already discussed this issue, and we think we have a plan.
And that's about it for now. I should've taken a picture of my diaper bag that arrived this week, too, but I'm feeling lazy right now.
And completely excited for this new stage of life--well, when I finish feeling like I'm going to throw up over sub plans ;)
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Little Navajo--32 Weeks
Size: Ryan is likely a little over 17 inches long and a bit more than 3.75 lbs--apparently the size of a large jicama.
Gender: It's a boy--Ryan Christopher!
Movement: I feel him move and I watch him move. This week at small group, he was letting himself drift until he could push off my left hip with his feet and then he was ramming his head into the right side of my torso.
Sleep: JaketheSnake readjusted my shoulders and I slept gloriously last night. Favorite also let me sleep in this weekend which was pretty nice.
Maternity Clothes: I wear them most days.
Symptoms: This week? Swelling in my ankles.
I've spent most of this pregnancy carefully considering my food options and exercising *fairly* regularly. It doesn't mean I've never induldged or my exercise is super consistent. I'm a human being, after all.
But I can tell you after last week's headlong jump into sitting and eating little more than sugary breakfast cereal, there's something to the advice of doctors. Keep in mind I'm to the stage where a little swelling is to be expected--especially after a day of no sitting.
But people who use pregnancy as an excuse to eat whatever, whenever and lay around constantly? I can't imagine 1. how they feel or 2. what the swelling in their limbs looks like. It took three days of readjusting my eating habits and alternating between sitting and walking regularly, but the swelling is gone and hasn't returned and I'm less sluggish than I have been for the last week.
Just a short testimonial regarding the advice of doctors.
Aversions: Chicken. Mostly. It's not so bad if it's shredded or pounded thin, but regular chicken breasts? Blech.
Cravings: Milk. Peanut butter. Greek yogurt.
What I miss: I'm so grateful to be pregnant. I can't think of one thing I should be missing.
Feeling toward pregnancy: My normally awesome and lovely coworkers decided to share some information about pregnancy I previously didn't know. (In their defense, it's probably good information for me to have.)
So while I'm all "Squeee! I'm having a baby!" I am now simultaneously, "ACK! I'm having a baby!" And when labor strikes, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be "ACK...ACK...ACK..." Or that's what I've gathered based on their description.
Best Moment this week: Favorite thinks it's funny that he can talk to Ryan and Ryan responds by punching Mommy. Hard.
And while most women would be insulted by this declaration, Favorite also told me "You're starting to walk like a pregnant woman." Frankly, it made me smile.
What I'm looking forward to: I'll be pretty grateful when I can finish some "official business" stuff so I can get down to the business of relaxing and expecting a baby. Next week is our first baby shower and the week after Favorite and I will be taking maternity photos with a friend of mine.
(SO EXCITED!)
Monday, January 28, 2013
Little Navajo--31 Weeks
How Far Along: 31 Weeks
Size: Ryan is likely a little over 16 inches long and a bit more than 3.3 lbs.
Gender: It's a boy--Ryan Christopher!
Movement: This weekend I told my mom I was starting to notice patterns with his movement and lack of movement (naps). This week, he's decided to kick that to the curb and throw a continual salsa party.
Sleep: Oh gracious. If I get up less than 5 times a night, I'm feeling pretty good.
(What I hate about lack of sleep: if you mention it at all--even if you're not complaining--people tend to resort to the same snide comment: "Get used to it!")
Maternity Clothes: I wear them most days.
Symptoms: The alien being that is my stomach. Heartburn.
Aversions: Chicken. Mostly.
Cravings: Last week, all I wanted was a box of pop-tarts, a Pasta House salad and a beer.
For the record, no. I didn't indulge.
What I miss: I'm so grateful to be pregnant. I can't think of one thing I should be missing.
Feeling toward pregnancy: I'd like to tell you I've handled my mild weight gain with grace and joy. Occasionally, though, I fail to mention that Favorite, more than once, has had to answer this inane question: "Did my stomach always look like this?"
Don't misinterpret. I am so, so grateful for my belly. Incredibly so. My faith has been renewed in my body's ability to do something I thought it would never, ever do.
But...
There is a teensy part of me that worries about how my body will look two weeks after Ryan's delivery.
I have no delusions of grandeur. I know it won't be the same. A large part of me is grateful for that fact because when you've waited so long for something, the last thing you want is for everything to be the same. I guess I just get nervous when it comes to establishing a new normal.
Best Moment this week: Num-Num and KK were running into the living room and screaming "SURPRISE" at Favorite as loudly as they possibly could. And every time they did? Ryan went crazy. I think the loud noises scared the bejeezus out of him.
What I'm looking forward to: I get to have a baby shower! Like with presents. For a baby. That's my baby. With real people. Loving on my baby.
It's just a couple of weeks away. And then we're down to Project: Organize the Nursery. Favorite and I are hanging the peg board at the end of this week *hopefully*. When that happens, I'll try to get pictures of how it turned out.
Size: Ryan is likely a little over 16 inches long and a bit more than 3.3 lbs.
Gender: It's a boy--Ryan Christopher!
Movement: This weekend I told my mom I was starting to notice patterns with his movement and lack of movement (naps). This week, he's decided to kick that to the curb and throw a continual salsa party.
Sleep: Oh gracious. If I get up less than 5 times a night, I'm feeling pretty good.
(What I hate about lack of sleep: if you mention it at all--even if you're not complaining--people tend to resort to the same snide comment: "Get used to it!")
Maternity Clothes: I wear them most days.
Symptoms: The alien being that is my stomach. Heartburn.
Aversions: Chicken. Mostly.
Cravings: Last week, all I wanted was a box of pop-tarts, a Pasta House salad and a beer.
For the record, no. I didn't indulge.
What I miss: I'm so grateful to be pregnant. I can't think of one thing I should be missing.
Feeling toward pregnancy: I'd like to tell you I've handled my mild weight gain with grace and joy. Occasionally, though, I fail to mention that Favorite, more than once, has had to answer this inane question: "Did my stomach always look like this?"
Don't misinterpret. I am so, so grateful for my belly. Incredibly so. My faith has been renewed in my body's ability to do something I thought it would never, ever do.
But...
There is a teensy part of me that worries about how my body will look two weeks after Ryan's delivery.
I have no delusions of grandeur. I know it won't be the same. A large part of me is grateful for that fact because when you've waited so long for something, the last thing you want is for everything to be the same. I guess I just get nervous when it comes to establishing a new normal.
Best Moment this week: Num-Num and KK were running into the living room and screaming "SURPRISE" at Favorite as loudly as they possibly could. And every time they did? Ryan went crazy. I think the loud noises scared the bejeezus out of him.
What I'm looking forward to: I get to have a baby shower! Like with presents. For a baby. That's my baby. With real people. Loving on my baby.
It's just a couple of weeks away. And then we're down to Project: Organize the Nursery. Favorite and I are hanging the peg board at the end of this week *hopefully*. When that happens, I'll try to get pictures of how it turned out.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
29 Weeks--Little Navajo
How Far Along: 29 Weeks
Size: Ryan is the size of a butternut squash. He likely weighs more than 2 1/2 pounds and is over 15 inches long. And in other fun news, he apparently needs lots help growing his bones as he will be sucking about 250 milligrams of calcium from my body per day.
Gender: It's a boy--Ryan Christopher!
Movement: He moves. He shakes. He gets the hiccups. I'm starting to notice patterns with his movement. For example, if I'm not up and eating something by 9 am, he usually does some sort of river-dance to remind me it's time to feed the baby.
Sleep: I'm getting enough to function most days, but I'm definitely not sleeping for long clips.
Maternity Clothes: I wear them most days.
Symptoms: Heartburn. Whoo. That one has become a doozie. If there is a correlation between heartburn and hair, I'm actually giving birth to a monkey.
Also, my belly is huge and there's a Zumba class taking place in my abdomen several times a day. I'm pretty sure both of those things count as symptoms.
Aversions: Y'all. I thought I would've solved the great pregnancy vs. chicken issue, but I haven't. Sometimes I can eat it. Most times it makes me sick to my stomach.
Currently, though, Favorite and I are participating in Awakening 2013 with our church. Since I can't do the Daniel Fast in its completion, we have cut out most processed foods, white sugar and white flour. I've found that after so many days eating good food, my stomach doesn't handle "cheat" meals well.
Cravings: Peanut butter. Water. Milk.
What I miss: I'm so grateful to be pregnant. I can't think of one thing I should be missing.
Feeling toward pregnancy: This week Favorite and I had to watch the epidural video at our appointment. That event was enough to move me to the realization that I'm going to be holding my son in less than three months.
My son.
When I felt moved toward the word "peace" for 2013, it wasn't because I believed God was indicating there wouldn't be anything worth fighting this year. Instead, I felt like it was permission to lay the struggle down.
A few people have commented that I've been different since I got pregnant. That's partially true. I feel lighter--less burdened by my determination to continually bring my request before my Father. Strong desires can't be measured in pounds. They are measured in demeanors and preoccupations, and their weight is felt every single day by the people who carry them.
I've carried some of those preoccupations into this pregnancy. For months, I was afraid of bleeding or placental abruption. Until I reached 26 weeks, there was a level of intensity coupled with the strong sense of gratitude that overwhelmed me every time Ryan moved. To say it simply, I didn't really relax.
Then the call to peace. Before I found out I was pregnant, that call was meant to be in recognition of a Saviour who is eternally good because He is love. Now that I am counting down the days to my son's delivery, the call is exactly the same--to recognize a Saviour who is eternally good because He is love.
That's the journey He's taken us on in the last few years. But the difference isn't in the conclusion we arrived at long before we were aware of Ryan's tag-a-long status. It's in the burden that no longer exists. And a changing understanding of gratitude as a result.
Best Moment this week: Favorite was able to feel Ryan opening his hand through my belly--all five fingers and a palm.
What I'm looking forward to: Mom has purchased a serger, made a practice crib sheet and now has the material for the crib bedding in her possession.
Here is the collection:
The red minky fabric is going to be the inside of the bumper. I'm also probably going to purchase this for the changing table:
Here are the rest of the fabrics in the collection:
For crib sheets, we'll be using the multicolored dot (second from the top) and the gray argyle print (fifth from the top).
In case you couldn't tell from my choices, I like the idea of using multiple patterns and sticking to a few bold colors. That way, I can mix and match the wall art or other accents in the room without revolving around a particular theme. Right now, we are thinking sock monkeys, old school Superman art and Dr. Seuss images. In the future, there are a hundred things that would match a red/gray/aqua palate so we have lots of options.
I can't wait to show you pictures of a finished nursery.
We're down to 76 days before his scheduled arrival and that doesn't seem like enough time to get a nursery together, write six weeks of sub plans and finish all of my organizational projects. One day at a time, eh?
Sunday, December 16, 2012
25 Weeks--Little Navajo
How Far Along: 25 Weeks
Size: Ryan is the size of a large rutabaga. At our last appointment, he weighed in at 1 lb 7 oz. The ultrasound tech said if he continues to progress at this rate, we're looking at a 7.5 lb baby, and that makes me happy :)
Gender: It's a boy--Ryan Christopher!
Movement: Ryan moves all the time. This week we got to see him actually kick through my stomach which was cool and weird all at the same time.
Sleep: I'm getting enough to function so no complaints. I don't stay comfortable for long, though, so I'm learning to move multiple times a night and get back to sleep fairly quickly.
Maternity Clothes: Yep. I could use a few more pairs of pants, and I've realized that a couple more pairs of flat/wedge shoes would be a good plan. See, this week? I lost sight of my feet. I have to purposefully look for them if I want to see them so comfy shoes that slip on easily are likely a good plan.
Symptoms: Heartburn and not being able to eat much due to lack of space. There are few other things that come along with pregnancy. But honestly? Everything has been really manageable. I feel awesome most of the time!
Aversions: I'm learning to incorporate more meat in my diet, but it's still difficult.
Cravings: Breakfast food--french toast sticks, muffins, milk, cereal.
Basically all the things I'd limited so well in my diet. I think I'm going to work on giving myself one cheat day a week and then eating really well the rest of the days. Maybe that will curb cravings (and significant weight gain--though, so far, I'm holding steady at about 8lbs).
What I miss: I'm so grateful to be pregnant. I can't think of one thing I should be missing.
Feeling toward pregnancy: People are forever asking me how I feel, and they seem shocked when I tell them I feel great. While I'd like to tell you the way I feel is due wholly to an overwhelming sense of gratitude, I need you to know I'm not quite that selfless.
I really DO feel great most of the time. Per my last doctor's appointment, Favorite and I have learned that my body literally functions better in pregnancy than it ever did when my uterus was unoccupied.
First of all, my weight gain has been mild. I don't gain four pounds if I give in to a couple of cravings in a week. And I can generally get those pounds off if I'm careful about what I eat and incorporate a bit of walking into my day.
Secondly, my blood sugar levels have consistently dropped. At 16 weeks, my first glucose tolerance test showed my level at 132--within normal range, but at the high end of normal. My second glucose screening at 20 weeks indicated my levels were 98. For someone who has pretty significant insulin resistance (proved out by horrible weight loss efforts, etc.), that's a huge win.
Thirdly, while I am certainly tired, I am rarely the bone-tired-cannot-get-out-of-bed-to-function-even-though-I-have-no-reason-to-feel-this-way. And I don't feel like garbage after I exercise, either.
So when I say I feel great? I mean I'm trying to find a way to stay pregnant until I die. This is apparently my body's homeostasis. And I'm enjoying every minute.
Best Moment this week: Watching different parts of my stomach jump and move because of whatever Ryan is doing in there.
What I'm looking forward to: Christmas! My family will be together again, and I feel pretty blessed to have the opportunity to share our blessing with people who might be more excited than we are.
And after Christmas? The nursery. Without grad school on my mind, I'll be able to focus on getting things arranged and getting material so my mom can get to sewin' :)
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
The Magic of 12/12/12
I feel like I should mark the monumental occasion of 12/12/12 by posting a random listing of stuff surely someone will read and comment on.
Truthfully, I had a few pictures I wanted to share along with a few random statements that aren't really enough to make an individual post so I'm lumping them all in one.
* Today is my mom and dad's anniversary. They've been married for 37 years. Isn't that an awesome accomplishment these days?
* I love my classes this year. My advanced class moved from a 78% average on their first test to a 90% average on their most recent exam. Can you believe that?! And I just love 5th hour. They are such a diverse group of kids, but they are genuinely interested in each other. Today, after a few informative speeches, they asked the respective speakers so many intelligent questions. It was a proud moment to be a teacher.
* A couple of weeks ago, Favorite and I did a belly comparison:
Truthfully, I had a few pictures I wanted to share along with a few random statements that aren't really enough to make an individual post so I'm lumping them all in one.
* Today is my mom and dad's anniversary. They've been married for 37 years. Isn't that an awesome accomplishment these days?
* I love my classes this year. My advanced class moved from a 78% average on their first test to a 90% average on their most recent exam. Can you believe that?! And I just love 5th hour. They are such a diverse group of kids, but they are genuinely interested in each other. Today, after a few informative speeches, they asked the respective speakers so many intelligent questions. It was a proud moment to be a teacher.
* A couple of weeks ago, Favorite and I did a belly comparison:
They're alarmingly similar, are they not? (On a side note, I tried to get them to post side by side, but I'm not tech-savvy and blogger wasn't cooperative. Use your imagination.)
* I still can't talk about this gift my mom got me without saying all these things that apparently make my readers cry. (You're an emotional group, aren't y'all? HA!) But, honestly, I can remember seeing it in Hallmark and repeatedly wishing I would have a reason to make the purchase.
* Speaking of gifts, I have several I need to post here so you can get an idea of how awesome my support system is. My Aunt Diane gave Ryan an Ugly Doll (which matches his nursery perfectly), and since she saw it and knew how much I loved Sock Monkeys, Gloria gave me this:
He plays peek-a-boo, guys. And then giggles with this little kid voice. So.Very.Cute.
* Favorite has been busy finishing up the closet in Ryan's room and the closet in our guest room. When they come next week, BigBro and SILSheena may even be able to hang their clothes instead of unfolding everything from the suitcase. And Ryan's room has closet doors. When those rooms aren't disaster areas, I'll try to get some pictures up here for you all to see.
* And just for fun, we drove out to the road to see our Christmas tree in the front window of our house. That picture didn't turn out well, but the one of our tag-alongs was pretty indicative of their personalities:
We are stocking-less this year since I couldn't find any I really liked. (Or, more accurately, I was unwilling to pay $35 a pop for the Sock Monkey stockings I found and llllluuuurrrrvvvveeeddd.) But I'm almost completely done wrapping presents and have just a few more things to grade before I can officially relax.
And then? I'll be chillin' until January 7th.
Which is about as merry as it gets :)
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
The Nursery Imagined
I've been working on some ideas for Navajo's nursery, and I thought I'd share the mood board I put together. It's my first ever mood board, but you know what I've discovered? It's kinda fun. Granted, I would've probably picked most of this stuff even had I never put a mood board together. But I'll admit the process has been fun so far.
So, here it is:
Feel free to share your thoughts. Or tell me how I can get that rug (from Urban Outfitters) or the chair (from Target) for a little cheaper.
In case you're interested, here's where I found the other products:
Crib: Carter's Summer Infant (Amazon)
Table: Kirkland's
Owl Lamp: Target (I had to color the shade red.)
Material: Etsy (Robert Kaufman Remix collection)
My mom is going to sew the bedding and the curtains out of those materials, but here are a few other things I found on etsy that would definitely match:
and this guy:
So now that I've cleared my mind, I need to go be a better wife. So folding underwear it is.
No pictures of that.
So, here it is:
Feel free to share your thoughts. Or tell me how I can get that rug (from Urban Outfitters) or the chair (from Target) for a little cheaper.
In case you're interested, here's where I found the other products:
Crib: Carter's Summer Infant (Amazon)
Table: Kirkland's
Owl Lamp: Target (I had to color the shade red.)
Material: Etsy (Robert Kaufman Remix collection)
My mom is going to sew the bedding and the curtains out of those materials, but here are a few other things I found on etsy that would definitely match:
and this guy:
So now that I've cleared my mind, I need to go be a better wife. So folding underwear it is.
No pictures of that.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
The Snotty, Sweaty Side of Hope
Favorite and I try to pretend we're socially capable people. We do this by occasionally leaving our hobbit hole and visiting restaurants, or if we're feeling particularly people-friendly, the movies. We've even ventured out recently in search of Christmas decorations. (Because I'm actually making it happen this year. Well, I would if Target would ship my tree already. C'mon Target. I gave you business. You give me a tree. We all have Christmas spirit. Right?)
But most of our forays into truly social behavior should be tempered with the fact that we rarely interact with anyone but each other while we're out, and we mostly avoid situations that would require the attention of an audience. We may be funny, but I promise we're really only behind-the-scenes amusing. We are not stand-up-comedian material.
You'd think this valuable piece of information would've come to mind when PastorJosh asked us to kick off the Advent season by reading in front of the church.
You'd think.
Unfortunately, you'd be wrong. See, something about actually putting up a Christmas tree and decorating the house after seven years of not bothering coupled with an emotional gratefulness for Ryan's surprise conception tickled something in my heart. So I forgot who I was for a second and agreed to PastorJosh's proposal.
When I read through his email, I felt good about the commitment. The reading was about the light of the world and how Christ came to be a light in the darkness. I nodded my head as I read each paragraph believing Favorite and I would do our part as asked. Still, it never occurred to me that we are the people who light candles and accidentally set something on fire--information that would've been helpful to consider given the circumstances.
I was blissfully contented with our capabilities until PastorJosh brought me the print-out on Sunday morning. Turns out, in a burst of genius, he decided to change the reading to coincide with his sermon.
"OK," I nervously thought to myself. "All we have to do is read. It'll be fine."
PastorJosh calmly explained he would call us up front and we would could take it from there. Our responsibilities were three-fold:
1. Read the assigned scripture.
2. Read the attached information regarding the assigned scripture.
3. Light the candle.
But by the time we were called to the front? Favorite had started to sweat.
(A bit of a side note: Favorite does not sweat well. He only sweats when he is extremely hot or extremely nervous. And it's not a "glistening" sort of glow, either. He drenches clothing in an attempt to expel all water from his body. It's a look-at-the-guy-who-just-got-out-of-the-pool scenario.)
By the time we'd taken the ten steps to the front of the church, the back of his shirt was completely drenched and he was well on his way to changing the color of his jeans. PastorJosh smiled and commented that it was only appropriate to ask us to read given the fact that we were expecting our first child--a son--and during this Advent season we all look to Christ with hopeful expectation.
We smiled, but the emotional response behind the public recognition of our son was already starting to boil.
(Another side note: Favorite and I do not do public displays of emotion well. Because most of our public reactions tend to be socially "off," it should be obvious that emotional outbursts are red-faced, snotty messes. And before you ask: Yes, we are ashamed of this fact.)
PastorJosh handed us that microphone with a smile and returned to his seat. (Likely with hopeful expectation. He should've known better.)
Favorite began to read the words of Isaiah 9.
He really was doing a great job, sweat and all. We'd managed to look normal, and then it hit us: Isaiah 9! Right as Favorite hit verse six, there was a catch in his voice: "For to us a child is born,/ to us a son is given..."
Without much warning, his eyes teared up and he stopped for a few minutes.
Let's take a break to imagine a scenario together. Imagine that the man you love, the one you've worked so hard with to achieve a goal, suddenly recognizes the blessing of that achievement and gets a bit teary-eyed. That would be enough to cause the most unemotional woman to blink back tears. Unfortunately, I'm not unemotional; I'm pregnant. So his pause was my downfall.
I couldn't even stop them. Tears start rolling out of my eyes and my body was involuntarily convulsing. I was doing my best to control it, so it was only a slight shudder every now and again, but I'm pretty sure it looked like I was having mini-seizures.
When Favorite handed me the microphone, I proceeded to read my section as fast as my air intake would allow. We just.needed.to.sit.down. Otherwise? I was going to fall to the floor in a fit of emotional gratitude that likely wouldn't translate to an all-church revival. Trackin'?
Stiffening my body to control my seizures, I got to this portion of the reading: "In times past, we looked forward to God's promise of the Messiah with great hope and expectation..."
The statement itself, while true, should've been a relatively benign part of the reading. But it was hot. And my Favorite was already teary-eyed. And Ryan was there. After seven and a half years of trusting God to carry us. So I really didn't have much control over myself.
I started crying. Not the few tears I couldn't blink back from before. We're talking an all-out-can't-speak-without-your-voice-shaking sob fest.
And when I started crying, my nose started running. Not a feminine, little, sniff-worthy run, either, mind you. It was a rivers of mucus moment. I actually had to take my mind off of the reading for what seemed like an eternity to make that age old decision: do I wipe my nose with my hand in front of all these people and risk the great clinging snot escapade? Or do I just let it run and hope this ends as quickly as possible?
Then, without much rational thought, I wiped. With the hand holding the microphone.
Social outcasts, I tell you.
We finally stumbled through the end of our reading and, looking at the floor, managed to make it back to our seats forgetting the third part of our responsibility: LIGHT THE STUPID CANDLE, YOU CRAZIES!
But given our stellar performance up to this point, it was probably just as well we didn't light any fires in the sanctuary. Lord knows how that would've gone down.
The moral of the story? We will never, ever, ever, ever read in church again. (Make a song out of that experience, Taylor.) And we will return to our hobbit hole where we can snot and sweat in private.
But we will do it with hearts bursting with gratitude over our situation. And we will do it with the realization that hopeful expectation comes full circle in the hand of the Father. We are so blessed.
But most of our forays into truly social behavior should be tempered with the fact that we rarely interact with anyone but each other while we're out, and we mostly avoid situations that would require the attention of an audience. We may be funny, but I promise we're really only behind-the-scenes amusing. We are not stand-up-comedian material.
You'd think this valuable piece of information would've come to mind when PastorJosh asked us to kick off the Advent season by reading in front of the church.
You'd think.
Unfortunately, you'd be wrong. See, something about actually putting up a Christmas tree and decorating the house after seven years of not bothering coupled with an emotional gratefulness for Ryan's surprise conception tickled something in my heart. So I forgot who I was for a second and agreed to PastorJosh's proposal.
When I read through his email, I felt good about the commitment. The reading was about the light of the world and how Christ came to be a light in the darkness. I nodded my head as I read each paragraph believing Favorite and I would do our part as asked. Still, it never occurred to me that we are the people who light candles and accidentally set something on fire--information that would've been helpful to consider given the circumstances.
I was blissfully contented with our capabilities until PastorJosh brought me the print-out on Sunday morning. Turns out, in a burst of genius, he decided to change the reading to coincide with his sermon.
"OK," I nervously thought to myself. "All we have to do is read. It'll be fine."
PastorJosh calmly explained he would call us up front and we would could take it from there. Our responsibilities were three-fold:
1. Read the assigned scripture.
2. Read the attached information regarding the assigned scripture.
3. Light the candle.
But by the time we were called to the front? Favorite had started to sweat.
(A bit of a side note: Favorite does not sweat well. He only sweats when he is extremely hot or extremely nervous. And it's not a "glistening" sort of glow, either. He drenches clothing in an attempt to expel all water from his body. It's a look-at-the-guy-who-just-got-out-of-the-pool scenario.)
By the time we'd taken the ten steps to the front of the church, the back of his shirt was completely drenched and he was well on his way to changing the color of his jeans. PastorJosh smiled and commented that it was only appropriate to ask us to read given the fact that we were expecting our first child--a son--and during this Advent season we all look to Christ with hopeful expectation.
We smiled, but the emotional response behind the public recognition of our son was already starting to boil.
(Another side note: Favorite and I do not do public displays of emotion well. Because most of our public reactions tend to be socially "off," it should be obvious that emotional outbursts are red-faced, snotty messes. And before you ask: Yes, we are ashamed of this fact.)
PastorJosh handed us that microphone with a smile and returned to his seat. (Likely with hopeful expectation. He should've known better.)
Favorite began to read the words of Isaiah 9.
He really was doing a great job, sweat and all. We'd managed to look normal, and then it hit us: Isaiah 9! Right as Favorite hit verse six, there was a catch in his voice: "For to us a child is born,/ to us a son is given..."
Without much warning, his eyes teared up and he stopped for a few minutes.
Let's take a break to imagine a scenario together. Imagine that the man you love, the one you've worked so hard with to achieve a goal, suddenly recognizes the blessing of that achievement and gets a bit teary-eyed. That would be enough to cause the most unemotional woman to blink back tears. Unfortunately, I'm not unemotional; I'm pregnant. So his pause was my downfall.
I couldn't even stop them. Tears start rolling out of my eyes and my body was involuntarily convulsing. I was doing my best to control it, so it was only a slight shudder every now and again, but I'm pretty sure it looked like I was having mini-seizures.
When Favorite handed me the microphone, I proceeded to read my section as fast as my air intake would allow. We just.needed.to.sit.down. Otherwise? I was going to fall to the floor in a fit of emotional gratitude that likely wouldn't translate to an all-church revival. Trackin'?
Stiffening my body to control my seizures, I got to this portion of the reading: "In times past, we looked forward to God's promise of the Messiah with great hope and expectation..."
The statement itself, while true, should've been a relatively benign part of the reading. But it was hot. And my Favorite was already teary-eyed. And Ryan was there. After seven and a half years of trusting God to carry us. So I really didn't have much control over myself.
I started crying. Not the few tears I couldn't blink back from before. We're talking an all-out-can't-speak-without-your-voice-shaking sob fest.
And when I started crying, my nose started running. Not a feminine, little, sniff-worthy run, either, mind you. It was a rivers of mucus moment. I actually had to take my mind off of the reading for what seemed like an eternity to make that age old decision: do I wipe my nose with my hand in front of all these people and risk the great clinging snot escapade? Or do I just let it run and hope this ends as quickly as possible?
Then, without much rational thought, I wiped. With the hand holding the microphone.
Social outcasts, I tell you.
We finally stumbled through the end of our reading and, looking at the floor, managed to make it back to our seats forgetting the third part of our responsibility: LIGHT THE STUPID CANDLE, YOU CRAZIES!
But given our stellar performance up to this point, it was probably just as well we didn't light any fires in the sanctuary. Lord knows how that would've gone down.
The moral of the story? We will never, ever, ever, ever read in church again. (Make a song out of that experience, Taylor.) And we will return to our hobbit hole where we can snot and sweat in private.
But we will do it with hearts bursting with gratitude over our situation. And we will do it with the realization that hopeful expectation comes full circle in the hand of the Father. We are so blessed.
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
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