On Saturday of last week, I asked my Facebook network for prayers regarding this pregnancy. If you ever wondered if your prayers were effective, please continue reading.
On Saturday, I started having regular contractions. They weren't close enough together to cause real concern yet, but I was on red-alert. The baby almost stopped moving. The contractions went away.
On Sunday, I started having regular contractions again. I had maybe 3-4 an hour, and I wasn't supposed to worry until they got to 6 an hour. The baby stopped moving again. The contractions went away.
On Monday, I started having contractions again. This time, I had 7 in one hour and I promptly called my doctor. The doc said to go ahead to the hospital because it sounded like I was going into active labor.
They hooked me up to all the monitors and an IV and started running tests. At one point, my contractions were 3 minutes apart. I was starting to get really scared (who am I kidding... I was already really scared - I just got more scared).
The tests they ran showed that I had an infection that was causing labor symptoms, and if left untreated would have put me into preterm labor. They held me for observation for a few hours and gave me a shot to stop the contractions. I'm currently on antibiotics to kill the infection and my contractions have completely stopped. The baby is back to his usual, wiggly self.
I didn't know anything was wrong yet when I made my request on Saturday morning. I completely believe that God used the prayers of my friends and family to protect me and Baby on Monday.
Monday night reminded me that I still have a long way to go with this pregnancy. I'm 31 weeks today, which is 2 weeks earlier than when I had Elijah (33 weeks). We're really getting down to the wire on the window when I'm at the highest risk. Every day I keep the baby is a gift, and vitally important to his (and my) safety. If you have been praying for me, please don't stop. We need your prayers desperately.
On an aside, the attending physician who took care of me on Monday is the daughter of the surgeon who did all of Elijah's surgeries. So that was cool.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Friday, June 21, 2013
I Wrote an Essay
Well, it's in response to an article that was written almost 2 months ago, but I have finally posted an essay that I've been meaning to publish. You can find it here on my husband's blog, Truth In Deed.
(That means it's a guest blog post. Fancy.)
I hope you enjoy, even though this is old news by now. Being pregnant and having a toddler is not conducive for keeping up with the speed of media.
(That means it's a guest blog post. Fancy.)
I hope you enjoy, even though this is old news by now. Being pregnant and having a toddler is not conducive for keeping up with the speed of media.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Why me? Why him?
When Elijah was born, I found myself asking a lot of questions: Why me? Why do all my friends have perfectly normal birthing stories with healthy, fat bouncy babies, and I'm living in a nightmare? Why do WE have to be the ones who fight off life-threatening diseases and have to be hospitalized for days, weeks, months? What did I do to deserve this? I found myself examining my life, trying to find what I did wrong, identify what sin I was being punished for, see where my story diverged from everyone else's. My head was an unpleasant place to be.
Yesterday, I watched a report on missionary work overseas while my now-healthy little boy was climbing all over me and yelling in my ear. It was admittedly difficult to hear what they were saying over his cacophony, but I got the gist. There was a lot of work going on in slums of major cities, lives and souls being touched and restored in the darkest places among the poorest of the poor. As I heard story after story of people who live without food for days, or who die of exposure in the streets, I looked at my beautiful little boy and started asking myself the same question with a very different spirit.
Why him? Why is Elijah alive? Why was he born in a country where he could receive hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical care to save his life, while other babies are starving and freezing to death on the streets? Why was so much done to spare this one little person while thousands die elsewhere?
As I thought these thoughts with my sweet little boy playing on my lap, I resolved to teach him of his privilege, not so that he will feel guilty, but that he will feel appreciative. I want him to know how richly he has been blessed, so that when he starts to feel sorry for himself, as I often do, he can be reminded of how merciful our God was in giving him the life he has. I want to teach him, in word and example, that this rich life we have is not ours to waste or squander, but is God's to give to others. I hope I teach him well to hold our riches with a loose hand, whether it's our money or our time or the hope of the Good News that lives in us, ready in a moment to shower them on the hurting people who need them.
I don't know why God spared my son. I hope it's because of the person he will become. I hope it's because he will have much to give the world and that he will give it freely. I hope I'm up to the task of raising him, when I fall short so often of being at all worthy of the responsibility.
So I muse, pregnant with my second child at 6 in the morning on my husband's birthday, waiting for my son to wake up in a large, air-conditioned house in Florida, USA.
Yes, we have been abundantly blessed. I don't know why we have so much, but I do know what we're going to do with it.
Yesterday, I watched a report on missionary work overseas while my now-healthy little boy was climbing all over me and yelling in my ear. It was admittedly difficult to hear what they were saying over his cacophony, but I got the gist. There was a lot of work going on in slums of major cities, lives and souls being touched and restored in the darkest places among the poorest of the poor. As I heard story after story of people who live without food for days, or who die of exposure in the streets, I looked at my beautiful little boy and started asking myself the same question with a very different spirit.
Why him? Why is Elijah alive? Why was he born in a country where he could receive hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical care to save his life, while other babies are starving and freezing to death on the streets? Why was so much done to spare this one little person while thousands die elsewhere?
As I thought these thoughts with my sweet little boy playing on my lap, I resolved to teach him of his privilege, not so that he will feel guilty, but that he will feel appreciative. I want him to know how richly he has been blessed, so that when he starts to feel sorry for himself, as I often do, he can be reminded of how merciful our God was in giving him the life he has. I want to teach him, in word and example, that this rich life we have is not ours to waste or squander, but is God's to give to others. I hope I teach him well to hold our riches with a loose hand, whether it's our money or our time or the hope of the Good News that lives in us, ready in a moment to shower them on the hurting people who need them.
I don't know why God spared my son. I hope it's because of the person he will become. I hope it's because he will have much to give the world and that he will give it freely. I hope I'm up to the task of raising him, when I fall short so often of being at all worthy of the responsibility.
So I muse, pregnant with my second child at 6 in the morning on my husband's birthday, waiting for my son to wake up in a large, air-conditioned house in Florida, USA.
Yes, we have been abundantly blessed. I don't know why we have so much, but I do know what we're going to do with it.
Friday, February 22, 2013
The Pit of Despaaaair
I have been violently morning sick. Again. I was hoping to avoid it this time around, but no such luck.
I am trying not to completely despair. It's hard not to when food doesn't appeal to you, but you have to eat or you'll throw up, but you'll probably throw up anyway, so whatever... Hydration is a problem. I am worthless during the day. I manage to get the baby fed and dressed, and then I lie around on the sofa. Sometimes I lie around on the floor so that he can climb on me. That seems to make him happy, and it makes me feel better since I feel awful about not being able to do much with him right now. I told him it's ok, soon he'll have someone to play with all the time.
I have my first prenatal appointment one week from today. I'm far enough along that I'll be able to hear the baby's heartbeat, which is exciting. I have to remind myself that this is all for a good cause. Also, Elijah has been wonderful about sleeping through the night for me these days, so things aren't all bad. He only wakes up once to eat. I could kiss him - and I do. I make terrific babies; it just takes a lot of up-front investment.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Happy Valentine's Day
Dear Adam:
1. I love how you love the Lord.
2. I love your voice.
3. I love your smile.
4. I love your mind.
5. I love your beard.
6. I love that you don't play mind games with me.
7. I love that you don't let me play mind games with you.
8. I love your jokes.
9. I love your silly songs.
10. I love watching you play with our son.
11. I love how hard you work.
12. I love how you take care of us.
13. I love that nothing is ever too hard or out of reach for you to try it.
14. I love your convictions.
15. I love your touch.
16. I love a few things that I can't post here, so
17. use
18. your
19. imagination.
20. I love that you have a strong intellect, but you still know when to trust your gut.
21. I love that you can make (almost) anything.
22. I love that you pamper me when I need it.
23. I love that you make me a better person.
24. I love your confidence.
25. I love that you married me.
Happy Valentine's Day.
1. I love how you love the Lord.
2. I love your voice.
3. I love your smile.
4. I love your mind.
5. I love your beard.
6. I love that you don't play mind games with me.
7. I love that you don't let me play mind games with you.
8. I love your jokes.
9. I love your silly songs.
10. I love watching you play with our son.
11. I love how hard you work.
12. I love how you take care of us.
13. I love that nothing is ever too hard or out of reach for you to try it.
14. I love your convictions.
15. I love your touch.
16. I love a few things that I can't post here, so
17. use
18. your
19. imagination.
20. I love that you have a strong intellect, but you still know when to trust your gut.
21. I love that you can make (almost) anything.
22. I love that you pamper me when I need it.
23. I love that you make me a better person.
24. I love your confidence.
25. I love that you married me.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Color Me Crazy
Well, we're pregnant again.
Here are answers to some questions that I suppose you're probably asking.
1. 7 weeks
2. September 18
3. 17 months apart
4. No, it wasn't planned
5. Yes, we know where babies come from
6. Crazy? Maybe. Probably.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about this pregnancy. I wouldn't characterize myself as suffering from "paralyzing fear" (that would be too dramatic), but maybe a couple of notches down from "terrified."
I am nervous about everything that normal pregnant women are nervous about (miscarriage, defects, nutrition deficiencies, never looking like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model again) with the added dimension of Knowing What Can Go Wrong. Knowing What Can Go Wrong is a terrible thing, and it just hovers over me all day.
(Also, may I just say that finding out you are pregnant is a weird thing. It's like someone came up and said, "You are making a person! How exciting! Oh, yeah, and in about 8 months you are going to defy the laws of physics by pushing an object yea big out of a hole yea small as you feel pain like you've never imagined. Isn't it wonderful?" Kind of a mixed bag.)
I've been trying to find an M.D. (no midwives for me this go 'round) who can deliver in my favorite hospital. I've been advised to request a referral to a perinatologist (which I believe is the technical term for a "high-risk doctor") as well, which should put me on the radar for all the things I'm at risk for (a long, long list. Basically, I have a 40% chance of it all happening again - but who's counting?)
In the meanwhile, I'm eating well and taking care of myself. I know a lot more this time about what is good for me. Also, my morning sickness is almost non-existent (I mean, it's there, but only in the morning and no throwing up). I feel a lot better than I did at this point with Elijah. I worry that it means the pregnancy won't 'take,' but whatever it means, I am enjoying not puking my guts out 9 times a day.
I am trying not to be afraid. It doesn't do me a lick of good.
The baby is the size of a blueberry.
Here are answers to some questions that I suppose you're probably asking.
1. 7 weeks
2. September 18
3. 17 months apart
4. No, it wasn't planned
5. Yes, we know where babies come from
6. Crazy? Maybe. Probably.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about this pregnancy. I wouldn't characterize myself as suffering from "paralyzing fear" (that would be too dramatic), but maybe a couple of notches down from "terrified."
I am nervous about everything that normal pregnant women are nervous about (miscarriage, defects, nutrition deficiencies, never looking like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model again) with the added dimension of Knowing What Can Go Wrong. Knowing What Can Go Wrong is a terrible thing, and it just hovers over me all day.
(Also, may I just say that finding out you are pregnant is a weird thing. It's like someone came up and said, "You are making a person! How exciting! Oh, yeah, and in about 8 months you are going to defy the laws of physics by pushing an object yea big out of a hole yea small as you feel pain like you've never imagined. Isn't it wonderful?" Kind of a mixed bag.)
I've been trying to find an M.D. (no midwives for me this go 'round) who can deliver in my favorite hospital. I've been advised to request a referral to a perinatologist (which I believe is the technical term for a "high-risk doctor") as well, which should put me on the radar for all the things I'm at risk for (a long, long list. Basically, I have a 40% chance of it all happening again - but who's counting?)
In the meanwhile, I'm eating well and taking care of myself. I know a lot more this time about what is good for me. Also, my morning sickness is almost non-existent (I mean, it's there, but only in the morning and no throwing up). I feel a lot better than I did at this point with Elijah. I worry that it means the pregnancy won't 'take,' but whatever it means, I am enjoying not puking my guts out 9 times a day.
I am trying not to be afraid. It doesn't do me a lick of good.
The baby is the size of a blueberry.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Mommy MadLibs
1. The __________[noun] starts out so nice and clean until there's __________ [type of food] all over it.
2. It was a lot easier to __________[verb] with two hands.
3. I can't remember the last time I _________[hygienic activity].
4. The baby _______[verb-past] all over me ___[number] times today.
5. My _______[body part(s)] is/are so ________[adjective].
6. I ______[need] more ________[sleep].
2. It was a lot easier to __________[verb] with two hands.
3. I can't remember the last time I _________[hygienic activity].
4. The baby _______[verb-past] all over me ___[number] times today.
5. My _______[body part(s)] is/are so ________[adjective].
6. I ______[need] more ________[sleep].
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