Nov 4th- Continued

Read part one here.

A little annoyed to be finding out that I was in labor from his brother-in-law, John asked if we needed to go to the hospital or not.

I shook my head. “We only need to go once they are closer together. But we should start timing them.”

John made himself breakfast as I paced around our living room. I wasn’t anxious to go to the hospital yet, but the contractions were definitely getting stronger. John took a shower and I checked that my bag was 100% ready to go.

After timing them, we realized, um, we should probably go to the hospital.

So, at around nine in the morning, we grabbed our bags and walked out to the car. John opened up the trunk, put our bags inside, and pulled out the infant car seat we’d been storing in there “just in case.”

We thought we should install it now.

It was a lot more difficult then we thought it would be.

We found the car seat anchors and attached the base to them, but it seemed awfully loose. John searched the owner’s manual for the instructions. I stood in the cold, trying to help and trying to ignore the pain in my abdomen. I didn’t succeed on either of these points.

John was able to figure out how to marginally tighten the base, and we clicked in the car seat, swearing that we’d figure out how to tighten it later.

Then, we were off. I swear, every slow driver in the world decided to pull out in front of us.

“My wife is in labor! Get out of the freaking way!” John yelled. I laughed and breathed.

“This is the one time we can legitimately speed and we can’t get around these cars,” I joked.

John laid on his horn at another car.

Eventually, we made it to the hospital and pulled into the emergency room parking area. There was a spot near the door, and I slowly made my way to the door.

We gave our names, why we were there (we’re having a baby!), were admitted, and an orderly pushed me to our room in a wheelchair.

Our nurse, Michaela, and midwife, Angie, checked me, determined that my water had broken and despite the fact that I was 1 cm dilated, I could stay at the hospital.

to be continued.

November 4th. The beginning.

I woke up that morning at 4 am, having to pee. This was a perfectly normal for my almost-nine-month-pregnant-self. A small human was bear-hugging my bladder (or at least that’s how it felt).

Heaving myself out of bed, I hobbled over to the bathroom (my back always ached, even sleep not offering a respite from feeling constantly assaulted by my new rotund shape) and slid closed our squeaky door.

After, I made my way back to sleep. As I started to lower myself down to the bed, I felt a warm gush of liquid down my legs. I jumped back out of bed and into the bathroom. Fluid poured down my legs for a little bit and I stared at my wet underwear/ sweats with disbelief.

Was this it? Was it really starting? The moments I had been thinking/ hoping/ wishing/ dreading/ avoiding thinking about/ dwelling on since that second line appeared on the stick?

Was I having a baby?

I walked back into the bedroom and shook my husband awake (not an easy task) and told him in a shaky voice:

“I’m pretty sure my water just broke. I’m not having any contractions yet, so you should go back to sleep. It could be a while yet.”

He nodded at me with half open eyes, rolled over and went back to sleep. I crawled into bed next to him.

And then they started.

They would plague me for the next 25 hours. They would reduce me to a weeping, hysterical woman begging them to stop, swearing I couldn’t go on.

Contractions.

Of course, at this point, they weren’t bad. Not at all. They didn’t even hurt yet. Just pressure/ discomfort, but not pain. But they were strong enough to keep me awake. I kept moving in the bed and worried I was bugging John. So I got out of bed and went to the couch.

I sat on the couch for the next three hours. I was so excited. This is happening. This is happening. This is happening.

But I was also a little bored.

I’m such a product of the social media generation. Was this really happening if no one knows its happening? I mean, really, the only person who has any clue besides me that  my son had begun to make his way into the world was in the next room staring at the back of his eyelids.

So, I texted my sister. She happens to be married. Her husband happens to be the president of the ministry that John and I both work for.

Around eight in the morning, John came out of the bedroom with his phone in his hand.

“So Brian texted me. I guess your contractions have started?”

Oops.

to be continued.

Growing a Human

From a pretty young age, I wanted to be a mother. More specifically, I wanted to be a biological mother. The idea of growing a child inside me, nurturing them from the very moment of conception, filled me with excitement and longing.

When John and I were married, I wanted to get pregnant right away. We agreed to wait a couple of years and my logical brain understood that decision. I knew that having some years of ‘just the two of us’ would be great. I knew that the time would make me more ready to be a mom when it did happen.

But a deep, relentless part of me kept screaming: BABY. NOW. And I had to wait. Each year felt like forever.

I would day dream about being pregnant: rubbing my belly after a large meal and pretending my food baby was a real baby. I would pretend during church service that John and I were going to announce our pregnancy soon and people just didn’t know yet.

And then finally, it was time. We started trying and then March 1st, I got that wonderful, highly-anticipated positive pregnancy test!

 

Joy. Hysterical happiness. Love. Excitement. I felt it all.

This was it! I had been waiting and it was finally happening! My child had begun the long process of coming to the world. Hooray!

Then, I met morning sickness.

And all day sickness. Nausea at the thought of eating. Every smell and taste making me lose my lunch even though I was also hungry all the time.

And fatigue. Bone-numbing, thought-strangling, I’m-just-going-to-take-a-nap-right-here fatigue.

And then the baby started growing. I felt his kicks and tried to just be filled with awe and wonder…

But with my growing baby, I became increasingly uncomfortable. It shocked me how early this happened. From the fifth month on, I was uncomfortable at every moment of the day. Sleeping was difficult, but I was still experiencing that fatigue. My body felt foreign to me. My belly button stretching out freaked me out.

In short: I HATED being pregnant.

WHAT??

How could I hate this?

I know women who have yearned and worked to get pregnant and couldn’t. I know women who have lost babies. Here I was, pregnant, married, and excited to be a mom, but I didn’t like how sick and uncomfortable I felt? How selfish!

I knew there would be sucky things about it, but shouldn’t the fact that I’m miraculously bringing new life into the world overshadow all that? Shouldn’t I feel more mom-like? Nurturing? Shouldn’t I revel in each gross thing that is bringing my baby closer to me?

But just a minute, I have to go barf into a trash can in the middle of a public place. {Oh, the miracle of life.}

I had a really hard time coming to terms with this. I felt completely disillusioned. It was rough to let go of how I thought I would feel and accept how I did feel.

I had to spend time in prayer, confessing to God that I was mad. I was mad that I didn’t like this. My expectations were being violated. I was sick and sad and angry.

This was supposed to be magical.

And God met me in that place. I never felt like I thought I should, but slowly, I accepted it. I accepted that I actually didn’t like being pregnant. I realized that I could still be grateful for this gift while suffering through. It was okay that I didn’t feel happiness overflowing. I was still nurturing life. I was still being used by God to bring my son into the world.

And, eventually, as all pregnancies do, it ended and I got to meet my wonderful, amazing son who I had the privilege of carrying for 9 months.

Praise the Lord.

 

 

Walking: A Cautionary Tale

Earlier this week, John and I went for dinner at a friends’ house (Joe and Taylor, who work at YMI with John and I).

The evening started innocuously enough. I played with their 6 month old son before he went down for his nap, the four adults ate dinner, played a game, and then decided to eat dessert.

While waiting for dessert to be served up, I pulled out my phone and showed Taylor some cute pictures of my nephew. Then, Joe asked how much ice cream I would like. I walked over to him and indicated how much I wanted, then took the bowl and turned to walk into their den/ bonus room.

I, being the genius that I am, continued to look at something on my phone (I honestly don’t remember what, the following events eclipsed that particular memory in my mind) as I walked to the next room.

Then, I took a step, and my foot started falling through the air.

I remember thinking, “Oh crap,” as I landed hard on the outside of my left foot. My whole weight came crashing down on my foot and I heard something crack. There was a step between their kitchen and the next room that I had completely missed.

I sat on the floor, thoroughly embarrassed, and a little scared about what I’d done to myself.

To their credit, neither John, nor Joseph, nor Taylor burst out laughing at me. They all responded to my tumble with concern and grace.

The next morning, when the entire top of my foot had turned purple, John took me to the urgent care at Group Health. After hobbling around the facility, getting pushed in a wheelchair up to x-rays, and back down, the doctor informed me that I fractured the bone on the outside of my foot. I was fitted with a walking boot and pair of crutches.

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I have a follow-up appointment on Monday where I’ll find out more about how long I’ll be in the boot and what else I need to do to heal properly.

Moral of the story: I really can’t multitask.

Getting around the past day and a half has been a challenge, but I’m starting to get the hang of the gimp lifestyle and my foot is healing. I can limp around in my boot without too much pain which was not possible yesterday.

Prayers are appreciated as John is going to winter camp with our church’s high school youth group this weekend and I’ll be at home without him.

Adventures with short hair

I recently got my hair cut pretty short for the summer. Its so easy to wash and dry, I love it! And I think I look pretty cute as well.

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One interesting challenge happened when I was getting ready to go to the Y this week. Pulling my hair back to work out was an engineering marvel.

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I surprised John with the new haircut when he returned from two weeks in Asia with YMI. He reacted very well to my new look! He told me that I looked great with a big smile. Though, I’m pretty sure that I could have shown up with a bag over my head and he would have been all smiles. :)

I frequently forget how short it is while washing it, and practically throw out my elbow when I reach the end of my hair. I can also feel the ends of hair on my neck, so I am very aware of its lack of length at all times.

Yes, I remember this blog exists

I just never post on it. :) and I make no promises that I will start posting regularly now. But I have another confession to make:

I have been hating everyone who uses Instagram.

Yep, out of pure jealousy. I think instagram is such a cool app. I thought it was awesome back when it was exclusively an apple app. Then, they developed for android and I almost jumped out of my skin, lunging for my phone to install it.

But I forgot one thing: my phone was, while a smartphone, old. It wasn’t compatible with the app of my dreams. (No really, I think I dreamt about it.)

My phone was a huge blessing. I was able to get it from a friend at a sharply discounted cost and it trucked along pretty well for me. It was past its prime and I really needed a new one.

The complication was this: I had an unlimited data plan that I would lose if I used my free upgrade from Verizon. So, I needed to buy my next phone ou tright. Buying a phone out right without a contract is hideously expensive. Like really, go look at Verizon’s website for the prices (the ones that are crossed out, that’s what I’d have to pay). I’ll wait……….. See what I mean?? So I put off getting a phone for two… years.

Then another blessing happened. Another friend of my had a smartphone lying around and said I could just have it! Praise the Lord!

So now, I can stop hating all you Instagram users because I now have an account! You can even follow me at @_laura.rose_.

Here are some of my pics :)! :)