Chesed

It’s A Boy!

It’s such a huge relief to see arms and legs and hands and feet and kidneys and a functional bladder.  No spina bifida, no club feet, no cleft palette, symmetrical everything and the one I always think about first . . . normal heart function.  Everything looks great really, except that the baby is small.  While I don’t mind having small babies (Adam weighed 5 lbs 15 oz), it was a little disconcerting to have the baby measure a week and a half small.  Especially since Adam measured a week and a half larger at 24 weeks.  At first Dr. T thought my dates were probably just off; but I confirmed that not only had I done an ovulatory predictor test, my eight week dating u/s actually set my date one day earlier.  Needless to say my brain was scrambling to recall things about IUGR as he said, “hmmm, let’s get you back on the table and get measurements again just to make sure.”  So now I’m digging out my textbooks and googling IUGR and trying to calm my hyperactive brain everytime I think hypoxic injury and other unlovely thoughts.  My second measurements were a millimeter different which shot the baby up three days and into the fourteenth percentile.  The IUGR cutoff is 10th percentile and I’m focusing on the fact that this is four points higher.  Still, I think I’ll feel a lot better after a good night of sleep. 

Flip.  Flop.  Flip.  Flop.  It’s the story of my life right now.  My pelvic bones go out of joint, then back in.  My heart and lungs go faster and faster every time I go up the stairs.  My hormones make me want to cry and sleep and tomorrow laugh and party.  I flop onto the couch but can’t flip back out.  One day I’m hoping for a girl; the next, I’m praying it’s a boy.  The only thing around here that steadily moves in one direction is the scales.

In spite of all the in and out and up and down, I am feeling so much more on top of things this time.  And while it’s not fun to wake up five times a night because my back hurts too much for the position I’m in, I can deal with that.  One of my biggest fears with this pregnancy was the wierd and intolerable fiery back pain I got with Adam.  It was like a four inch ball of fire right under my right shoulder blade that translated through to the front and nothing, not Tylenol, not back rubs, not chiropractic treatments, not hundreds of dollars on physical therapy, not hot ice, not $100/tube arthritic cream would touch it.  Sitting was almost impossible and there were quite a few nights I couldn’t make it through the twenty minute stretch of eating dinner without taking a break to stand for awhile.  It lessened in intensity after Adam dropped; but never went away until I delivered.  I am now almost two whole weeks past when it started the other time and I feel free, free, free!

The other night I was really, really tired which always makes it harder to move around.  David Lee was in bed watching me try to get in and he burst out laughing.  I threw him a look and he said, “well, it’s just so funny to watch you ooze around.” 

“Why don’t you try gaining twenty pounds (actually make that 35 to compensate for the difference in our body weight ratio) and do it so fast your stomach muscles tear apart and see if you don’t ooze.” I snapped. 

“Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully.  (He’s quite knowledgeable about my opinions on him growing a ponch.) “I might just try that.”

I had immedieate visions of him with a huge gut hanging out the front.  “Oh, never mind.”  How does he manage to get the punch line so often???

It’s very quiet at our house.  No party.  No friends.  No food.  Well, not that kind of food.  The last time I remember being this much of a party pooper was about seven years ago when I was in the middle of three 12 1/2 hr shifts.  It takes too much brain power in the CCU to risk exhaustion for no good reason.  But now, we are wise and mature and don’t need to stay up late to see the New Year in.  Just KIDDING. 

David Lee is in bed, sick.  He’s been wandering about the house for almost two days now with bloodshot eyes and a voice that sounds like 4am.  And every so often he says, “I think my pills have worn off.”  I hate it when he’s sick.  It makes me feel grumpy.  And today I decided we’re not going to take turns being pregnant after all because I would lose my sanity if he was ever miserably ill for fifteen weeks on end. 

Adam is in bed, not sick (unless you count the very strange rash on his legs that appeared Saturday).  But I am too much practical mommy to even think of letting a three-year-old stay up for New Years.  Even if the party we’d been dreaming of hosting could have materialized, I feel quite sure I’d have tucked him in tight.  A little later then usual maybe, but long before 12. 

When we were little girls we used to stay up late with mom and play games and read and snack.  When it got close to midnight, we’d each write at least one bad habit we wanted to break on a piece of paper and then make goals for the New Year.  The bad habits got thrown into the fire until we moved to our new house which lacked any sort of fire-containing device so we’d shred them into the trash can.  And right at 12 we’d open the door to peer out into the night. 

Frankly, I miss the cheese ball and crackers almost as much as the fun and laughter.  Come to think of it, I am really hungry.

David Lee has off through New Years Day and I could jump up and down for joy.  I love going to bed late and not having him dash off to work at 6:30.  I love being with him almost all day and watching Adam follow him around like a shadow. 

Almost as much fun is the long list of projects we’re working on.  A few people looked at me cross-eyed when I told them what we were doing and how excited I am.  Apparently those people haven’t lived in an unfinished house.  And who knows, maybe they don’t like doing projects with their husband as much as I do.  I don’t know.  I just know that I love my life!

We’re working on the stairway right now since it bothered us both most.  David Lee stained the newels again and put the cap on the bottom one to close up the gaping hole everyone comments about as they’re going or coming through our front door.  He took the banister downstairs and stained it (yeah, it’s been raw wood all this time) and last night we picked up varnish at Lowes so he could varnish everything.  In the afternoon he started painting pickets (no, those weren’t done either) and I started working on the stringers (boy, aren’t you impressed with my trim terminology??  That is actually what they are called!).  I must say, they must be one of the worst trim pieces to paint.  Think a small triangle with three sides to cut in; but worse yet the board runs on the diagonal so of course the brush strokes should go that way, too.  About the time I was sure I had gotten really stale at painting I asked David Lee if this is a different kind of wood.  “Oh, yeah, that’s yellow pine instead of poplar.”  Oh.  So maybe that’s why I can’t get rid of the brush strokes. 

Painting in an existing home as opposed to painting a new house is really different.  For one thing, the climate is lovely.  It’s warm.  I don’t shiver inside my jacket.  There is indoor plumbing (a HUGE plus).  When you get thirsty or hungry, there is a well-stocked frig.  There is no pressure to hurry up because there are still a million things to paint.  You know you’ll be done in three days as opposed to wondering if you’ll ever get done at the end of five months (literally) of painting.  We can put Adam down for a nap in his own bed instead of trying to find a quiet corner for a sleeping bag.  We eat supper at our own table instead of running out to Ruckersville for some more fast food that we’re all nauseously tired of.

Painting when you’re pregnant is different, too.  You grunt a lot more.  The air seems to get thin on the fourth step up on the ladder as opposed to whatever altitude it’s supposed to happen.  (How long has it been since I studied science anyway?)  You take a lot more breaks for relief and nourishment purposes.  You get headaches.  And backaches.  A lot quicker.  Your husband offers to do all the sanding … even though it’s just the not so bad light sanding between first and second coat … because he knows you hate it.  I’m so spoiled it shouldn’t even be called working!

Today must also be the day for bargains.  Emily is shopping in Manassas and called to see if I was still looking for dress shirts for Adam.  Carters has some on the clearance rack for $5.99.  WOO HOO.  Not two minutes later David Lee called from Lowes.  We went in to pick out tile for my laundry room last night.  Of course the stuff I liked best was a little over $4 / sq foot.  I only bothered to tell him for the laugh we’d get out of it.  I always manage to pick out the stuff with the highest price tag without trying.  A temporary basement laundry isn’t going to get that kind of money in our house.  Come to think of it, my real laundry room probably won’t either.  So we started looking realistically and were really pleased to find some close-out stuff for just under a dollar.  David Lee was planning to do my can room, too, and I thought we may as well cut out some cost and leave it concrete.  I mean, a can room?  He didn’t argue.  Then he called from Lowes and said there’s a new clearance pile for 18 cents / sq foot that’s basically the same color.  Yeah, you read that right.  That meant roughly $20 for the entire room.  I was all into it.  Then I thought of something.  Hey, how about we do the can room if it’s that cheap.  Apparently I’d sort of convinced him it wasn’t necessary b/c then he hemmed.  “Well,” he said, “let me do some math……uh, yeah, it’d be about $8 to do the can room.”   We both laughed.  Hey, I don’t mind having an “upscale” can room after all.  

If you run out of words, post pictures.  Playing with a camera has been one of my favorite distractions of the past weeks.  Sometimes it worked.  Sometimes I paid for it later.   Life becomes moldy very quickly when it lacks some sort of stimulation.  Right now, this is one of my favorite forms of stimulation.

Darrel & Jo braved ridiculously cold temperatures to get these photos in time for Christmas!  They amazed me with their ability to smile instead of shiver!  There is something so “right” about taking pictures of friends and family .. as though in one more small way we get to join in each other’s celebration of life. 

Joe & Rhoda, Alexis and Natosha…every time I see Alexis I want to touch her hair!  I told my mom once that I don’t think God would let me have a little girl with blonde curls because he knows I’d have a terrible struggle with vanity.  I love watching Rhoda with her girls.  She is one of the most unselfish moms I know … always taking care of them (but not doting) and giving up things she would like to do herself if it’s going to cause problems for the girls.

Ron and Linda called from Richmond just days ago.  I was quite sure we were going to be inside.  After all, it is the end of December.  But God warmed up the day to nearly fifty.  We were blocked from the wind and the sun actually made it almost comfortable to be outside.  And thank goodness for Fed Ex next day delivery!

And then a few of my personal favorites.  My beautiful friend Janelle and her adorable daughter, Kiersten.  I think that when God created friendship He said, “and behold it is very good.”  You know you’ve found true friendship when your three year old gags at the lunch table because he can’t tolerate the consistency of the cheese dip and when you tell him to spit it out in the trash (b/c you are now stifling gags inside yourself) he throws up on the floor and your 37 weeks pregnant friend gets down on her hands and knees to clean it up because she doesn’t want you to throw up too.  I ran on energy all afternoon I hadn’t found in weeks after she left.  There’s something so amazing about being with a friend. 

Today I am engulfed with grattitude.  You don’t realize how wonderful “normal” is until it disappears. 

For over a year, we slaved away at building our house.  All chances at a social life and family disappeared in time spent at the house.  I knew I had friends; but sometimes I had no idea what was going on in their life because I didn’t have the time or energy to pursue friendship.  Relationships are not something I live well without.  The last five months were the worst.  Puttying nail holes, caulking, and sanding for hundreds of hours left me feeling more like a redneck then anything remotely feminine.  Even after a shower there were ragged fingernails, dry skin, and probably paint somewhere that got missed.  But I was too tired to care.  The only non-house place it seemed we went was church.  David Lee and I decided to save money by not buying clothes for either of us for the year.  Where would we have worn them anyway?  He said the discipline would be good for us.  Maybe it was but I secretly thought he was almost a glutton for punishment.  At the same time, I really wanted to save money so I agreed.  (And I still refuse to be trite and say, “it was really good for us” even though it probably was.)

In the last few weeks I have celebrated a best friend’s birthday with more good friends, gotten a hug from another best friend who saw I was not doing well emotionally, talked on the phone with family and friends, and in general felt very, very loved and cared for.  Today I got the nicest email from another incredibly good friend.  I know there are people who live hermit lives and think they don’t need other people.  Not me.  Today I am overwhelmed with gratitude for friends and the ability to have relationships.  (And today I am thinking of my friend, Gina, who is in that last, frantic stage with her house.  If you can, visit her here, and give her three cheers.  They’re almost done.)

For a year and a half, David Lee and I waited and prayed for a baby.  It was probably the longest, most painful journey of my life.  I watched both my sisters and all three sisters-in-law have their babies and seemingly every woman in church was pregnant or had a baby.  Yet every month brought a fresh, heart-wrenching grief for me.  A grief like death.  I wondered if God cared.  I wondered if it even helped to pray.  And as my odd phsyical symptoms magnified, I wondered if I would ever be normal.  We spent more money on our infertility workup then many people do to have a baby and had no more answers then we did before we started.  I dreaded holidays and family get-togethers with fat babies and beaming mommies and all their stark reminders of what should have been and wasn’t.  I felt startling, knife-stabbing pain every time a pregnant woman walked into view … even if I knew I was going to see her.  I sobbed uncontrollably and mercilessly before young marrieds activities. 

In August, God asked me to pray very specifically about our infertility.  I didn’t want to.  I was afraid of becoming bitter if my prayers went unanswered again and told Him so.  Still, I felt His spirit asking me to pray that we would conceive a baby that month.  Finally I gave in, crying and asking God to help me ask.  As soon as the words were out of my mouth I felt a warm flush through my abdomen.  God’s prescence was as real in that moment as the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the french doors.  I really sobbed then and sang in worship through my tears.  Two weeks later, my pregnancy test showed positive.  Today my tummy bulges and the baby kicks.  Every day I am overwhelmed with gratitude with the sheer wonder of a gift I never expected to experience again.  (And today, as every day, I remember the new friends I made through this journey.  Many of them have been on this road so much longer then I, and have experienced gut-wrenching losses I never faced.  My heart cries for them in their pain, especially now at Christmas with all it’s family gatherings and celebration and I hope you join me in praying for them.  If you have a friend who is facing infertility, I hope you give her a hug and let her cry and tell her how much you care about the pain she is going through.)

For three months this summer, Adam and I both suffered from a strep infection that kept beating us down in spite of antibiotics.  I was exhausted all the time and by the end of the three months it wasn’t uncommon to experience heart palpitations or to get winded from going up two flights of steps.  Finally, finally after a round of antibiotics that cost us well over one hundred dollars, we tested negative.  The symptoms continued for several weeks; but finally I was beginning to feel normal.  Then I got pregnant.  And while I was overjoyed to think of having a baby, I got sick fast and hard.  Sometimes the past four months feel like a blur of misery.  There were days I wondered if I’d make it to the end of the day and days I almost hoped I wouldn’t.  But now things are getting better.  And even though I was so sick Saturday night I wondered if I was still human, I’m having good days sprinkled in with the bad.

Today I am overwhelmed with gratitude at the simple ability to do housework, to eat most foods, and to smile.  (And today I am thinking of people who face life-threatening diseases like cancer, stroke, and even diabetes.) 

Today I thank God for the good things …. good, normal things.  And today I ask God not to let me forget the bad moments so that I will appreciate normal for what it really is.  (Maybe trite quotes are more accurate then I give them credit for.)

Emily and I discovered we were both going to be in town today and it didn’t take long for us to decide it would be fun to have lunch together.  We met at the mall and tried to shop; but we were both absolutely starving.  Shopping and starving do not have any sort of a symbiotic relationship. 

I love Greek food and have ranted and raved long enough about one of my favorite little places downtown.  Back in my CCU, order out lunch a lot days, I often chose Cafe Europa.  And always, I got soup.  Sometimes a sandwich too, but always soup.  Not just any kind of soup either.  Tomato basil soup. 

Within two minutes of arriving I knew I was back in the university area.  Bricked sidewalks, ancient and beautiful architecture, street lamps, and students everywhere.  In trying to go up the steps, I met a 20ish something guy walking out.  He was wearing a t shirt, pajama bottoms, and flip flops.  Anywhere else his clothes could have identified him as something much different then a probably pampered school kid.  “Excuse me.” I said, trying to squeeze Adam and I past him on the steps.  I’m still not sure what I was expecting in response.  I just know it sounded utterly incongrous to hear a rich, well-modulated, “pardon me.” 

The tomato basil soup is still perfect.  Eating it brought mental flashbacks of sitting with Shelly on the old green sofa in a microscopic lounge trying hard to restrain ourselves from simply slurping it down in gigantic gulps and hoping no one would code and interrupt our bliss.  I want to go again.  More soup, please.  Another Bareclona.  And somehow I need to find room for the yummy looking greek salad, too.  Maybe I’ll just take a cooler along next time. 

Adam was a delightful shopper today.  He was just so good and it made me grateful for all the times I took him along when it would have been so much easier not to.  I think he really is learning what is expected of him in town.  Of course, it helped not to have a list as long as my body.   Every time I get stressed, he acts out.  So tell me, do you get a babysitter or do you take your children with you to town?  I find it so interesting to watch people on this one.  There are the women who almost never get a sitter and the women who seem to get one for every occasion.  And maybe what’s right for one person isn’t right for another.  I remember when town took me almost twice as long with him as it did without him and I got so frustrated.  Diapers, baby food, stroller, no nap, and a grouchy, grouchy little kid.  I was about to give up trying when I talked to my cousin who had three children under four and she took them all with her.  I remember realizing that if I can’t learn to take one, how will I ever take two?  More recently I watch Jo take both boys shopping and I stand amazed.  I am not one bit convinced I could do that and stay sane.  And then when Adam got older and easier because he was potty trained and could eat at McDonalds, there was the whining and impatience and “I want to get down and touch everything and run around” stage and that wasn’t any fun either.  We had some interrupted trips and sometimes I had to go back and finish the next day.  Still, it was hard for me to feel good about making someone else take care of my child so that I could go shopping.  Am I an extremist?  You tell me because I’d like to know. 

  Seeing pinker days ahead.  No, that’s not referring to the gender of the baby.  It’s talking about the color of my days.  When I saw Emily in church today I told her if I were Dr. Seuss I’d tell her my day is the color of her dress…olive green.  However, there is cause to celebrate and kill the fatted calf and whatever else we can think of.  I had 36 hrs of feeling like ME!  (Never mind that I threw up halfway through that time period.  At least I had energy and didn’t feel sick most of the time.)  I literally danced around the kitchen to the Christmas music.  Adam stared at me aghast.  I guess it has been a long time.  “What are you doing, Mommy?” he asked in a shocked, sort of quiet little voice.  “Are you leading songs?” 

No, sweetie.  Mommy is dancing.  And then we had the first giggle fest we’ve had in a long time.  And happy as a lark I picked up my previously all too heavy camera and headed outside to take pictures of Adam. 

It was the oddest sensation, feeling well.  I didn’t realize how dark and how bad it had been until I walked up the steps and caught a glimpse of Adam’s room.  “Oh, that’s such a nice yellow,” I thought to myself and then realized it was the house I live in that I was talking about.  Although, existed would be a better word then live.  Exist and survival.  Trying desperately to simply make it to the end of the day and hope tomorrow is better and then in the morning waking up and wondering how in the world I’d get to the end of it.  But now, it’s getting better.  Treadmill and grocery store beware.  Except it will still probably be two weeks before I can tackle either one.  But it’s coming.  Ahh, I like pink better then green.

Since I’m not finished editing Adam’s pictures, I’ll post some of Darius and Ro. 

 Christy completely outdid Martha Stewart in hosting us for Thanksgiving weekend.  I feel quite sure the latter never even tried to throw a formal dinner with a one-year-old in tow or keep guests happy and fed when they were precious little help in the kitchen and there were five children under three in (probably) less square footage then her kitchen and dining room.  Not to mention that happy and fed is no small feat when the two women seem to eat as much as the men and much more often.

So after travelling all of Thanksgiving Day and finding that NOTHING was open for lunch besides McDonalds (which did not make me smile) and that by 3:30 when my body screamed ultimatums like, “get food or throw up,” even they had closed, you can imagine how restful it was to walk into a house that smelled like real food.  To hear music and watch candles flicker.  To our family, a beautiful table is almost as important as having delicious food.  And Martha, I mean, Christy, did it again.  Right  down to the original place cards. And then there were all the other little “I love yous” like a miniature crystal goblet for Adam and a mini Princess House cafe mug for Lawrence.  Afterwards we cheered for Zachary when he walked and laughed when Lawrence and Adam thought they could get celebrated like that, too.

Moped rides, baby girl grins, competive Cranium, reminiscing, a trip to the zoo, and always more food….. 

And then the long trip home which wouldn’t have been so bad except that we got stuck in a traffic jam for two hours.

And then there was Monday.  Which was just, Monday.  But next came Tuesday and I hosted the Beachy family day.  Except that no one saw the foggiest resemblance to Martha Stewart.  Instead, Jo took one look at me and offered to fix my cereal so I wouldn’t have to open the frig and then she went a step further and fixed Adam’s beloved stinky grits.  Mom Beachy and Ro fixed lunch and supper and I stayed as far away from the kitchen as possible.  And Emily, Jo, and Kristina sewed and sewed and sewed for me.  I felt wonderfully cared for and didn’t care at all that I was also spoiled rotten.  I think spoiled is a good thing for grown-ups.  As though that wasn’t enough, Emily and Ro decided to come clean my house this afternoon while I go to the doctor which means Adam can stay here with them and I can go to town alone.  I think I’ll go and not even think about the fact that they are going to clean parts of my house that have not glimpsed a rag since before I got pregnant.  Funny how desperation takes care of a lot of pride issues momentarily.  When I told David Lee last night what they are doing he got as excited as I did!  “If they clean your house today and you do the laundry tomorrow you are going to feel like a new person,” he said.  (I wonder now if that was more excited or hopeful I heard in his voice.)  Indeed I will.

Dear God,

Fank you for du good food dat we ate.  Just pray dat you would keep us safe from du foxes and du deer and buck and bears and du trees and chain saws and boards.  Just keep us safe from du ants and crickets and from du snow.  Amen