...I'm on a boat

Figuratively speaking of course. Literally speaking, I'm in a hospital bed trying to stay pregnant long enough to keep my daughter out of the NICU. To say the least, this week has not gone the way I anticipated. Two days ago, I had a thousand things on my to-do list, only one of which was a routine OB check-up. That check-up changed everything.

*(From this point forward, I feel I should warn you that if you are a male reader, unfamiliar with pregnancy/childbirth, or just plain squeamish this whole thing may be TMI for you. For your purposes, we'll just wrap up the story with "things are moving forward faster than they should and I need to stay pregnant longer")*

For a few weeks, I'd been feeling quite a bit of pressure/pain/pinching on my cervix when my active little Jumperoo would move in a downward direction. Having never experienced anything like that with Nicholas, I knew it was not a normal pain. So, during my check-up, I requested my OB check my cervix to make sure I hadn't started dilating too soon. When I explained to her what I was feeling, she offered me another potential explanation for the sensations and upon hearing her explanation, I liked hers much better. Obviously. Her explanation meant nothing was wrong! But it did legitimately seems to explain the pain. However, just to be on the safe side, we decided to check my cervix anyway. As she's laying back the bed for me to assume the position, two potential scenarios are running through my mind. 1) she's going to violate check me and find that nothing's wrong, or 2) she's going she's going to violate check me and things are going to be so incredibly wrong that just pressure of her check is going to accidentally break my water and I was going to have my baby right there in the exam room. Well, I ended up somewhere in the middle. I have to admit, when quarts of amniotic fluid didn't go gushing to the floor, I stupidly thought that meant nothing was wrong. Turns at that only 32 weeks along, I was dilated to 5 cm and already 70% effaced. (For those unfamiliar, that means my cervix was well over halfway ready for my body to start having this baby. Add in some serious contractions and out she pops)

Remember my post about finding out we were expecting a girl? How I felt like I was instantly dumped upside down and the table, floor, and such all fell out from under me? Well, this was like that. Except now I was on boat, quickly sailing away from the image in my head of bringing my daughter, the final puzzle piece to completing our family, into this world. Sadly since then, my boat has not drifted any closer to shore.
They admitted me right then and there for pre-term labor. And after much back and forth discussion of what my expectations should be regarding the length of my stay, I now know I will very likely be here until she is born. Which is likely to be at least a week, maybe 2-3. I've had terms like "high risk" applied to my file; heard things like "NICU stay", "underdeveloped lungs", "feeding tubes", and other terrifying phrases applied to my daughter's potential condition. (There goes me...in my boat...drifting further and further out to sea with no paddle to get back...)

There are, however, lots of great things to report on this admittedly scary situation. First, since being admitted two days, there does not appear to be any change in my condition which is actually great. It means things are not progressing, that I'm not moving closer to active labor. They've given me meds to stop any contractions that I was having, however mild they were. Today I get to see how I do without them. Second, Zoe looks wonderful! Her heart rate is steady, she's very active, and she's already measuring around 4 lbs. I know, I know 4 lbs sounds so super tiny. But I've learned in the last few days that it's big enough to land her on the threshold of possibly avoiding being in the NICU. So she is not in any distress, for which I am so thankful. While she seems to want to leave the little home I've made for her a little too soon, at least she seems happy in her little home.

And third and finally, Nick has been in SUCH good hands during all of this. We have such amazing friends and family that have dropped their lives to offer to take him in while we go through these difficult weeks. And while it literally feels like my heart is being ripped out, another huge gust of wind pushing me further from shore, to think of him being away from me for possibly weeks, I do know that this brief period of my life needs to be focused on Zoe. I am asking a lot of my little man to bounce around the state for the next few weeks to stay with various friends and family, but I know he will be so well taken care of and he will have such a good time. It is immensely difficult to consider not having him in my day-to-day life, especially when it feels like everything else is so mucked up. But I know, for now, it needs to happen.

I know that in a few weeks or months (gulp), the four of us will have this behind us. We will be tired and sleep-deprived. We will be back to our lives of potty-training and play-dates with tiny Zoe in tow. We will be balancing grocery shopping and errands and work and everything else our daily lives consist of. We will be home and we will be healthy and we will be happy.

But for now, I have to float along in my little boat with nothing to guide me but the knowledge that the doctors will do everything they medically can to keep Zoe and I healthy and safe, and faith that God has a plan for us and He will get our family through this.

... I hugged my belly.

Upon reading this blog written by a friend of a friend, my heart broke and broke over and over for this family. But, my immediate physical reaction was literally to put both hands on my growing belly in the closest thing to a hug you can muster against your own body and thank God that I've not received such news about our Zoe.
As I read Blair's story, the thoughts and emotions I felt for her morphed from grief to pity to heartbreak to awe. Her family is not that dissimilar from my own. She and her husband are roughly the same ages as Jason and I. Their daughter is about Nick's age, and they were expecting their second child. A son to round out their young family.
As a mother, you spend your life holding your breath for your children from the very moment you learn you are carrying them. And for most of us, we're lucky enough to get to release those breaths at different times in our children's lives. Get to the end of the first trimester, breathe a sigh of relief. Get both yourself and your child safely through delivery, breathe a sigh of relief. First birthday, sigh of relief. This continues throughout their lives, releasing a sigh of relief at each milestone or potential danger.  A constant roller coaster of holding our breath while hoping and praying things will be okay, and releasing that breath when we've left the danger zone.
But on the occasions that sigh isn't released, on the occasions something unthinkable does happen, we are left with questions and unresolved emotions that, depending on the situation, can take years to work through. I think most mothers, or parents in general, in Blair's situation would be so angry and so confused for so long. I know that for myself, I can't even wrap my head around receiving news like hers.
And while I'm sure Blair is feeling - and will continue to feel - all those emotions, the faith that she exhibits is astounding. To face this unfaceable tragedy with the outlook she's presented seems impossible to me. It truly is a testament to the strength of her faith that she has even considered the outlook of "Why not us?".
As you start your week with your children, hug them tight and thank God for them and all the sighs of relief you've released during their lives. Pray for the Scheepers family over and over. Send good thoughts, good energy, whatever. Whatever your beliefs call you to do, do it. Let this family know and feel that, even from halfway across the world, even from strangers they've never met, that we all - as parents - love them and are thinking of them in this unthinkable time in their lives.

...my family is conspiring against me.

At least when it comes to my sleep, that is. Even the cat is on the conspiracy. Honestly, I don't remember the last time I slept through an entire night without any sort of disturbance.

Most pregnant women will tell you that it's a cruel joke how often your body requires you to get up in the middle of the night during pregnancy. Whether it be to pee for the bazillionth time, prop yourself up into a position that will - for at least the next 30 minutes - either eliminate or reduce your heartburn, or flop about in your bed like a fish until you find a new sleeping position that won't A) crush your sweet unborn, B) cause the lower half of your body to go numb, C) eventually make all your lower joints hurt, and D) is actually comfortable. Add to all of these possible scenarios the pregnancy-induced insomnia and/or ridiculous hormone inspired dreams that baffle the brain, and it's a wonder a pregnant woman sleeps at all. Honestly, most of pregnancy - not just the loss of sleep part - is a cruel joke. At the time when you need certain things most in life - sleep, a stiff drink, an indulgent meal of delectable sushi...mmmm....sorry! I got distracted! Anyway, at the time in your life when you need those things the most, you are deprived of them for the good of your precious little baby. I reference all of these reasons above as proof that Sweet Zoe is already in on the conspiracy. Which I think is just cruel really. She'll have plenty of time after birth to deprive me of much needed, sweet, sweet slumber. I see no reason for her to get on my bad side already.

Which brings me to Nicholas. Of all parties, I think he's the least guilty. But, nevertheless, he holds some blame. Since moving to his big boy bed, he has admittedly done impressively well with the transition. However, now that he has the ability to get out of bed as soon as he wakes, there are no more mornings of playful chatter in the crib until Mommy wakes. Nope, now Mommy has to wake as soon as Nicholas does. Which turns out to be anywhere from 6 AM to 8 AM. If we land closer to 8, I'm totally fine with it. I am not, however, fine with the 6 AM wake-up call (or the random 5 AM climb into bed I received last week). I do realize that as soon as Zoe arrives, a 6 AM wake-up call may sound like heaven. But for the time being, (when Zoe is not already dictating how little I sleep each night by ravaging my body via hormones) I'd like to at least make it 7:15, thank you very much. Between the two of my kids, I feel the need to ingrain the following into their brains.

And then there's my dear, sweet, wonderful, loving husband. Oh husband of mine, how I love thee. You are my best friend, my confidante, my partner in parenthood and love and life, and....oh. my. god. how you snore! Okay, in my hubs defense, he actually spends most nights on our couch because our mattress hurts his back. So most nights, the snoring thing isn't a problem. However, the nights he and I do share a bed always seem to inevitably also be the nights that I 1) have to pee a bazillion times, 2) am awaken by either heart-burn, the need to flop like a fish, a violently kicking fetus, a ridiculous pregnancy dream, or a combination of all, and/or 3) the cat. I didn't mention the cat yet, did I? Yeah...he's in on the conspiracy too. He tends to sleep where ever the Hubs sleeps, but never WITH Jason. If Jason sleeps on the couch, the cat stays in the living room and allows me to sleep. But if Jason sleeps in the bed, guess where the cat wants to sleep? ON. MY. HEAD. Not cool, Skip. Not cool.
Anyway...I digress....So, the nights that Jason does sleep in our bed, I already have all of this going on and am having a hard enough time either getting back to sleep or staying asleep and here comes the Lumberjack, just a sawin' away. And despite my most polite, loving efforts to slap him in the back of the head nudge him gently or wake him slightly by saying his name so he changes positions, he still. keeps. snoring.

So there I lay. Pregnant and kept awake by either my unborn daughter, my hateful cat, or my snoring husband. And finally, finally I start to drift off back off to something that might resemble sleep...when here comes Nicholas with his 6:00 AM wake-up call.
I swear, I think they're all against me.