On the last day I'll ever be pregnant

There is something kind of special about knowing that this is the last day I will ever spend housing another human inside my body.

March 10, 2010

I've often wondered, through the years, how I would feel on reaching this milestone.

Because, though intellectually I've always known this day was coming - let's face it, I'm not a Duggar, and 6 or 10 or 19 children are definitely not in our future - I've had a hard time imagining that a day would come when I would ever truly feel that sense of closure over growing our family.  Babies are a blessing, and I was pretty confident that a I would ever feel done.

Well, that was before adopting.  Before regularly single parenting four children for large stretches of the year.  Before having a pregnancy that has taken me off my feet for literally months.  Before having two with special needs at completely different ends of the spectrum.  One with trauma, one who is incredibly gifted.  Plus, you know: soon-to-be three more.

This morning?  I awoke with only a sense of joy and finality.  I'm so ready to meet this boy.  So ready to let him complete our family.  I know that it is time to focus on the big job of turning really fantastic little people into kind, compassionate, awesome adults.  I also recognize that this is no small task.

Eaaaarly, early morning, August 28, 2012

We had rather a lot to do before this baby arrives, and because of all our hospital fun, there is only one week between bringing Livvy home and embarking on our own hospital adventure.  So we had to prioritize.

I took Leah on a date to see Beauty and the Beast yesterday, something I've been wanting to do since before the hospital.

We also needed to to stock the freezer, knowing that I'll have to be off my feet after surgery.  Casey and I spent about three hours yesterday stockpiling food.  We made 9 big meals - hopefully enough to feed even our big crew and still have left overs.

Because of the way our house is situated, the baby will have to share our room for the foreseeable future.  Eventually, we'll have to finish the basement so Jake can move down there.  Livvy will move out of the nursery and into Jake's room, and then the baby can move to the nursery.  Hopefully (ideally... maybe) sometime this summer (HA!  We'll see!).  For now, though, there was significant cleaning and organizing that had to happen in the Master bedroom.  Baby items that needed to come up from the basement, take a spin in the wash and get set up and ready to use.  Just general readiness, particularly since I'll be spending more time in that room with the baby after tomorrow.

I'd also been wanting to get a pedicure since.... I don't know.  Last year?  I was going to do it when Casey initially got home, but then the world got crazy.

Luckily, Jess offered to have one last best friend outing before this baby is born, so we took this afternoon to do that.

August 4, 2014

Which is when all the BIG fun really began.  Because, at about 2:30 this afternoon, I had a HUGE contraction.  Or, you know, a contraction that felt huge to me, because I've only just come to grips with the idea of NOT having any.  I was SO not in a space to have to have contractions!

I got through it.  One contraction... no big deal.

And then, before too long, another big contraction.

And before I knew it, we were tracking them.  10 minutes apart, solid and decently heavy labor contractions.  OY.

There was nothing left to do.  They were either going to go ahead, or stop (remember days and weeks of prodromal labor with Olivia?  Because... I DO!), so we went and did our toes.  And I am pretty sure my best friend was on the edge of a heart attack the entire time as the contractions went from 10 minutes, to 9, 8, 6, and 5 minutes apart.

She is so much smarter than I am, because I would have been yelling, "YOU'RE IN LABOR, YOU CRAZY FOOL!!!"  She kept her mouth shut until I actually asked for her opinion.  It was both scary and reassuring to watch her eyes well up with tears when she told me how much she didn't want me to repeat Logan's delivery.  She's been to all of mine.  She knows what I've been through.  I scared her four years ago when I couldn't get him out.  I scared her even more in the aftermath, when I was hemorrhaging and they were talking about doing a blood transfusion or taking me to surgery.  Luckily, neither of those came to pass, but she clearly remembers.

Yeah.  If I had any doubts about taking him C-section, there was no greater confirmation than in my best friend's face.

I came home and Casey convinced me to get in the bath.  I didn't know what to do.  Call the hospital and tell them I needed to do a c-section tonight?  Let it progress, wait and see?  

My water hadn't broken, and I hadn't yet crossed the great divide into what I would consider to be true labor, so I decided to lay down and take a nap.  I was still having some light contractions when I woke up, but they were noticeably less intense, although still coming about 6 minutes apart.  By 8:00, they had disappeared altogether.

Crisis averted.

So we went back to it: packing hospital bags, finalizing schedules, writing notes to the kids and organizing the few little gifts we'd bought for them to wake up to in the morning when Mommy and Daddy are gone.  

We're leaving for the hospital at 5:45... and there will be a baby very soon thereafter.  And I am so, so exited I can hardly stand it!

Decision Tuesday

Oh, my sweet little son.

I am so happy you are in there.  So, so happy that you are safe, healthy and strong.

And... big.

I had another doctor appointment today.  Last week, during all the craziness and worries of hospitals and sick everybody, we had a glimmer of hope and good news: I was measuring - for the very first time pretty much this entire pregnancy - on schedule!  37 weeks exactly.  Waaahoo!!!

And, for the first time since week 33, I hadn't had any pre-labor scariness.  Very few contractions.  Less pressure on my downstairs.  No more weird discharge or losing of my mucus plug.  Despite the stress that was happening all around me, pregnancy-wise?  I felt better than I have in months.

But this week, well... I measured 41 weeks even though I'm 38.  This week, we did a size ultrasound that estimates he is 8lbs 13 oz.  His head was over the 100th percentile, estimated at 15 inches.  The ultrasound tech said that sometimes the estimates are wrong, but even allowing for that, she's confident he wouldn't be less than 8 and a half pounds if he were born today.

His ultrasound photo - which looked pretty good at 35 and a half weeks when it was clear and precise - looked unrecognizable today at 38 weeks.  She couldn't get a shot because he's so smashed in there.  He literally looks like he doesn't have a nose, it's that flat against his face, and his hand is inseparable from his head.  His ear is sticking out of his shoulder.  It was comical to watch her try to get any good photos.

Obviously there are women out there who can carry 9 or 10 pound babies; I am not those women!

After this news, the doctor asked me about  my preferences moving forward.  I answered immediately that we'd like to proceed as planned, and give natural a shot.  I wanted to do a membrane sweep to see if we could help give him a jump start so that he doesn't get too big, and she was willing to honor all of those requests.

However, now that we're definitely in the category of "big" baby, there were a few things she had to warn me about: 1) I would have to go into labor spontaneously prior to 41 weeks, and women with big babies can struggle to do that because the babies are so big, they don't engage in the pelvis. 2) The number one risk associated with birthing a big baby is shoulder dysplasia, which is one of the more dangerous complications on the delivery table.  Shoulder dysplasia is when the head has been born, but the shoulders are too large or get stuck behind the pelvis and significant intervention is called for to dislodge them.  There are a number of things they can try, but she had to warn me that if nothing works, they will break baby's arm and collar bone in order to get him out in those critical moments.

I talked to my husband.  I called my mom.  Both of them were pretty clear that I am crazy.  Why? they asked after I'd laid out the pro's and con's, Why are we even having this conversation?

And the more I thought rationally about it, the more it became obvious to me.  I've written here that I know my body, my pregnancies and my labors better than ever before.  Wanting with all my heart to change the rules of the game doesn't mean that suddenly my body will respond differently.

1) I already struggle - can't, in fact, to date do it on my own - to get baby's head to engage in the pelvis.  Now I have a baby whose physiology makes it extra difficult.

2) I vividly remember that desperate, hopeless feeling of having Logan stuck, and knowing with everything in me that I would not be able to get him out on my own.  It was one of the most awful feelings I have ever experienced in my entire life.  It was downright dangerous, and I swore I would never again put another child of mine in that position.

3) Shoulder dysplasia.  I mean, really?  I would never - could never - knowingly take a risk like that.  Not ever.  I understand that so much of hospital speak is CYA, that they have to inform me of this even if the risk is minuscule.  But, really?  It was over from those words.  I'd never knowingly put my baby in harm's way if I had it in me to control the outcome.

4) The very last straw was my own, dysfunctional body.  When the doctor attempted to sweep my membranes, my cervix was sitting so high that she couldn't reach it.  A combination of very uncomfortable shoving and  actually pushing down on the top of my uterus to bring it into range was the only way we finally accomplished it.  The lesson?  When I say "high up," I really, really mean it.  In fact, things were lower at 33 and 35 weeks and have progressed up rather than down.  Cool.

So, you've probably gotten there by now too...

We're going back for one more!  Which also means that we are having a baby on Friday!  Quite the nice way to bookend all these pregnancies, really.

It would be easy to feel a little sad that I am never going to have that natural labor I've sought for more than 7 years.  Instead, I'm feeling really happy.  He's going to come out.  He's going to be safe.  I have four beautiful, healthy children when 100 years ago - or perhaps even as little as 50 or 60 - I would almost certainly have lost them or died myself.  I'd never have gotten Leah out safely.  Game over right there.

We are so blessed - so very, very blessed - to welcome our beautiful man into the world.  I can't wait to see you on Friday, Baby Boy!

Spring has sprung, and the package is huge.

You know those adorable quotations you find for the nursery when you're having your first child?  Things like, first we had each other.  Then we had you.  Now we have everything.

Well, when you're cooking human #4, which actually ends up #5 because of adoption, those adorable little sayings aren't quite as endearing.  Or little: 

First we had each other.  Then we had Leah.  Then we had Logan.  Then we had Livvy.  Then we had Jake.  Then we had you.  Now we have everything.  And we're really, really tired.  

Despite the fact that it is March - hardly after St. Patrick's Day, no less - the view from my window is lovely.  The grass is turning green in our yard, and delicate little blossoms are emerging on all the branches.  As I type this, it's nearly 80 degrees.  The winter world is bursting into new life. 

At 36 weeks, bursting is one of my favorite words. 

It's just so descriptive.  And appropriate!

My husband came home earlier this week.  Can I just tell you?  The level of relief was pretty incredible.  Literally palpable.  I could feel the tension drain away - whatever happens now, it's okay.

We celebrated his homecoming with a day of baby-oriented fun.  First a trip to buy a handful of pairs of new cloth diapers, then a tour of our new hospital, lunch, and last but not least, my 35 week doctors appointment.  The best part?  My mom had the kids, so we got to do all of those things just the two of us.  It was glorious.  

The purpose of the appointment was to determine if I was in better shape physically, and if I could officially resume some-what normal activities.  And, because I was measuring so far ahead at my last appointment, they also wanted to do an ultrasound to check his size. 

It was a great appointment.  I am looking much better physically, and was cleared from bed rest.  I'm dilated, which at 35.5 weeks is not as concerning as it was at 33.  And the best part? 

We got to see an amazing, clear picture of our sweet little man.  Isn't he incredible?!  Look at that precious little face!

But.  (Isn't that just the way?  Always that unfortunate but...)  

But, at 35 weeks, he is measuring big.  

His head?  It's literally off the charts, measuring larger than 99th percentile at 41 weeks instead of 35.  If that wasn't enough, they got clear measurements and estimate that he is 7.8lbs.  That's as big is a Logan on birthday!  As I'm writing this today, baby boy is probably flirting with the 8lb mark.  

And if I manage to make it to my due date, they estimate he'll be somewhere between 9 and a half and ten pounds.  

Whew.  So, that was interesting news to digest!  

Based on his gestational size (not gestational age - the doctor won't change my official due date), the sonographer estimates my due date at 3-26. 

I have to admit that, despite the potential challenges, I'm actually incredibly relieved.  I have been saying for literally months that nothing I'm feeling seems normal; I feel like I'm way ahead of where I should be.  The entire medical profession has reassured me that this is normal for a fourth pregnancy (which is just harder - they insist!).  

Casey was supposed to have a trip the last week of March, a trip I adamantly suggested he find a replacement on, because I've been convinced for several weeks that the baby is coming either the last week of March or very early April.  That lines up perfectly with where he is measuring.  Score one for mother's intuition!  

So even though we have been worried for the last three weeks that he might make an early appearance, the new concern is that he may actually be too big to make it out that way at all.  The doctor already talked to me about scheduling a c-section, something she would most likely like to do at 39 weeks.  Particularly since I'm only "battle tested" to the size he was earlier this week.

The reality is that we'll get where we get.  I have peace that I'll know the next steps when they are upon us.  I know for a fact that I can't control what comes next; I'm still doing all my daily exercises to try and give him his best shot... but I've been through this exact emotion four times now.  All I can do is trust.  One way or another, in less than a month I'll get to snuggle that potentially giant baby boy, and plant kisses on his adorable chubby cheeks.  None of this uncertainty will matter once that happens.  And I cannot wait.   

That's the blessing here.  The one I'm holding out for, in whatever form it comes. Because on that day?  We will truly have everything.  

Things I've learned about labor: fourth edition

There is an old saying that goes like this: The fourth time is the charm.

I'm pretty sure that's how it goes. It's a very ancient saying.... you've probably only heard of its more contemporary cousin.

Okay, so the fourth time may not be the charm, but sometimes in life there are mysteries that just don't come together until you have all the pieces.  And, for some of us extra-special people, all the pieces can take a lot of tries to gather.

So, as I near the finish line on this last time around, there are a few things I've learned about myself in labor that I hope may help me this time around.

1. My babies don't engage in the pelvis.  It literally took me three tries to figure this one out.  I couldn't find any information on it.  No doctor ever told me... aside from the fact that I have the hat trick on doctors and nurses who exclaimed, "WOW!! These babies are high up!!" immediately before or even after hours and hours (and hours) of labor. (Sidenote: what does that even mean?!  I'm just a mom laying here spread eagle, trying to have a baby!  HOW IS THIS HELPFUL INFORMATION?!  More importantly: what can I do about it?)

Much more helpful is the information I've stumbled across during this pregnancy (whole article here):

"Lack of engagement is a common issue for the woman who labors but the baby remains high in the pelvis. For about half the cases, the uterus gets overworked trying to get a baby into the pelvis for days of labor. Contractions may be very, very strong and very grinding on the pubic bone and dilation isn’t the predictive factor."

Ah-HA!  Now, that sounds familiar!  Even more familiar:

"Early labor can go on for a day, or two or three. Sometimes the woman thinks her starter is broken. This is because the labor can start and stop as the baby tries to get into the pelvic brim. Women may not dilate beyond 3 cm when the baby remains high. 

Labor can feel so strong as the uterus works hard to rotate baby’s head to drop into the pelvis. These strong contractions can go on for days. Once baby engages labor becomes effective and the baby is born in 8 hours or less."

This is it!  The missing piece.  The explanation I've been waiting for that finally makes my experiences make sense!

I've never been dilated past a four on my own, even after something like 35 combined hours of labor in two pregnancies. It explains why things move so quickly after the epidural: getting an epidural isn't about pain management for me, it's about bringing the head into the pelvis so labor can progress.  (PS - don't ask me why an epidural helps with that.  I simply don't know, although I suspect it has something to do with forcing the pelvic muscles to relax and spread out.)  I go from a measly 3 or 4 cm dilated after hours and hours - or even days and days - to ready to push in something like 2 hours once baby engages... but so far, I haven't been able to get there without the help of the epidural.

I have been learning so much I wish I'd known before about positioning baby for his exit.  It has given me renewed hope that I might be able to do this without an epidural.  Not to mention, a few actual, practical strategies to try if I get into labor and baby's head is still high and unengaged.

The Spinning Babies website has been so very helpful to me in identifying and educating myself about my own experiences in labor.

And luckily for me, they have a "daily three" exercises to help best position our little guy for his exit:
Step 1: Rebozo Sifting

This activity helps "jiggle" the mother, taking away the weight of the baby and relaxing her ligaments.

Step 2: Forward-Leaning Inversion

Which is pretty much exactly as much fun as it looks like for a great big pregnant lady.  The idea is to invert and take the pressure off of your lower uterus.  When you return to an upright position, baby uses that space and the pull of gravity to create more space for the head to fit in preparation for labor.

Step 3: Sidelying-Release 

Full disclosure, I'm not 100% sure I'm doing this one right, so I'm going to let you read all about it and draw your own conclusions.  But the basic idea is that, when done correctly, this movement uses a static stretch to slightly enlarge and soften the pelvis.  When done in labor, it may help encourage a stalled baby to rotate and descend.

They also have several recommendations about positions specifically for babies who do not drop once labor has begun.

2. All those contractions I had with Livvy were actually Prodromal Labor.  What is Prodromal labor, you ask?  Since I didn't know, even when I was experiencing it, let me tell you!  Prodromal labor is a type of labor that happens before the onset of active labor.  It is not Braxton-Hicks.  It is sometimes described as "false-labor," but the truth is that Prodromal labor is real labor contractions in terms of intensity and frequency, but labor that comes and goes without ultimately producing a baby.  Prodromal labor can go on for days or even weeks before active labor begins.

Two years ago, I could not figure out why I was contracting night after night without fail.  They would begin about ten minutes apart, get stronger and closer together over the course of 5-7 hours.  Just as I was convinced it would soon be time to go to the hospital, my contractions would simply... disappear.  This went on for more than two weeks, usually at night, but sometimes during the day as well.  One sleepless night I did the math and realized I would have more than 100 hours of contractions before active labor even began.

But why?  Well, that question is trickier to answer, as there does not seem to be a consensus I can find from the medical community.  One theory seems to be poor positioning of the baby, which again rings true in my case.  The uterus attempts to reposition the baby with contractions and eventually stops if it does not work.

Of course, there are no guarantees in labor, and the most important thing is to have a healthy baby and mommy at the end, however we get there.  On the plus side, we've changed hospitals so we're only a 9 minute drive.  That frees me up not to have any concerns about timing the trip; I can be ready to push and we'll still make it to the hospital in time.

I feel pretty confident though.  I think we have our best chance of having this baby truly the natural way.  Certainly, I understand my body and labor process better than I ever have before.  That is in itself a victory, however things go.

Warning: do not leave the pregnant lady home alone

So, here's the relevant background information:

Casey has been gone literally all of my third trimester.

Yeah.

In his wonderful, heroic, provider-man way, he rationalized it like this: Well, I typically work all of January and February, come home for most of March and go back to work in April.  This year, I need to be home in April, so I'll just swap months and work January through March.  No problem!

As I was putting together our calendar in the new year, I suddenly had a panic attack when I realized: he has literally three days at home in March.  I have a daughter turning 7, and I don't have a weekend when her daddy is home to have a birthday party.  I will be 34+ weeks pregnant.  My husband will be gone for 10 weeks straight with just a few days at home. I have four fricking children to tend to and I homeschool. And my husband won't make a lasting appearance until I'm 38 weeks pregnant.  

Naturally, I did what every crazy pregnant lady would do: I had a crazy pregnancy dream in which I had the baby in a chair at a restaurant while Casey was on one of his trips.  Then I woke up at five a.m. in a hot sweat and called my husband in a slightly rage-induced panic.  NO, dear, this schedule will NOT work for me.

It turns out, when you have four children and a very pregnant wife, you have to come home once in a while.

When you don't... things get bad.  Quickly.

Which is why I spent last Friday night in the hospital.  Baby boy had moved down and was creating so much pressure that I actually had pain.  Contracting every 8-12 minutes.  Something that actually felt like burning in my low abdomen.  It was nothing too concerning; these symptoms are all a normal part of my pregnancies - but I have previously only experienced them sometime after thirty seven weeks.  I was only 33, which is why I felt compelled to get checked out.

It turns out, every person has a limit to what they can do.  It's nice to have finally found out exactly where mine is.

I don't quite know how to describe the way the next few days went.  All I can tell you is that I have not felt so absolutely awful since after Logan's birth - and my body was completely, utterly wrecked after that experience. Worse by far than anything that happened during my pregnancy with Olivia; worse, even, than anything I felt during her labor.

Lots of stress, many physical demands and late pregnancy do not make good bed fellows.  It has been a very rough week.  Every part of me hurt to the point that I couldn't sleep because each movement caused me pain so acute that it actually made me cry.  I literally could hardly walk for two days.  We're talking crazy stuff.

Luckily, my mom came up to run my household for five days while I was on almost total bed rest.  Thank goodness... we'd never have made it without her.

And, although Casey still has to work until the 14th, I think we've convinced him that it's time to come home and stay home.  So that's the good news.  Ten more days (and, for the record, my mom is going to continue to stay with me until my husband gets home. Juuuuusst to be safe).  

The most amazing part, though, is how my body simply cannot keep up with the demands that are on me.  I don't know why I never truly understood we would reach this point.  I suppose because it has never legitimately happened before.  I mean, sure, it has always been the case that if it falls on the floor during the third trimester, it no longer exists.  Shoes are my nemesis.  Getting up off the floor after putting on a small child's whatever is a comical, beached-whale-esque sight.  But the end-of-pregnancy struggles have always had something of a comedic, satirical tone in my world.  It's exhausting - no doubt.  It's uncomfortable.  Maybe bordering sometimes on unpleasant.

But nothing like this.

This experience has taught me that I actually have a limit, and that limit must be respected, or my body will take revenge and force my respect.  It's not a question of trying harder or being tougher or scheduling more effectively; I just have to do less.  Waaaaaaay less.

The doctor has told me several times that fourth pregnancies are just harder.  Your body has been stretched enough times that the ligaments are struggling to hold everything together.  In fact, she mentioned that, though your risk factors are roughly the same for pregnancies 1-4, fifth pregnancies have a 15-20% higher risk of significant medical event.  She says that - though clearly there are exceptions - most women are truly not meant to have more than about 4 or 5 pregnancies; our bodies begin to actually break down.  I can totally see it... not that we were planning on any more, but I'm convinced my body is genuinely not capable of carrying another baby.  Four pregnancies and an adoption is enough!  

So, my body doesn't feel like my body.  Doesn't respond in the ways that I am accustomed to.  I was measuring two weeks ahead at my last appointment, and I feel like I could have this baby any second. We did "bed school" all week instead of homeschool. But the good news is that I only have another week and a half before serious reinforcements are in.

And then?

Well, all bets are off.

30 weeks and the fourth time around

OHHHHH.... get ready!

Three fourths of this pregnancy have slipped by, and I haven't had a single chance to even talk about it.  Neither have I had the chance to pop through a wall and shout "OH YEAH!" like the Koolaid man, despite our obvious similarities, but hey... ten weeks left, right?

There's still time!

So many things have changed since that very first time I arrived at this milestone.  It's sometimes amazing to think of that naiive girl who quietly rocked her belly - the one she thought was SO BIG - and imagined what life might be like on the other side of the delivery room.  

I'm pretty sure she never imagined what was coming!

Let me just throw this out there for all time: I LOVE being pregnant.

And...

I'm terrible at it.  

I got a little cocky this time around thinking that, after three remarkably similar pregnancies, I reasonably knew what to expect when I was expecting. 

Ha!  That's what I get. 

Instead of morning sickness that was unpleasant but manageable, this time around I encountered something the likes of which my body had never experienced.  Something I never even dreamed might be on the way.  Sickness that left me literally unable to get up off the floor of the bathroom at the worst of times, and at best unable to lift my head off the couch.  I had to call my mom - for the first time ever - to come and take care of kids because I honestly thought I might be dying.  I know, it sounds dramatic.  But if you'd seen her face when she saw me, well, you'd get it.

Our first glimpse of our little bundle.  No greater joy than a healthy heartbeat!

The world spun continually for two months.  I could hardly walk, sometimes for hours on end, without having to stop and steady myself. Just moving my eyes back and forth to read to the kids could produce a wave of nausea so intense, I would close my eyes and sit quietly with the light off in the bathroom. It was a mess.

I don't often think of myself as a super mom, but as I look back on it now, I'm truly not sure how I got us all through.  Casey was gone almost that entire time with literally only a few days (um... like five) at home, we had daily - and major - construction happening on the back of our house, homeschooling of two children plus the entertaining of a third, and Jacob had just started high school, in a new state, no less - something that was brand new to him and to us, since we've never dealt with a public school schedule before. 

It was a lot.  A lot.

But, somehow, not only did we make it through, everyone ended up thriving.  Our to do lists were always checked off, friends were met and made, homework was done, picnics were had, and smiles and laughter generally ruled the day.  The worst that can be said is that we ate out far more than I've ever done and the house got a little more untidy than usual.  Not too shabby, all things considered.

It was a huge blessing when the 2nd trimester began, and my physical load began to lift a bit. 

This baby is strong.  So, so strong and wiggly I sometimes can't believe it.  Based on several things at the very beginning of this pregnancy, I was initially convinced we were expecting a girl.  But as soon as he started moving, I switched teams and at this point I'm absolutely convinced I would have known he was a boy, even if we hadn't found out gender.  

This child is most definitely a boy.  

Livvy was sweet, mellow and dainty, both in life and in my belly. Leah was gentle and mellow. This one is raucous and full of energy. He is going to race full speed through the house and try to keep up with all of his big siblings.  He's going to hold his own as the youngest, and I'm convinced he's going to have a competitive nature.  He is the first of four to ever wake me up and keep me up in the middle of the night with his antics.  He makes my belly jump like I'm popping popcorn inside my uterus. 

I love him.  So, so, so much. 

This sweet baby has an awesome sleep pattern most of the time.  He has a period of crazy wakefulness from about 9-11 each night, and then cozies up and sleeps well until about four or five.  Please, Lord, let that schedule keep!

No matter how many we have, the best of my days begin and end with little hands and bodies snuggled into some part of me.  

The little three are absolutely loving mommy's pregnancy.  Logan's little eyes popped and became big and round the first time he really felt the baby kick.  Leah, my little mother, can't get enough of feeling her baby brother, and Livvy keeps blessing "new beebee" in her prayers.  They all sing to him and talk to him before bed. They named him.  Casey and I got out-voted. It is seriously the greatest thing of all time.  Even Jake has felt the baby wiggle. 

The most astounding part of all is that, no matter how difficult things get or what this demanding job calls for, there is always enough of me to go around.  Not that it is true - and certainly not that it feels that way - in every moment, but somehow, some way, in the end it is always true. 

I'd be remiss if I didn't also include this: I don't know where I would be without this man.  We would all be lost without him.  He is the very best husband and daddy, and we are so very lucky to call him ours.  

So here we go again.  Here's to the last time around. 

39 weeks

It's been a bit of a roller coaster here in my corner of the world.

I'm making a conscious effort to enjoy my life: to enjoy the last few days and weeks I'll have as a mommy of two, to enjoy the laughter between my two precious littles as they run around and knock each other over.  To watch my big girl go bravely off to camp, fearless and enjoying every second.  To treasure the hugs from my beautiful little boy, who is, without doubt, the world's best hugger and possibly the sweetest little heart of all time.

But I will also admit to being completely, totally, mindlessly distracted.

This body.  Yowza.  It's messing with me in a really big way that's both totally joyful and absolutely wearing me down.

I started with all sorts of positive things on the labor and delivery front, all sorts of things which have never, ever happened to me before in my previous pregnancies.  Two weeks ago, at not yet full term, I was dilated!  I wanted to shout it from the roof tops and do a little pregnant gal happy dance, because I've only ever gotten that pitiable poor girl, you're locked up tighter than a fat guy in spandex look from the doctor as she shakes her head in response to my question about dilation.

Then, I lost my mucus plug.  I know, disgusting, but for the girl who showed absolutely no signs of progress up to and including the day my babies were born, this was like a hallelujah chorus.  Maybe labor wouldn't be awful?  Maybe... gasp... it would be manageable!  Maybe it would actually move!

Except that the day after both of these things happened, my husband was leaving for Florida.  FLORIDA.  The single corner of the United States that is furthest from my current location.  So we danced around the idea of him cancelling his trip, which we both agreed was ultimately stupid.  How could I have two babies so determined to stay in that they both had to be literally yanked out of me, and then worry about giving birth three weeks early?  Seems pretty implausible. We made back up plans.  And then more back up plans, just in case.

And then, the day after he left, at 37 weeks and 3 days, I started having contractions.  Labor contractions.  Decently strong labor contractions, which started at 10 minutes apart and got progressively closer and stronger.  Just exactly like the books said they would when labor begins.

After alerting the media, NASA and the Department of Homeland Security, we ultimately decided that there was really nothing to be done except see if they progressed and went anywhere.  It was 2 a.m. in Miami when we finally made this call, and he couldn't get out on a flight any sooner than 7, so nothing to do except go to bed and see what happens.  Luckily, nothing happened, and I sighed a big sigh of relief.

The trouble is, this pattern has pretty much continued, almost daily since then.  It was worrisome when Casey was out of town, but since then I've been very fervently hoping that it would pick up and actually kick me into labor.  Instead, I have nightly contractions that start at about 10 minutes and work their way down to 6 or 7 minutes apart, getting increasingly stronger over the course of 6 or 7 hours and then.... stop.  For no apparent reason.

I wake up the next morning sore across my abdomen like I've been doing crunches all night, irritated and grumpy and absolutely no closer to having this baby.

I've been dilated to 4 for a week, had my membranes swept twice and have continued doing all the "things" I can do to help my contractions progress: walking, pelvic tilts, squats, bouncing on the ball, taking Evening Primrose, relaxation and visualization, that other thing that got us into this to begin with... everything the literature suggests might help make a difference.  Nothing.

Well, no.  Not nothing.  Lots and lots {and lots and lots} of good, early labor contractions.

Except now, after two solid weeks, they're totally wearing me down.  I'm crampy and sore.  I'm having real trouble sleeping because I contract so much and for so long in the middle of the night.  I'm super hormonal, and everything makes me either cry or want to yell.  My patience is wearing paper thin.  I'm tired of always having one proverbial eye on my body, trying to monitor if what's happening to me is normal or something I need to pay close attention to.  I'm tired of trying to keep things in a constant "ready-to-go" state, making sure I always know whether we have enough pull ups and milk or where our people are just in case I need someone to come and tend to the kids.  I'm totally worn out physically; I wake up honestly feeling like I've run some sort of minor marathon during the night.  I have a tendency, despite my many blessings, to follow the tracks of the sun through my house, waiting for night to come so that I can just sit quietly without issuing instruction or praise, or have little hands touching me, begging to be entertained, fed, hugged, taken potty or any thousand other totally reasonable unmanageable demands.

And I'm disappointed.  I can't help it.  I'm trying so hard not to be.  I was totally ready to have this baby on its due date - I never had any doubts that we'd be having an August baby or that I should be concerned about going into labor.  So much so that I fully encouraged Casey to take the job in Miami when I knew I'd be 37-38 weeks pregnant.  I even encouraged him to take a gig here over the next few days, because I didn't anticipate being in any form of labor until sometime next week.  Then, all those really positive things started happening, but it definitely has had me thinking that "pop" might be on the agenda before too long.  And now, here we are.  Two weeks later, 39 weeks pregnant and I'm still contracting virtually every night as if I were going to go into labor, only to wake up worn out but still pregnant.

So, this is all very new to me.  Anecdotally, I feel like my body is still not working the way it's supposed to.  It seems like most people's bodies run on an FM frequency, and somehow I'm tuned into AM and can't get my crap together.  I know that many people have a few days or a few incidents where they play the am I in labor? guessing game, but two weeks of this craziness every day seems really excessive.  And I can't seem to get out of my head the thought that my body may truly just not be able to contract strongly enough to move a baby without some medical intervention.  I've wondered this since my very first miscarriage almost six years ago, and it's been reiterated to me each and every time I've done anything labor-like since.  I can rock the early contractions, but as far as being in active labor with heavy contractions... I'm thinking more and more that my body shuts down because that's the only direction it has to go on its own.

Which, I suppose, is okay - as long as I can come to terms with it; something I'm trying hard to do.  That truly natural labor I've longed for for the last five years may just always elude me, despite my best efforts to the contrary.  In which case, I need to remember to be very, very grateful for modern medicine, even that villain Pitocin I've been trying so hard to avoid.

The whole point of all of this at the end of the day is to make sure that baby is healthy.  That goal is vastly more important than whether or not my body works - I know that.  And I am so, so beyond grateful that this is even on the table for me; please don't mistake my struggle for being ungrateful.

It's back to wait-and-see.  I am still eager and hopeful that this little body might somehow chug into gear and do what everyone tells me it was meant to do.  Mostly, though, I'm just so darned excited to meet our special little someone.  I know from experience that in that moment, all these fears and doubts and stresses will simply cease to exist in the presence of such overwhelming joy.

Thirty weeks.

The first time around looked a lot like this:

The second time was a little more like this:

The last time I was in this position, we were packing up our house to move into my mom's for the next three months.  We didn't have a place to live, and the future felt very uncertain.  I had one child who was still sleeping in her crib, the first place she rested her little head a little over two years before.  It was hot.  HOT.  Unbearably, record-breaking hot, and would continue to be beastly hot for(ever) a really long time.  And I'm pretty sure that stressed doesn't begin to cover my emotional state, even though I was super happy to be 30 weeks pregnant.

And, these days...

As I write this, my two littles are outside playing in the sandbox in our backyard.  Their room is 98% finished, and the nursery is the next on the chopping block.  Bottom line?  Everybody is happy, healthy and will already be settled and ready by the time this little person makes its appearance.

Did everybody else just hear that great big sigh of relief?

I know, it's a bit superficial, but the truth is that it gives me such profound peace of mind to know that we will be ready for this baby before it gets here.  Praise the Lord.

So a few weeks ago I had a doctor's appointment where I let slip that Casey had been gone for over 4 weeks in a row.  Evidently this was distressing news to the doc, who got rather alarmed and promptly started listing off the ways I need to change my life so I don't end up on bed rest later in my pregnancy.  Seems that mothers with small children are like number one on bed rest... something about not taking care of ourselves, eating, drinking or resting properly, most especially when they're on their own... yeah, I don't know anything about that.  

She put me on the same restrictions that women whose husbands are deployed are on: I can do everything in my life, but that's it.  I can still pick up the kids and the stroller and go to the grocery store and all those things, but I'm supposed to pay very close attention to all the things that don't need to be immediately done.  Can someone else mow my lawn?  GREAT!  Do I really need to move the couch, or can it wait until Casey gets home?  So the general guidelines are to keep doing what has to get done to run our lives, but make the extra effort to eat, drink, and lay down when I can (back to that age-old nap when the kids nap rule of thumb), and don't lift anything over 5 pounds that doesn't immediately need to be lifted.  

I was all ready to disregard this advice since I was feeling really good.  And then the third trimester hit, and out of the blue I discovered that I have some very real limitations.  It's funny how fast that happens, and how quickly you have to remember to adjust.  

This baby is most definitely a girl.  Not only has this pregnancy kept up pace for pace with my pregnancy with Leah, but she's just so dainty.  Logan was honestly ready to break out, Alien-style.  He thunked me, seriously thunked me, all the time.  He was the same on the inside that he has come to be on the outside: full-steam ahead pretty much all the time.  This little one is subtle, quiet and downright demure.  Those are the adjectives I'd use to describe her.  I've never really had to kick count before, because my kids were movers.  This one makes it tougher and requires me to actually keep track of her.  

I also think she's going to be an easy baby (knock on wood and throw some salt over your shoulder.  For reals.)  She doesn't freak out in the car - first one of my kids I can say that about.  Leah and Logan both wiggled and wiggled every single time I got in the car, which translated to screaming bloody murder for the first five months of their lives each and every time we got in the car as soon as they were on the outside.  This one sleeps in the car.  My other two were totally counter to the rule of thumb that babies sleep when you move and are awake when you are still.  This one adheres to that pretty closely, except... wait for it... when I wake up to pee ninety times in the middle of the night, she wakes up, wiggles a tiny bit, and settles back in.  WAAAHOOO!!!  I am seriously, seriously keeping my fingers crossed that this will be something that continues once she makes her way into the real world.  (For the record, sweet little Logan would wake up and decide to hang out and do somersaults, which is exactly what happened when he got to the outside just slightly less the somersaults).   

And, yes, I have taken to referring to the baby as "her."  I know, seems a little risky.  But I'm convinced deep in my soul that this baby is a girl.  I've carried a girl and carried a boy, and this one is nothing like Logan and everything like Leah.  In my head I have always unconsciously thought of her as a girl, so often that I've just given in.

We also began to feel the baby and the outline of her little body in my belly.  Oh my word, that precious little body!  How much I love and cherish being able to carry this baby in my belly!  I feel so blessed to be able to lug her around all day.  All my wonderful little people, they sure turn out amazing.  Clearly, the world needs a few more...

We consider ourselves pretty lucky around here!

A pretty 'Lil Surprise

This week, we hit one of my absolute favorite milestones of pregnancy: the 20 week ultrasound, aka the "gender ultrasound."

And...

Guess what????

IT'S A GIRL!!!!!

Or maybe...

IT'S A BOY!!!!

Alright, that was kinda mean.  Actually, the answer is currently sitting in an envelope in an unknown (by me) location, because after all that stress and anxiety about not finding out, I decided there was no way in the world I was going to be able to just leave that information never to be seen again.  I haven't caved and I don't know our baby's gender, but the point is that I could do both of those things if I decide to - and that makes all the difference!

And let me tell you, I really, really looked.  Hard.  It's a very good thing that Casey and I aren't responsible for actually reading those things and disseminating potentially life-changing information to expectant parents.  Because here's what I saw between Baby's legs: first something that maybe might possibly have lead to something boy-part-like, and upon closer examination, a complete and total lack of anything boy-part looking.  I'm only sure that it's not definitively a boy - unlike Logan, who was decidedly male from his first debut moment on ultrasound screen.  So, while it's possible that we're having an androgynous baby, I think it's much more likely that we just completely suck at reading ultrasounds, and Little Surprise remains exactly that: a surprise.

It's still amazing to me just how much we can see while that tiny human is still living in my belly.  We saw the four chambers of the heart, the hemispheres of the brain, femur and all ten adorable little fingers.  The best part was the moment that pretty little profile appeared on the screen.  That moment - though it's my third time through - still overwhelmed me with emotion and made me cry.

And so, our sweet Little Surprise, we'll be seeing you.  We're lucky, blessed beyond words, and oh so thankful that you're happy and healthy in there.

On the 5th time I was positive

12/10/13

There's still a pregnancy test sitting on my counter.  It's been sitting there for over a week, which is probably totally gross given that I peed on it.  What else in the world would I put in a stream of urine and then - without having been washed - allow to sit near a place where food is prepared?!  YUCK!  I've kept it because I keep thinking that maybe I read it wrong.  Maybe somehow those two lines don't mean what I know they mean and all this isn't really happening.  I've just jumped to a really drastic conclusion 'cause I'm a spoiled little dreamer.

Plausible, right?

It's fair to say that I did everything wrong for one who's trying to get pregnant.  {Ah, the irony!}  I drank wine, I took medicine, I ate soft cheese, I had deli meat without heating it to steaming.  I wasn't going to start my prenatals again until the first of the year.  Somewhere, the getting pregnant gods are having a good laugh when they should be docking my file.

I wasn't trying to get pregnant, after all...

So, here's the thing about natural family planning.  I completely believe in it.  I'm sure it works.  I know of many success stories.   Also related: my body sucks.  It does all sorts of whatever it wants, whenever it wants to with no nod to any kind of predictability at all.

Wanna hear the really, really great big irony about my two lines?  {I'm gonna warn you - it's a total overshare!  Feel free to skip ahead to the less revealing paragraphs.}

I didn't ovulate the month I conceived.  

I mean, obviously I did somewhere along the line, what with all the getting pregnant.  But for all intensive purposes, the kinds that matter when you're trying to do the natural family planning gig, I didn't ovulate. It's not the first time my body has pulled that fun little trick: it happened when we were trying for Logan and I was using ovulation testers, it also happened in one of the first few months I was trying out NFP.  Both times previously I chalked it up to user error; could have been I used the test wrong; could have been I didn't know what I was checking for and I made a mistake.  Surely it was my fault. 

This time?  There was no mistake.  And now, frankly, I have my doubts about the other times, too.  My body simply didn't do what it has done during the other months when I know I'm ovulating.  I was really, really paying attention this time.  I SWEAR!!!  {I hear you calling me a liar!  I know!!!  I wouldn't believe me either if it hadn't happened to me!}

The last time it happened, my cycle turned out to be 32 days long instead of the 22-28 it typically is.  I thought I was pregnant that time, but took two tests and both were negative.  Stay with me - you need to know all of that to understand why, when I didn't ovulate, I wasn't altogether surprised when I got to day 28 and my monthly friend hadn't showed.

I had a cold, and since I'd been coughing through the night I finally caved and took medicine for the first time in two years.  I was pretty happy about it, too.  So at day 28, thinking I might possibly maybe be somewhere between a few days and a week late, I decided to take a test, reasoning that when it was negative I could go back to guzzling NyQuil by the gallon without a care. So I grabbed a stick and peed in the name of medicine - just to be sure.  

After trying for Logan, I still hate watching a single line appear, even though I was fully expecting that would happen.  So I came downstairs. I moved the toys from the floor to their baskets, only to have it undone moments later.  I helped Leah color.  Ten minutes or so later, I walked back upstairs.

My brain was ready for: hooray, thank goodness I can take my medicine!  

Instead?  There were two little pink lines.  Two little pink lines.  

I put my hand over my mouth.  It was one of those completely cliche moments where you feel your heart stop.  I started to laugh.  To shake.  Then, as the gravity of those lines hit me, to cry.  Not out of sadness or despair; I cried tears of sheer disbelief and joy.  Two lines means pregnant.  I'm carrying a baby.  And I sat there, half laughing, half crying, full of gratitude and terrifying uncertainty for a really long time.  

Casey was at work and unreachable, but news like this I couldn't keep to myself.  I stumbled down the stairs and called her.  She picked up the phone and I couldn't even speak.  "Are you okay?" were her first words to me.  "I'm..... pregnant?"  I mumbled.  It wasn't a statement.  "Don't get excited, I'm going to lose it."  

In that moment, I was sure it would be true.  The doctor even told me I should be prepared to lose again, maybe even several times.  That's what happens, and I've come to grips with it.  Jess talked me off the ledge where I wasn't even sure I was going to tell Casey.  No reason to get everybody all in a dither only to have me lose it three days later.  

But I haven't lost it.  Very quickly, I have begun to be confident that I won't.  With two wonderful, beautiful and happy children, and the fact that we weren't going to try again until at least the summer, I can hardly say I've been waiting and longing for this baby.  And still...

...Somehow, in all the craziness, this baby was meant to be ours.  I feel it, that deep-down-in-my-bones certainty I felt with Leah and again with Logan.  The kind of certain you think in your head but rarely utter out loud since, after all, there's really no guarantee.  In my already over-large belly lies the next great love of my life.  A little bundle that God always knew was part our family, even before Casey or I did.  It's overwhelming, the depth of this love.  

I may never get over it... the just getting pregnant without any help or angst or pain.  How did I get that lucky?  How did I just get pregnant?  

So, once again I tell you: I suck at planning.  I'll try not to be too obnoxious about being pregnant in the deep dark heat of summer.  Thankfully, we have AC this time.  And, oh yeah, don't have to make any crazy major life decisions, so that's working for me.  Let's all just say a prayer for a perfectly average, non-record breaking summer, kay?  

And that's that.  I'm going to be the mommy of 3.  You couldn't see it, but I just got tears in my eyes as I typed those words.  

They're tears of very, very great joy, in case that was in question.  

Things I have in common with

**So I'm posting this now, even though it's totally ironic because I was writing this literally seconds before my water broke.  I finished writing this post, bent down to pick up the camera to take a last picture and discovered I'd sprung a very important leak... :) As it turns out, tons of it will go down in the books as totally inaccurate after my birth experience, but more to come on that later!

Today, the woman at the zoo informed me that elephants have a gestation of two years. 

I also happen to know, through random bits of trivia, that a giraffe holds onto its little ones for over a year before dropping them. 

So I'm feeling quite fond of these animals.  A kinship, if you will, bonded in knowing that at least there are a few animals out there who bake 'em longer than I do. 

Katy Perry asked me today if I felt paper thin, like a deck of cards one blow from caving in.

Thanks for asking, Katy, but I must admit to feeling quite the opposite.  Round, robust, lumbering and just plain heavy are a few of the adjectives that come to mind.

I'm half way through my 39th week of pregnancy, and it strikes me as odd every time I realize that the comically large pregnant lady I sometimes catch sight of in shiny, reflective things is actually me. 

I'm still coming to terms with the idea of a "due" date - particularly as I remember my first OB who laughed cavallierly when I told him that the August 28th due date he "calculated" (aka pulled out of his... nevermind) was "close enough" even though I insisted it didn't track with the date of conception.

Haha, pregnant women.  Evidently "close enough" will have to do when it comes to this small thing called birthing a human.  Because, at the end, it's not like there's anything to be anxious/eager/excited about...

But, whatever else happens, his eviction date is set.  We scheduled a c-section for the 5th of September, so I know for sure I'll be meeting my little buddy by then. 

It's certainly not the way I'd like to do it, but an induction is out of the question.  Evidently past c-section patients don't get along with pitocin.  My OB suggested we could try manually dialating me (it involves a balloon.  Shudder.), but I couldn't quite stomach that thought.  So it's back to wait, hope and have faith.  The three things I'm best at in this world. 

Wait.  Hope.  Have faith.  And try a bunch of random stuff suggested by birthing books, the internet and everyone who's ever had an opinion.  Such as...

• Chew fresh basil (gross.  And also?  Still pregnant.)
• Cold plain yogurt (what exactly was this supposed to do?)
• Pedicures (two so far.  Still pregnant.)
• Chiropractor (thought I was suffocating the baby, but back felt better.  Still pregnant.)
• Eggplant! (Parmesean?  Awesome.  And still pregnant.)
• Sex. (Hah.)
• Spicy food (Delicious!  But still pregnant.)
• Balance ball (Bounce, bounce, bounce.  Still pregnant.)
• Acupressure (nightly by my wonderful husband.  Not so much as dilated.)
• Castor oil (No.  Just no.)
• A wide variety of positions (see: slightly more limber.  See also: Pregnant.)
• Walk (SO.MUCH.PREGNANT.WALKING.)
• Acupuncture (may try this one.  Still a little timid.)

It's very reminiscent of two and a half years ago when I went through all kinds of crazy hijinks trying to get my breech baby flipped.  It didn't work then, and I'm coming to terms with the fact that it probably won't work now.  These kids, they come how and when they're good and ready. 

That planner in me has so much pent up anxiety it's getting a little ridiculous.  Want to make plans next week?  Sure!  You know, assuming I'm not in labor.  What's for dinner?  Stuffed zucchini, unless of course I'm pushing out a person.  What are you doing tomorrow?  Who knows!  But I could be birthing a human. 

On the bright side, I'm guaranteed to beat those elephants.  And more than likely the giraffes, too. 

Besides, there's never been one yet to stay in.  So there's that.

"Wow" isn't a good term in the doctor's office

So I'm still here, and still pregnant. 

I'm not dialated, and my son has the same gestational condition his sister had.  It's called, I'm not leaving till I'm 30 and you can't make me.   

No, he's not breech.  But he's not exactly ready to come out, either.  In the words of my doctor mid-check yesterday, "Wow! That boy is really high up there!" (Emphasis not mine, by the way.)

It was immediately followed by more exciting news: "It could just be that he's quite robust." 

Oh, super!  Two pieces of good news in one visit: my gigantic son is no where close to making his way down the canal so he can be born.  Good times.  Have I mentioned that no one likes to hear the word "Wow!" in the doctor's office?

It's not a big deal exactly, just one more layer of anxiety.  It means his 14 day eviction notice has arrived, because if he's not in better position at this time next week, we'll have to schedule a c-section.

Schedule and use are still two different things, but it's one more ticking clock that makes me a little nervous.  I know that a c-section isn't the worst thing in the world, but I'd sure like to get to do it a different way this time around.  It's completely secondary to a healthy, happy baby boy, but it's not exactly preferable, either. 

So, fingers crossed and legs uncrossed, and we'll hope that this baby decides to head on down (too many puns in one sentence? Nah.).

And, as a blanket statement to all medical professionals: please leave your wow!s out of the exam room, kay?

A letter to my very pregnant self.

Dear Melissa,

You're down to the final hurdle with this little one you've longed so deeply for.  You've done a pretty awesome job at treasuring this time; I know how hard it's been for you to wait patiently after already waiting patiently.  Added to that have been some pretty huge other life stresses, not to mention a beastly, record-breakingly hot summer which all make you even more eager to press the evict button.

Patience, as they say, is a virtue.  In other words... just hang in there.  There hasn't been one yet to stay in forever. 

I know just how many hours you've spent fantasizing about the delicious scent of that little head, and holding that tiny body close to yours.  This baby thing won't be easy the second time around.  You've gotten pretty accustomed to your independent little buddy who sleeps through the night and isn't completely afraid of strangers, whether they actually deserve that title or not.  Do you remember the first few weeks of breastfeeding (um, chapped what?!)?  Do you remember the crazy anxiety?  His current accommodations are pretty cozy, and completely choking-hazard free... I'm just sayin'.

Look, I know that you're already worried about the after.  You didn't really bother to lose the weight the first time around, which made lots of sense at the time.  Priority?  Drinking in as much time as possible with that little lady.  And, while we both know it was worth it at the time, that's not going to fly this time through. 

But listen: don't hate that post-baby body.  Those three little stretch marks that cropped up?  Don't forget that they were forged making the two biggest miracles you could ask for.  Your squishy places make for fantastic snuggling for tiny bodies.  Those giant thighs have hefted you, thirty pounds of baby boy and thirty pounds of big girl, all at the same time.  Cut your body some slack, okay?

Finally, the greatest of your worries.  How will you balance it all this time round? 

I'm not going to lie, there is no easy answer here.  You finally feel like you've achieved some balance in your life, and it's going to be thrown right back into chaos.  I know you pretty well, and I know that the many directions you'll be pulled in will leave you feeling like you're failing in most of them.  Know that it's not true.  That myth of "having it all" is just that. 

You won't have enough time with Leah.  You won't have enough time with Casey.  You won't have a clean (or possibly even unpacked) house and nutritious dinners on the table every night.  You will lose your temper and feel overwhelmed, and there will be tears from pretty much everyone involved.  IT IS OKAY. 

Did you hear that?  I yelled it for a reason. 

This love is big.  Really, really big, and it will be more than enough to carry you all through.  The little time goes so fast - don't roll your eyes at me, you know it's true - and there will again come a day when all your laundry is folded and put away and you feel "together."  Nipples can only stay bloody for so long, and even crying babies have to sleep sometime.  And you know that husband of yours isn't going anywhere, no matter how many days in a row you forget to shower.  Or shave. 

So enjoy these last few weeks, and treasure every moment that boy moves inside you.  Don't worry too much about the hour long drive that stands between you and the hospital OR your water breaking in a room full of 8th graders; that will work itself out.  Kiss your hubby and rock your big girl a little longer.  Nap.  Forgive yourself.  Take your own advice, and have a little faith.

You're going to do awesome.  You'll see. 

xoxo
-Me