It’s been crickets around here the last few days.
I would imagine many of you would love to hear how SNAP went.
And I will share…tomorrow?
I’ve just been a little on the distracted side.
You see, heading home from Los Angeles after picking up the kids from my mom, I stopped at a Wendy’s to grab a quick lunch and make a bathroom stop.
To find blood. Bright and red.
I continued the drive home. 2 more hours. Nervous. I didn’t even mention it to Andy on the phone. I guess I just wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. Totally wrong response, but logic isn’t always as strong as fear.
I laid on the couch and drank lots of water once I got home. This was a Sunday, so I was weighing the options of waiting until morning and go into the doctor’s office, or head to the ER.
One was 12 hours away…the other had lots of dollar signs attached to it.
I hate that we have to make decisions based on money. I hate money. So gross.
I laid low all afternoon and had no more bleeding episodes. Until 11:00 p.m. after falling asleep on the couch and finally heading up to bed…there was more blood.
Called my doctor, who suggested I go to the Emergency Room.
He called ahead for me.
I didn’t have to wait in the lobby…they took me right up…to my own private room that had a sign with my name on the door.
That’s when I really panicked. I mean, did that mean they were ready to admit me???
I cried the whole way to the hospital. Convinced that there were only two possible outcomes from this experience: my baby would be dead and I’d be adding “stillborn” to my resume. I immediately made a mental note to make sure someone called Lisa Maksoudian…a local photographer who is a NILMDTS photographer (or at least I think she used to be). Clearly my brain goes crazy places.
Outcome #2: he would be born at 27 weeks, 6 days….NICU time, and likely more special needs…which overwhelmed me beyond belief. TWO kids with special needs? I almost hyperventilated just thinking about that.
OR, if there was a third outcome, it was that I would be on 12 weeks of bedrest. Which, as you can imagine with three other littles (and no family nearby) it would have been…difficult to say the least.
No matter what, I reasoned, this was gonna suck. A lot. A lot. A lot.
But God wasn’t ready for me to have Walter on Sunday. Or to take him home to heaven. Or even to lay me out for three months.
Because the minute the nurse got me hooked up to the monitors, he was kicking and rolling and somersalting in there something fierce. In fact, he was probably the most active I’ve ever seen.
“It’s like he’s rearranging furniture in there!” quipped the nurse.
He would kick the monitor. Hard. She moved it to the other side of my belly. He’d scurry over there and kick it again. Move again. Kick. Apparently he isn’t a fan. Tough life kid. Suck it up.
Two hours later, she discharged me. Sent me home on “limited physical activity”. In my exhausted stupor I didn’t really ask what that meant, so I’m just taking it ultra, ultra, ultra easy the next few days until my next doctor appointment on Thursday when I can ask what that specifically means. My mom is coming up to help out with the kids for a few days too. I feel fine and there haven’t been any other bleeding episodes, but until I can chat with my doc, I’m operating under “better safe than sorry” mode. I’m probably being overly cautious, but after two miscarriages, I’m okay with being neurotic.
So what caused the bright red surprise? The nurse thinks that all the walking I did at the conference center, while hauling around a big bag with my iPad, camera, notepad, etc. was too much for my body. Plus, I probably didn’t drink enough water. No bueno.
“I wouldn’t call this a scare…but definately a warning from your body. Take it easy. Sit a lot. No carrying around your kids.”
Ha. Would now be a good time to mention that one of my kids has CP? Yeah. Thank the good Lord she can crawl.
So, anyhoo…I’m laying low for a few days. My house will look like a war zone. Laundry may eat us alive. But Walter’s got some baking to do…and that’s all I care about right now.
You know, it’s a real miracle anyone is born.
And for the record, Walter and I will have words when he makes his appearance.
Not cool, kid. Not cool.
Is 3 hours old too young for a timeout? Kidding. Kind of.