On April 24, 2009, I had a doctor's appointment in Grapevine. I'd been home on bedrest for about 10 days, and I was whining to Bob about being cooped up in the house. He spent most of his time trying to make me follow the doctor's orders, but despite his best efforts, I couldn't just lay around all the time (I tried, I really did, but dishes were in the sink and I was lonely on the couch by myself). I thought since Bob was driving and paid the copays at the doctor's, I'd leave everything at home, including my purse. It was a normal appointment, but while the nether-regions were being probed, I had a couple of contractions. Dr. G asked us to wait out in the waiting room while he talked to Dr. P, and in a matter of moments, I was being wheeled down the hall and admitted to the hospital - without an ID or an insurance card.
I'm pretty sure the next eight and a half weeks were the most frightening and challenging weeks of my life. At 25 weeks, I knew that my babies could not be born yet. They needed to cook a lot longer. So, I did what they told me to do. I sat, got poked and prodded, collected buckets of my own urine, learned to regulate my turb pump (and learned to trust Bob to help me change my site), and spent endless hours with my bare belly covered with jelly and monitors.
This face was worth it. As he gradually moved closer to my left thigh and was so low that they had to look at the top of his head vaginally, I became extremely connected to tiny little Baby A. If I spent too much time on my left side, he'd kick me until I would turn over (quite a feat for a woman the size of a beached whale).
This face was worth it. Michael, Baby B, was known as butt-boy. He'd curl up in a ball and push his bottom against my hand as he moved across my right side. I spent endless hours just patting his tiny little tush.
This face was worth it. My sweet little C-Monkey was very elusive. He sat at the top of my belly right below my chest, right next to my heart - both literally and figuratively. He never stayed on the monitor. I think my fingers still have cramps from trying to keep his little squirmy self on the charts. Ironic that he's still keeping me hopping.
Despite the fact that I'd prefer to pluck my own eyeballs out rather than ever be pregnant again, every single second was worth it. My three little men are absolutely amazing, and I can't even begin to imagine my life without them. It's true that your life experiences shape who you are, and a large part of who I am today was formed in room 213 at Baylor Grapevine. I learned there how to be patient, how to trust others, and that my husband is more amazing than I realized - he's my rock & the best dad in the world.
On April 24, 2009, I had a doctor's appointment in Grapevine. I'd been home on bedrest for about 10 days, and I was whining to Bob about being cooped up in the house. He spent most of his time trying to make me follow the doctor's orders, but despite his best efforts, I couldn't just lay around all the time (I tried, I really did, but dishes were in the sink and I was lonely on the couch by myself). I thought since Bob was driving and paid the copays at the doctor's, I'd leave everything at home, including my purse. It was a normal appointment, but while the nether-regions were being probed, I had a couple of contractions. Dr. G asked us to wait out in the waiting room while he talked to Dr. P, and in a matter of moments, I was being wheeled down the hall and admitted to the hospital - without an ID or an insurance card.
I'm pretty sure the next eight and a half weeks were the most frightening and challenging weeks of my life. At 25 weeks, I knew that my babies could not be born yet. They needed to cook a lot longer. So, I did what they told me to do. I sat, got poked and prodded, collected buckets of my own urine, learned to regulate my turb pump (and learned to trust Bob to help me change my site), and spent endless hours with my bare belly covered with jelly and monitors.
This face was worth it. As he gradually moved closer to my left thigh and was so low that they had to look at the top of his head vaginally, I became extremely connected to tiny little Baby A. If I spent too much time on my left side, he'd kick me until I would turn over (quite a feat for a woman the size of a beached whale).
This face was worth it. Michael, Baby B, was known as butt-boy. He'd curl up in a ball and push his bottom against my hand as he moved across my right side. I spent endless hours just patting his tiny little tush.
This face was worth it. My sweet little C-Monkey was very elusive. He sat at the top of my belly right below my chest, right next to my heart - both literally and figuratively. He never stayed on the monitor. I think my fingers still have cramps from trying to keep his little squirmy self on the charts. Ironic that he's still keeping me hopping.
this might be my favorite post yet. Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteYou're doing such a great job with them! We enjoy watching them grow and glad you are back to 11:00!!
ReplyDelete