Edith's profileYonder - I Found It!PhotosBlogListsMore  |  Tools Help |
|
3/30/2009 A MOTHER'S LOVENo matter what anyone tells you to prepare you for the love you'll have for your child... no matter how huge they make it sound or what they compare it to... and everyone who is already a mother will spend time telling you what to expect while you're expecting... no one can ever come close to the reality.
Actually, I almost felt deficient at first. I was supposed to have this huge feeling wash over me... I was supposed to be overwhelmed by my unrecognizable emotions as soon as I saw my son. What no one tells you is that BECAUSE your emotions are so HUGE... so overwhelming... so unrecognizable because you've never felt anything close to it before... you DON'T know you're having them until much later. Let me explain.
While the doctors were opening up my abdomen and taping it to a bar, reaching inside me to wrench my baby out of me, and identifying my baby as "yup, its a boy", I was holding my breath... holding my emotions... holding... holding... holding. My only conscious thougts were "GOD... make him alright... please make him alright" and "Why isn't he crying? Why can't I hear him cry?" Unconsciously I was interested in the fact that I could feel everything they were doing to me, but had no pain (cool!)... I was waiting with bated breath to hear my son cry... I was vaguely aware of B filming the procedure, standing somewhere to my left... I was wondering why my arms had to be taped down out to my sides on these boards, like I was on a cross or something... I was listening intently to hear if a nurse or doctor said something that wasn't quite... right.
The intensity of the relief I felt when I heard Dillon's first cry (sounded a little weak... is he ok? I thought) and then his huge and very annoyed second cry (relief flooded me... OH GOOD... his lungs are fine... he's ok) was followed by such a huge surge of motherly protection (Doc, is he ok? Everything is good, right?) and concern (B - don't you leave our baby... you stay with him B!)and love - overwhelming, complete, all consuming love - that I didn't identify it as such until a couple of weeks later, upon reflection. All I could do was laugh and cry at the same time (caught on tape).
From that moment on my every waking, and dreaming thought was about my son. I was impatient for the doctor to sew me back up because I had to get to my son and feed him... Dillon must be hungry after the ordeal of birth... he must be missing me - if he doesn't hear his mama he's going to think I abandoned him. I consciously had stroked his cheek with my finger as I spoke calmly to him after he'd been wrapped up and was being held by my face so I could see him before they took him to the nursery... I told him mama would be right there... I love you baby... do you know it's your mama?... do you recognize my voice now you're out?... be a good boy and don't worry because daddy will stay with you until I can be there... I love you Dillon... I promise I'll be right there... then they took him away... I called out to B - Don't you leave him! Make sure you can see him at all times!! Stay WITH the baby... do you hear me B? I was terrified something would happen to him now... how could I protect him now he was out of me?
When I was told he was in ICU because his sugars had bottomed out I was frantic to get to him. I'd seen movies and heard stories and read all kinds of examples of how babies needed their mommies when they were ill... they healed better when mama was there. I couldn't fathom NOT being by my son's side. The nurses had me hooked up to a morphine drip for my pain and they said I had to stay in recovery for 2 hours, or until I could move my extremities, then would be moved to my room where I had to wait for them to bring me my baby. UH... NO. Ten minutes after I was put in recovery I was moving my toes (wow, you're a quick recoverer)... yeah... I need to see my baby. They made me wait 1 hour instead of 2 then moved me to my room.
I kept insisting my son needed to breast feed... I didn't want them to bottle feed him... bring me to my son. The nurses said I had to wait until the afternoon and we'd see if I could get up or not based on how much pain I was in and how much I needed of the morphine drip. I said take it out now... I don't need it... I need to see my son. They smiled and said they'd be back later to check on me. I never pushed the button for the first dose of morphine. I didn't feel physical pain at all... I was only concerned about my son... everyone who came by to check on me was amazed I was still awake and hadn't used any pain medication... TAKE ME TO MY SON... he needs me.
Finally, Dillon was born at 9:13 am, and finally, at 3 pm, the nurse came in with a wheel chair and started to tell me if I could get up she'd take me to Dillon... by the time she finished saying it I was on my feet and turning around to back into the wheel chair. I tapped my toes on the foot rests... I strained to hear my baby's cries... my husband B was by my side, walking with us to the ICU. They opened the big hallway doors and I said to B... that's Dillon... he's crying. He said I couldn't know that and I told him I KNEW my child. We sanitized our hands and as they wheeled me closer I could hear my baby crying... it WAS him... B was impressed. I got to my baby's side and reached my hand toward him... I began stroking his cheek and talking softly to him and he quieted down.
For the next 3 days I went down to ICU every 3 hours, on the hour, to feed and comfort my baby. The nurses wanted me to rest... I wanted to be with my baby. I wasn't tired. The imensity of the love I have for my Dillon kept me sane, awake, and consumed with making my baby well. Once his sugars were regulated we were allowed to take him home... and it was only delayed 1 day... everyone was surprised... not me... I knew he was going home with me. Either that or they'd better set something up for me to stay there... I wouldn't leave until Dillon went with me.
I know now that my motivation at the time was the all consuming love I feel for my Dillon... then I just DID... I did what I had to do for my child... and I felt like I was missing that love... why didn't I feel it? Why didn't I recognize the all consuming love feeling? I know now that I was looking for a feeling I could recognize as love... something I was familiar with. The love of a mother for her child is not anything she's ever felt before her baby's birth.
That love that consumed me during my second marriage... where I lived and breathed my husband... where I physically hurt if we were separated for any time at all... the love that had me unable to form a sentence without him in it... the love that made me do everything in life not just for me, but for US... the love that didn't let me breathe without making sure he was breathing first... that was nothing like the love I have for my son. That love pales in comparison... can it even be called "love" now that I know the real raw emotion?
Since his birth, Dillon has been all there is. Yes, I'm married, and I love my husband B, and I'm concerned for his comfort and his happiness... but there is no contest between him and Dillon... if my child needs, he gets... if he's curious, I will find a way to satisfy his curiosity... if he's hungry, he gets fed first, no matter who else is hungry... if he's bored, something gets done to entertain him, or tempt his mind... to teach him something. I don't indulge his every whim because I don't want him to be spoiled rotten... spoiled, yes, but rotten -no. If he throws a tantrum, he's ignored... no attention for bad behavior. If he shows a healthy interest in something, it's encouraged.
I used to say I'd die for any member of my family... that's nothing compared to what I'd go through for my son. I'd endure torture for my son. I put aside my own likes, dislikes, wants and desires... all that matters is that Dillon feel loved and safe and secure... and that he be surrounded by love and peace.
3/29/2009 INFANTILE COMMUNICATIONI have often thought that babies have a language all their own... they understand what they're saying even though the rest of us don't have much of a clue. As to whether babies understand one another... I think to a certain extent they do, but I don't think actual speech is required... at least, not all the time. I have seen complete (I believe) conversations take place with gestures, small sounds, raised or squinched eyebrows, mouth shapes, and body language between my son and other babies. I say complete conversations because there is an obvious greeting, (Dillon gets a big smile on his face and he says "Heyyyy!!"), the "body" of the communication over a few minutes time, and then an obvious dismissal of eachother... after which both babies have contented, "At least I got my point across" looks on their faces and they move on to the next thing... whatever that may be.
As for communication between myself and my son... it's very interesting, and rather frustrating... to us both I think. One of the first words he ever said was "Deuce" for Juice... which now is more clearly "Juice"... or he'll say "bah bah" for his "bottle". There are other obvious words... or, what he uses for words to describe certain things... such as; "bops", which are grapes; "naaanaaas", obviously, banana's - not to be confused with "Naahhnuuuhhh", his paternal grandmother (sounds a lot alike and sometimes only the body language or hand gestures make the distinction).
He says "gog" for dog, "this" and "that" very clearly are just what he's saying, "bup" is sippy cup, "mama" or "mamayeee" is my name, and "dada" or "dadayeee" for his father. He says "skichchk" for chicken, and will answer "essss" for yes and a clear, drawn out "noooooo?" (always sounds like a question) for no. If he needs his diaper changed and I ask him if he wants me to do it, he blows air out between his lips vibrating them as if to say "yeah, it's yucky in there", sometimes he will even bring me a diaper... here mom... get the hint?
He says "bone" drawn out, very clearly, so I'll let him give doggie bones to our dog, Elvis. The word "ball" is very clear, and means just that.. he has a base ball, a basket ball (miniature), a foot ball (actually he has one nerf, one leather, and three stuffed), several wiffle balls, cloth balls, small plastic balls for various toys, and a couple of bouncy balls of different sizes... can you guess what his daddy wants him to do when he grows up? Might have something to do with BALLS... and actually I don't think B cares what kind, as long as Dillon is involved with some kind of sport through school, and if he has the smallest ounce of ability, that he pursues it as far as he can.
He will put his tiny finger on a button and say "Butt?" a zillion times a day... I think it's one of his favorite words. Pointing to any light, on or off, he says "laaa?", and most recently, his favorite question "Eh?" is reserved for when in the bath tub and he sits down in the water filling the tub, grabs hold of his privates and pulls as if to take them off... I always answer "penis... that's Dillon's penis" and he responds with the sound of the letter "p"... "Puh? Puh?", and I say "yes, baby, that's Dillon's penis". He smiles and goes on with his bath, gatherin his floaty toys and identifying them... "baaaaalll?" "duck?"
Dillon will point to a tiny picture of a duck on the plastic travel case for his baby wipes and very clearly identify it... "DUCK". When Sesame Street comes on it's a loud "uhMOHHHHH" for Elmo, and "BAAAAAAA" for Barney (stupid big purple dinosaur... I never wanted my child to like that show, but what can I do? His dad got him into it, and of course... the kid is in love). He clearly says "Ba Baiii", with a southern accent (I dreaded that happening... I feel like moving IMMEDIATELY to avoid any further contamination... :) for "bye bye" and waves both hands, palms up and fingers curling back toward himself.
Once in a while I truly believe he says phrases, or sentences... which are clearly understood... though I'm not sure if he actually means them as what they are when he says them. "I yah you" was also one of the first things he said, and though I think he can say it clearly, and he knows what it means, he reserves it for very quiet times, like waking up in the middle of the night, and said very softly... almost making me think I've immagined it... in response to me cuddling him and soothing him back to sleep... all the while telling him "I love you baby... I love you so much... you know mama loves you, right?... you're ok... shhhhh..." and then he says it.
That's the intelligible communication between us. Then there's all the stuff I guess at... which sometimes I think impresses him because I guess correctly, but most often frustrates the poor little dude terribly because I haven't got a clue. He'll be jabbering on... often making exactly the same sounds over and over, using hand gestures and trying to lead me where he wants me to go, or show me what he wants me to see... and I'm clueless. I guess... is THIS what you want? No? Ok, what is it Dillon? Oh... is it this? (hope in my voice) No? Ok, I'm sorry baby... what is it? Tell mama... and he looks at me as if to say "are you kidding? I've been telling you for 10 minutes now and you're still clueless"... and we try again. Often either he or I will give up in frustration and a desire to just move on... when he does I'm gratefull... when I do he's annoyed and kicks up a bit of a fuss until I can distract him... at which time he completely forgets what he originally wanted... for a while. He will invariably get reminded at some point and try again... that's good though, right? Persistence is a good thing to develop... and patience, which he's sorely lacking.
It's all such a wonderful journey for me. I am having a blast with my little Doo... his nick names have grown from just "Doobie" to either "Doobie Doo" or "Doobie" or "Doo" or "Dewie"... or a long drawn out "Dewwwwwwww"... he answers to them all... including his real name, "Dillon". His dady calls him "Buddy", which he also answers to. I wonder if he knows what his real name is? Even our friends in church call him "Dew" or "Doobie".
We play together with his musical toys every day. I read his little cardboard books to him... over and over and over again, and very seldom from front to back... usually he hands one to me opened to a page, where I start reading, and I often only get to read just that one page, or a couple of pages along, and then he takes back the book and mumble-reads a page to me before being done with it, discarding it, and moving on to the next thing on his agenda... and he does have an agenda. I know this because if I should happen to suggest something, or begin to do something I might be interested in... if I initiate playing with something that wasn't part of his original agenda he very clearly stops me, removes whatever it is I'm playing with, and pointedly gets me involved with what HE had in mind... no mama, not the helicopter with music and balls, we're going to play with my red barn with the music and animals instead. Or, no, I don't want to read a book now, here's my BAAAALLLLLL, and he'll chuck it at me.
I try to make his television programs interactive, rather than passive. I read that television encourages passive learning and so makes it more difficult for children once they go to school to be interested in interactive learning, which is of course what they NEED to be able to do in order to succeed in school. I'll get him clapping with the kids on the programs, or dancing, or point out colors and compare them to his clothing or toys. I'll sing with the songs, the a b c's or counting or whatever they're singing and grab Dillon up and dance around the room with him. He laughs and claps and really gets into it.
Well, that's enough for now. Can you tell my favorite subject any more is my little man? He is my best. He is my love. My miracle and my life from now until eternity... I can't get enough of him. I'll try to post some pictures here soon... I have to find my download cord for my camera first though. I'll post more soon. Take care! 3/27/2009 HE'S AMAZINGI have a friend, "C", who is going to have open heart surgery tomorrow morning. He's a wonderful person, so kind and caring... a good father, a good Christian, a good husband to his wife of almost 31 years, and a good friend to my husband since they were children. My husband, B, used to "run with" C's brother... they were inseparable for many years. When they got older and both had families and responsibilities, my husband (who was not my husband back then) went the way of drugs and drinking, and his buddy went the way of responsible adult, working and taking care of his family... they drifted apart. That was when B got closer to C... they partied together.
Years later, after they'd lost contact with one another, B found out that C was saved. For 8 years B had that knowledge in the back of his drunk and drugging mind. Every time he thought he'd like to get out of the party scene... every time he thought that maybe he could do it, he had C in his mind as proof it could be done... as an encouragement to making changes in his own life. Each time he heard about C it was good news... he was still going to church, he had his own business and it was doing well, his family was well and most of them were in church regularly... B could look at that and hope that one day he'd have the strength to ask God's forgiveness for the things he'd done in his life, and hopefully begin to live a good, clean, blessed life... like C was doing.
Oddly enough, after B and I found out I was pregnant on August 2, 2007, B admitted he'd gone back to drinking and drugging (which he'd been telling me he was NOT doing back then), and he said he needed God's help to stop, he couldn't do it on his own (he said this to get me to be patient with him and hang on with him hoping he'd change)... he said we were going to go to church. We didn't go... weeks went by. Then, finally, mid month, B woke me up one Sunday morning and said we were going to church. I said ok and got dressed... I asked which one we were going to and he said he didn't know... we'd just drive around and see where God directed us to go. OK. We got in the car and he started driving. We didn't drive around... we drove straight to New Haven Church.. DIRECTLY... no circles, no extra turns, no backtracking, no asking for directions or finding a flyer to guide us... GOD drove the car straight there.
I hadn't been in a church in years, and I was feeling a little apprehensive about going. From the second we walked in the door, I felt like I'd come home. Now, their practices during worship were very different from anything I'd ever dealt with before... these people shouted "Halelujah" and "Glory" and "Amen" all through the service... there were shouts of "Tell it Brother!" and "Oh yeah!" and "Come on!" during the entire service, from all over the congregation. When the Pastor was praying... out loud for the congregation, as I am used to seeing done in a Church, members from all over the sanctuary were praying too... OUT LOUD... as if they were the ones praying for the congregation... it was deafening... I could barely concentrate to hear the Pastor's words. Although this was confusing and a little... odd... to me, the feeling in the church was a loving one. The atmosphere was full of God... you could feel His Holy Spirit thick as fog in the room... it was almost as visible. All I could pray was THANK YOU GOD for bringing us to this church.
Even more amazing than the good feeling we got from everyone at this church were a few other things... first, the Pastor had known B since he was a child, and he was one of B's familie's best friends and closest spiritual advisors... B was immediately at home in his presence... second, B got a tap on the shoulder from someone in the pew behind us, and when he turned around to see who it was, it was C, his wife, and C's mother. WOW!! B was floored. He knew we were in the right place. I got goose bumps when B told me who they were and introduced me.
I had hope again... I thought, God surely had a hand in this... the service was unfamiliar and a little strange to me, but God wanted us there, I had no doubt... and if B was comfortable and happy, then only good could come of it.
Well, there's much more to the story after that, but this is about C... not the story of how B turned his life around. The point is that C was an integral part of it... he was involved even when he didn't know he was.
After we began going to church there regularly, we also started spending time with C and his wife and family. We took a trip to Gatlinburg together, and we went to Gospel concerts together, and out to dinner a lot, and they came over our house and we went over to theirs quite often... for a while almost every weekend.
I got close to them both. C's attributes of tender kindness, compassion, caring and loving disposition really drew me to him. He and I began talking more often... just by chance at first, he'd call to talk to B and B would be busy so we'd chat a while until B was available... then we'd offer to call one another to impart some information on one thing or another... then I was trying to understand things B was doing and C could see my unhappiness and he would offer me a shoulder to cry on (figuratively speaking), and some insight into B's actions that perhaps I hadn't thought of.
Well, to make a year long story short, C and I became close... as did his wife and myself... they were the only people I could really talk to... similar backgrounds and them knowing B almost better than I could know him... them being longer term christians than B and I, and therefore examples to us... lots of things just drew me to them over time.
Now C has 90% blockage in one of his ventricles of his heart. He's been in the hospital two days now, during which they first did an EKG which seemed fine, then to be sure they kept him and did a radioactive isotope nuclear stress test on him the next morning, which he failed miserably, letting the doctors know there must be some blockage, so they scheduled a heart catheter test for the following morning (yesterday), and he failed that one too... well, actually it wasn't a pass or fail, but a "how bad is it" test... they could have put a stint in then and there if it wasn't bad. It was bad... 90% blocked. So now he's scheduled for open heart surgery in the morning, and I feel terrible that I can't be there... I'm working until 7 am, at which time I have to take care of my baby, who is usually awake by then.
B is going to go to the hospital and sit and wait with C's wife... he didn't even want to do that and I stressed how important it was... B is jealous of my friendship with C... but then again B is jealous of my friendship with anyone who takes my time or enery away from him for even a second. He's so manipulative of me that he'll just keep saying snide things and making rude comments to me about something until he's got me doing exactly what he wants how he wants me to do it just so I can get him to shut up.
B can't stand it that I've pointed out C's good qualities that I admire to him from time to time as something B could learn from... it irks him... oh well. Perhaps if B worked on his qualities a little... gave me more attention... treated me with a little respect and didn't belittle me in front of other people... perhaps if B recognized my good attributes once in a while rather than always harping on my bad ones... so much so that he makes me doubt my self, then I wouldn't notices so markedly someone else who actually does recognize and SAY it, when I do something nice or special. Perhaps I wouldn't have to point out the marked difference in how they treat strangers... in what kind of friends they are... in how they treat their wives... or their children.
I don't care if B is jealous of C. That's his own problem. C and I have done nothing inappropriate... we have never stepped over the best friend's wife.... husbands best friend line... we don't meet for lunch or spouse bash or anything like that. I appreciate C for his qualities and insight into B's actions... I appreciate his advice and his sense of humor and love of God. I think he appreciates the same things in me. If B can't be a grown up and just deal with that, then too bad for him.
At this point in time, I'm afraid for my good friend, who I love very much. I am praying constantly for God to let C get well... for God to guide the surgeons hands in the morning and make them fix C's problems and for God to let him stay here on earth with his loved ones for a little while more. C wants to see his grandkids grow up... he wants to spend twilight years with his wife and family, and he wants to continue his ministry for God... please God, give him his wishes.
Selfishly, I pray, Dear God, please don't take C out of my life either... so many times his counsel and love has helped me through a bad time with B... so many times when I thought I was at the end of my rope I turned to C and he comforted me and told me to pray the pain away... C has helped me get closer to you, God... more than my own husband has... please don't let him die. These are my prayers for C... please God.. protect him, and whatever happens, let it be according to Your perfect will. In Jesus's name, Amen.
3/22/2009 CHANGESAs I think of the last year and a half of my life I realize that I've not only gone through a lot of changes, physically and emotionally, but also in how I look at life, in how I plan my future, and with regard to what I will and will not accept in my life now.
As for physical changes, I went through a pregancy... that was VERY interesting. Getting a bigger tummy than I already have was not such a horrid thing, though being able to legitimately wear maternity clothes was fun... I could finally answer YES to the "are you expecting" question... which I've been asked many times by many people over the years... just because of the way I carry my extra poundage... much of it around my middle. That was a dreaded question for so long... and then I wanted people to ask... I would volunteer the info if those around me just glanced with a question in their eyes... proud to finally be able to say I was pregnant.
Strangely enough, though I guess it's because I was so careful with what I ate and drank while I was pregnant, I actually was thinner after giving birth (well, cesaerean birth) than I was before. I was thinner than I'd been in years, and it felt good. All my clothes were big and hanging on me, and despite my swolen abdomen (which I was told was completely normal and would last from a couple of months to a year before it went down to normal again) I was still smaller. Yay! If other changes in my life hadn't taken over my life, I might have kept it off... however... that didn't happen, and I gained it all back within about 6 months.
As for how I've changed emotionally... well, the focus of my life has shifted... it's not me, or my husband any more... now everything is for, because of, in mind of, planning for, and living for my son. Should I buy these shoes? Well, first, do we have enough diapers, wipes, his favorite foods, snacks... then household groceries, then gas in the car, then bills paid... and by then, the answer is no... there isn't enough money. The thing is though, I don't mind. As long as my little Doo has what he needs, everything else can be worked out or done without... and I don't mind. I would think I'd resent it, but I don't... I actually like knowing that if I'm not getting stuff, it's because my little man is.
Prior to Dillon's birth I would just do whatever I wanted to do whenever I wanted to do it. If bills had to wait because I felt like using my money to take a weekend trip, then so be it. If I was living with $5 in my pocket for a week because I was making up for misspending money the week before, that was ok because it was just me and I could make do with whatever I had in the fridge and cabinets to eat, and put my last dollar in the gas tank to get back and forth to work. If I had a few extra dollars I could buy family birthday and holiday gifts and it was no big deal... I felt good doing it.
Now it's different. I didn't worry about anything before... not material things anyway. I didn't care what neighborhood I lived in... it was just me. I didn't care who I hung out with... it only affected me, and I am grown up enough and independant enough to listen to and absorb what I want and disregard or discard what I don't. Whether or not I had a successful career didn't affect anyone but myself... whether or not I had a job with benefits didn't matter either... I'd worry about that when I got older and needed medical care on a regular basis... I could handle my diabetes myself. Now all of those things DO matter because I have a son. I care where he's raised and around whom. I care what he hears and sees around him. I care that I don't have a long lasting career that will provide for him for years to come. I care that I have no health insurance and so have to rely on state programs for his health care (thank goodness Georgia has good programs for children). I care that I have no life insurance to make him comfortable if something happens to me. I care that my diabetes is not as under control as it should be... as it would be with regular doctor's visits... because it affects my energy level and my mentality, and that spills over to what I have or don't have to offer my Dillon each day.
I used to worry all the time about my husband and his attitudes... what he'd want me to do or not do... how he was going to react to something I did, or something I'd said... what he wanted and when... not obsessed, but constantly aware of his needs and desires so that I could, first, please him (so that he would love me more), and second, avoid conflict or fights (so that he would love me more and I didn't have to deal with the emotional pain of the discord). Now, I don't worry so much about him.
I don't really care if we have conflicts, or if he's completely happy with me or not... it doesn't matter as much as making sure my child is raised in love and peace. If there are difficulties between B and I, I don't want them expressed around or in front of my son... I don't want that in his head, so now, if B gets angry, I remove myself and my Doo from the area and leave B to stew in his own anger. If he's unhappy with something, I think for a minute to determine if it's my fault or not, I don't just assume it is any more... if it's his own hang up or something I am not responsible for or able to change easily, I either tell him that I can't or am not willing to do anything about it and leave it up to him to handle after that, or I just ignore him completely and concentrate on making sure my child is stress free and happy.
Sometimes it's difficult to do that... B has a very harsh tone to his voice just naturally, so when he's angry or upset, even if he's not actually yelling, his voice can sound very angry and stern... and I see it affect Dillon. Even when B is just yelling at the dog (always using terms that I'd rather my son not hear on a regular basis... thing's like "I'll KILL you Elvis (dogs name)... I'll just KILL you!!" or he'll say "I'll bust you in the mouth Elvis" or sometimes, in a kind of stern mocking tone, not just to the dog, but even to Dillon sometimes "Are you crazy or something? HUH? You crazy?". He says he's just teasing... just saying stuff fooling around that he doesn't mean, but I don't like those terms going into my son's very impressionable sponge of a brain.
B just thinks I'm ragging on him... that all I do is look for reasons to disapprove of him... he gets all offended when I point out the inappropriate terms saying, that's who he is, and he's sorry that I don't like who he is. I tell him that it's not WHO he is, because who he is happens to be a nice decent guy, it's who he acts like... it's how he expresses himself without thinking... it's a throw back to who he used to be, who he used to have to "put out there" for self preservation when he was running with a really rough crowd.
I suppose there are things I put up with before from B... things that really didn't affect me much anyway, so who cared whether he did them or not? For example, all the shows he likes to watch are violent... Dog the Bounty Hunter, Cops, Ultimate Fighting, Prison stories, etc. In the past, I'd just go into another room... or get on the computer, and leave him to watch those things. Now, if the baby is awake, I don't want him watching them... I don't want that kind of stuff being absorbed into my child's brain... especially not at this age... these are his formative years and I'd prefer his mind be filled with educational things, or shows appropriate for a toddler's mind... and I insist on that, which really upsets B.
In the past I put up with, though I made sure B understood I was upset by it, many comments B would make that were very racial in nature. Saying he's "not going to Walmart... that place is slap full of Mexicans", or some other comment that specifically mentioned color, or race or nationality, always bothered me, and I let him know it, but it didn't make much difference, he'd do it anyway... kindof laughing as if it were a joke, but making statements as if they were truths. I argued so many times with him over it, and he always would say he wasn't prejudiced... I would argue that just to have to mention a persons color, race, nationality or religion in relation to who they were, or how they believed, or something they did or didn't do WAS prejudiced and/or judgmental... no matter what he said. People are just people I'd say, and there is never a reason to have to pidgeon hole them or assume they were one way or another based on their color, race, nationality or religion... we are all just children of GOD.
Now I actually get angry whenever he makes those comments... especially in front of my son... I don't want my child growing up thinking like that, and hearing it will put it in his head. B gets upset at me for mentioning it, and he says I misunderstand, he's just fooling around, or he doesn't mean it "that way"... well, Doo is a baby, he doesn't know how to separate... he can'd discern what is inappropriate or not. Unfortunately, B just thinks it's one more thing for me to rag on him about... one more thing I don't like about him... one more thing for me to try to change about him.
A whole new world of worry has opened up for me. I know much is beyond my control, and I'm trying to learn not to stress about those things... the state of the economy in this country and where we're headed politically - I never cared before... I just lived my life the best I could and left all that silly stuff to the politicians and economists. I worry that we might end up in worse wars than we have in a long time and the government will have a draft again and my poor son will be just the right age when it happens (why am I worrying about something that might never happen, and if it does, would be 18 or more years from now?). I think about the killings in schools across the country... stray bullets from drive bys... drunk drivers... corner drug dealers... people in the neighborhood who might have meth labs in their homes which would, on a windy day, affect my sons health... corrupt and or perverted educators or authority figures who might affect my son adversely... the list goes on. I never gave much thought to those things before I had Dillon... I mean, I thought about them and anguished over the disgraceful state of affairs, but not in relation to me or anyone I knew and loved... not with personal fear.
I know that GOD has watched over me all my life. HE has kept me from doing things with negative, long lasting results. HE has directed me to persons I could help, persons who could help me, and to living in places where I was relatively safe, or oblivious to the potential dangers. I have been blessed to have wonderful people in my life... some who hurt me, yes, but even those persons were blessings to me in one way or another, and I learned something from everything and everyone in my life.
I know that GOD has given me my little miracle baby... that HE will continue to watch out over me, and of course, now, over my little man also. I know that the knowledge of that truth should make me less worried and less concerned... but the imperfect human that I am still can't help but worry or stress over so much. I wish I were strong enough to just turn it all over to GOD and let HIM take care of it all... but I'm not. Not any more. Having my son somehow took the self confidence I had and made it a mush. Where before I just KNEW everything would be fine, now I KNOW it, but... what if? I don't doubt GOD or his abilities... but I doubt myself, and so I worry.
I'm sure as time goes on I'll find a healthier balance to all of this, and I know I'll be making my decisions based on (1) What the correct thing to do is in GOD's eyes (as far as I know) and (2) What's the best thing for my son... everything else will fall into place, I hope.
3/15/2009 MIRACLES DO HAPPENKnowing I was actually pregnant changed my whole life. First, I began to try to analyze HOW it had finally happened. Why now? What had I done different? Third husband's a charm? Was it the fact that almost all the sexual relations between B and I was with me on top (that's another issue entirely, but basically, his knees are messed up so variety of position is practically non existant... sigh... I miss the variety)? Was all the partying he and I were doing somehow responsible for changing my chemical makeup or something (and about all that partying... I certainly hoped I hadn't damaged my baby... I would have all the tests... every one of them possible... to make sure he was going to be ok... wow... I was scared!)? Did I somehow change my acidity (I couldn't remember eating differently).
I counted back to when I got pregnant and the most logical time (actually the ONLY time I could come up with) was the first week when we'd moved into our new home... first week in April... just before mom came to visit, and she stayed in the new house without electricity while B and I were still, mostly, living at my job. B and I had stayed in the house for four days before mom arrived and we'd "baptized" the house... a lot. Then I counted the days to when I should give birth, and the doctor's estimate was January 17th, and mine was December 17th... I knew my son would be born on that day.
The only thing I could come up with that was different... that could account for my finally being pregnant... and pregnant enough that no amount of worrying could cause me to emotionally abort or miscarry this child, was that I had prayed to God. Seriously. In December of 2006 I just knew I was pregnant although my ept test was inconclusive... not dark enough to be a definite positive, but not blank either. I was soooo thrilled. I hadn't told anyone for fear I would lose it like I had the others, and I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. I calculated how pregnant I thought I was... over 8 weeks I thought, I had waited to tell B. Once I told him, he made sure I made an appointment at the Health Department... the soonest they could see me was two weeks away unless I wanted to wait in long lines. I told my sister, and my mom... I'd made it to almost 3 months.. I just knew I was going to have this one. The morning I went to the appointment I told B I was terrified they would tell me I wasn't pregnant any more... I had woken up with a sinking feeling in my body, and I didn't FEEL pregnant any more... but that had to just be fear... nerves... I was being silly.
I went anyway and they said I wasn't pregnant. I was hysterical... couldn't even drive out of the parking lot. I called B and sobbed into the phone... he was sympathetic and offered to come get me... I pulled myself together and drove to his office where he held me for a while, assured me we would try again, and told me that I'd have to pray to God if I wanted to have a baby. Later that day I began my menstruation.
I called my mom, my sister, and my aunt... and every one of them, in their own words, told me that I'd have to forgive myself for the abortion I'd had when I was 20, and I'd have to ask God's forgiveness and ask him for a child if I were ever to carry to term. Everyone was convinced that my many miscarriages were a matter of emotional trauma and self-punishment. It was really the only explanation as the many doctors I'd seen told me that there was nothing wrong with me... I should be able to conceive and carry to term.
I wandered around in agonized shock for a couple of weeks. Then one day I was sitting in my car in the parking lot of the Health Department where I'd gone to visit B - he was overseeing some workers there or waxing a floor... something that weekend, and I just broke down again, remembering the last time I had been in that parking lot. I started crying at the remembrance of my lost children... and I cried over the loss of the baby I'd murdered years before by having an abortion. There was no medical reason for me to kill that child, and at the time I knew what I was doing... I knew I was killing a gift from God. My reasons for doing so seemed important at the time, but looking back they were selfish and unrealistic, and I could never forgive myself for doing it.
The voices and advice of the people who love me began echoing in my head. My sister telling me that I was going to have to forgive myself... my mom telling me the same thing and that I'd have to ask God's forgiveness and leave it in His hands... B telling me that God loves me, and that I'm a good person, and that if I believed in God's grace I would have my baby... my aunt telling me that even if I couldn't forgive myself I had to ask God to forgive me because it was His forgiveness I needed in order to carry a baby to term.
With big fat tears of remorse coursing down my cheeks and my eyesight blurred so that all I saw was a kind of blue blurry light I knelt down mentally before GOD, and placing my hands on the stearing wheel and my head bent I begged GOD from the depths of my being... with my whole heart and soul... I cried out to HIM to forgive me for killing the child HE'd given me so many years before. I told HIM I knew I was not worthy of forgiveness... and that I knew I had killed that child... that I knew it was a child from conception, even back then, and that I knew my reasons back then were terrible and selfish, but that I couldn't carry the weight of the guilt any longer... it was eating me up and affecting every aspect of my life... I couldn't move on so I had to ask GOD to take the pain from me. I said, if HE felt I could be a good mom, perhaps HE could let me have a child... just one would be fine... before it was physically too late for me to do so as I was already 41 years old. I promised to raise it according to the guidelines HE laid out, and I told HIM I realized I didn't deserve HIS forgiveness, and I wouldn't blame HIM if HE didn't think I deserved a baby, but if HE thought it was ok to give me one I'd do right this time, and I'd be the happiest person in the world and praise HIM and HIS kindness to everyone I met.
I relaxed for the first time in years. All of a sudden, a feeling of peace and calm swept over me. I knew I'd been forgiven. Now it was up to GOD... I didn't have to think about it any more... and I didn't. Really truly, I stopped trying to get pregnant. I didn't wonder if I was pregnant the moment B and I were intimate... I didn't beat myself up every day over the abortion any more... I had given it to GOD. I just gave up the fight. I was truly ok with it if GOD decided I didn't deserve to be a mother... I wouldn't blame HIM a bit.
Over the next couple of months B and I concentrated on getting our new house put together and I looked forward to my mom's visit.
After we were in the new house I concentrated on setting it up, and on my job, and on B. We were happy, still partying and having fun, and doing relatively well financially. My aunt moved out here and I helped her get a job with my company so that she could live in the office while she looked for a house to buy. She and I drove all over north Georgia looking at homes and land. We spent hours scouring web sites for new listings and reduced prices.
I began to feel really yucky all the time. It got worse and worse. I was naseus all the time... every time I ate I felt like I was stomach sick and wanted to throw up. My body began to ache everywhere and I began to have stomach pains.. shooting pains that I couldn't attribute to anything. My mind got fuzzy and I had trouble concentrating, and I began to make silly mistakes at work... nothing earth shattering, but uncharacteristic for me. I was exhausted constantly... just after I'd wake up from a full night's sleep I'd be worn out again. I began taking naps whenever I could get them. I became excessively gassy... burping all the time no matter what I ate... my aunt even commented on it and we had quite a few moments of hysterical laughter over it. I started having heart burn no matter what I did, so I carried Tums with me all the time and I started trying to pay more attention to what I ate and when.
I'd described my symptoms to my aunt and she asked if I could be pregnant... I said no, that wasn't possible, and I didn't give the possibility another thought. I talked to my mom about my symptoms and she asked if I could be pregnant... I said no, I didn't think I could get pregnant ever again, and I didn't think about it again... same with my sister, and my sister in law... I actually got upset that everyone kept asking me if I could be pregnant... didn't they all know that wasn't possible anymore?
I put my symptoms into the computer... on the web md site, and it suggested gall bladder - well, could be... my sister and aunt both had had theirs out. It suggested appendix... well, could be... I did have sharp pains sometimes where they indicated, and my stomach was a little hard on the side there. It suggested cancer - well, everyone in my family has that capability... it's hereditary isn't it? Paternal grandfather died of lung cancer... cousin had cervical cancer... maternal grandmother had cervical cancer... and some of the "great" relatives had had it too, I thought. It suggested pregnancy... nope... that one wasn't possible.
I literally, completely and ultimately dismissed any and all suggestions or possibilities that I could be pregnant. That had to be GOD blocking the possibilities from my mind so that I couldn't worry this child gone... so that I couldn't cause an emotional miscarriage before the baby had an opportunity to get really entrenched in my womb. How amazing is GOD? Really... to be delivered from such self condemnation so completely that my body underwent such a drastic change resulting in my not only getting pregnant, but in staying pregnant. I didn't go to a doctor to find out what was wrong with me until I was 16 weeks pregnant. GOD is amazing. I can never thank HIM enough... I can never stress enough how humbled I am at HIS graciousness and kindness to me.
Wow, this is a long story, huh? I have more to tell... especially right after we found out I was pregnant... so much happened so quickly... I'll write more tomorrow. I'll have to kind of wind it up tomorrow or wait until I come back to work again next Thursday night.
Thanks for reading this, and for all the support I've been given over the years by all my lovely blogging friends.
3/14/2009 PURE JOYI am perfectly aware that children are an incredible responsibility. I know that as the years progress I will experience the depths of despair and incredible confusion over things my son does and does not do. I have been told by many parents of the trials and tribulations that are part and parcel to the raising of good, not so good, and terrible children... who are loved and adored and doted on regardless of how they turn out - always room for redemption and all that.
I must say... Dillon is almost 15 months old (on the 16th) and I am having the time of my life! I always knew I wanted to be a mama... I wanted it when I was younger so that I could play with my children (I planned on having 13 if I could manage it)... however, GOD had other ideas.
To continue my previous story of the day I found out I was miraculously pregnant...
The technician returned to roll me back down the hallway to the tiny waiting room to face the nice doctor. A million things were going through my mind. First and foremost, running in a never ending loop around my brain was the biggest prayer of thanksgiving I'd ever said... it was the most heartfelt... from the depths of my soul I kept "hearing" myself say (sometimes out loud and all the time in a silent scream inside) "THANK YOU GOD!!! I PROMISE TO RAISE THIS CHILD IN YOUR TEACHINGS... THANK YOU GOD!!! HOW CAN I THANK YOU ENOUGH? THANK YOU MY ALMIGHTY WONDERFUL INCREDIBLE LOVING AND FORGIVING GOD!!! THANK YOU FOR FORGIVING ME... THANK YOU FOR MY BEAUTIFUL PRESENT... THANK YOU FOR MY MIRACLE!!!"
Not one minute after I got there the sweet roly poly doctor came in with a huge smile on his face. He said, matter of factly, "I told you! Do you believe me now? (I nodded silently and smiled... probably the biggest smile of my life.) I have the results of your ultrasound and your baby looks fine. You are 16 weeks pregnant." I gasped... What? 16 weeks? Four months pregant? How... I couldn't... wow!! Are you sure? Really? He smiled at me with his ultra bright white smile and looked kindly at me through his round wire rimmed glasses.
I asked if I could call my husband and tell him the news. B had called once since I'd gotten to the hospital almost 5 hours before and had asked me to keep him informed as to my condition. I was still angry at him for leaving me there all alone, and for not taking me in the first place, so I determined that I would tell him what I wanted, when I wanted, and he could just deal with that. If he wanted to know more he could make the effort and come down to the hospital and talk to the doctors on my behalf as any decent, caring, loving man SHOULD do when his wife is in the hospital... for any reason. I figured NOW was a good time to let him know my "condition"... I actually DID have a "condition"... imagine that!
I got B on the phone and told him he might want to come down there and talk to the doctor himself. He sounded scared and asked me what was wrong... I took piti on him... once I heard his concerned voice I couldn't keep him in the dark any longer. I said "the doctors are telling me I'm pregnant... actually 16 weeks pregnant. (Sharp indrawn breath on the other end of the phone and then silence) You might want to come down yourself and hear it first hand." "Ill be right there". he said, and hung up.
B showed up a few minutes later and heard what the doctor had to say. I was beaming... glowing... ecstatic. B was... silent. I asked him if he was happy and he said he was happy for me. That was a bit of a downer... after all a wife likes to hear that the father of her baby is as happy as she is... and when the response is a forced "happy for you"... it's a bit of a wet blanket. Not much could get me down though... not for long. I was so incredibly happy that the thought "oh well, if he's not happy, that's his problem... I don't need him... if he wants out, he can have out... I'll raise this baby myself" just materialized all at once... all together into a single thought, and B's less than enthusiastic response was dismissed as inconsequential.
B went back to work. I called my aunt and she was overjoyed for me. I called my sister and she was flabergasted and crying with happiness for me... it was so hard for those in my life who had suffered with me over the years because of my failed attempts to become a mother to embrace the news as permanent. I'd lost too many in the past. Everyone was afraid to hope for me. I began to work at convincing them (and myself, I think) that THIS time was for real... THIS time I hadn't found out at 4 weeks, or 6 weeks... I'd been oblivious (thank you GOD again) for a whole 16 weeks... the baby was permanent now... it wasn't going anywhere.
The next day I enrolled in Medicare (they'll give free healthcare to a pregnant woman, regardless of age - thank GOD) and signed up for WIC which would give me free cheese, cereal, milk and eggs during my pregancy, a class to learn how to breast feed, a class on how to put a car seat in properly (and be given one for $10 just for taking the class), and scheduled my first ultrasound (that I would get to watch) for a week away (the soonest they had).
Every agency I contacted signed me up immediately... I was considered a very high risk pregnancy. Being overweight, diabetic (uncontrolled) and 41 years old made me and my baby high priority. The doctors I met were wonderful. They got me to regulate my sugars immediately.... it took me only one month to bring my sugars down from an average of 260 to an average of 100. I quit smoking the day I found out I was pregnant, and I began taking pregnancy vitamins immediately. NOTHING was going to hurt my baby... especially not me.
My aunt accompanied me to my first ultrasound appointment... B had to work. I was happy to have her with me... actually preferred she be there to share in my elation... I knew she wouldn't bring me down and I knew she was truly happy about it. We went into the room when called and met Dr. A. He was a very nice man, well groomed and slightly distracted, but very kind, and almost embarassed when having to examine me... it was actually kind of sweet seeing as he probably sees 50 people a day... most of whom are pregnant women, I'm sure. He explained that they would tape the session and get pictures and video on DVD for me to take home.... YAY!!!
I held my breath as they (the doctor and his assistant) spread goopy stuff on my tummy and began to manipulate a flanged wand over my abdomen... a bit low, I thought... and I caught a glimpse of what looked like a bean with a big head on the monitor. I stopped breathing. I waited... searching the screen as my eyes got blurry with the tears that had welled up in them and were now sliding silently out of the corners, down my cheeks and into my hair as I laid there straining to see. I heard my aunt gasp and she started to half laugh half cry as she was able to identify the baby. The doctor was impressed at how clearly the baby was outlined, and he began clicking and typing furiously into his computer... taking pictures and indicating things with highlighted arrows... "This is the heart... sounds about right... here... here we have the spine... that string of pearls there... see it? Ok... here is the head... let me get a measurement so we can better determine the age... see these dark areas? The eyes... and here a nose.... that's an arm... looks like it's waving doesn't it..." As the doctor continued his analysis and continued explaining, my aunt and I were holding hands and marveling.... there was a BABY in me... a real BABY. Wow. Really... WOW!
After the exam I went straight to B's office hoping he was there... the DVD burning a hole in my hand. I got there, bustled him out of his seat and popped it into the laptop on his desk. After setting it up I sat him down and pushed the play button. That's when it hit B that he was about to be a father again. I saw it when it hit him. BAM!!! It was a physical shock to him. He smiled weakly at me... through his own tears. He reached out for me and pulled me to his side and placed one hand on my tummy while the other one hit the 'play' button again.... there was our baby... clear as could be... a perfect outline of the side view of a child, and then the front of a face staring at us... and a hand waving... and an arrow pointing to a spot where it said "boy". They weren't definite, but it was fairly obvious that our child was going to be a boy.
I e-mailed copies to everyone I knew... and I'm pretty sure several people I didn't know. I printed copies of the still shots and carried them with me everywhere... showed strangers my miracle baby in lines at the super market... praised GOD to everyone who would listen, and even to those who would rather not have listened and who rolled their eyes when they thought I wasn't looking, but who couldn't help but be swept away in my excitement by the end of my story... no one could resist feeling great after hearing my miraculous story... my baby was blessing people before it was even born. Before HE was even born. No one in my path escaped the story... the joy exuding from me was palpable. My life was perfect. Almost.
To be continued.
3/13/2009 NEW LIFEHello all!! Forgive me friendly bloggers, it's been over a year since my last blog. Since then I have done many things, gone many places, thought many thoughts (quite a few of them about you all) and actually (gasp!) had a baby. Yay!!!! Yup. A baby. Me. The person who wanted a child since she was 6 years old... who always answered "a mother and wife" when asked the question "what do you want to be when you grow up?" After 22 years of trying and failing miserably... 6 miscarriages and loads of despair and emotional agony, I found out on August 2nd, 2007, that I was 16 weeks pregnant. As I was being wheeled... wait, let me start from the beginning of that amazing day.
I was at work, as usual - I worked round the clock back then for ASAP Bonding Co (doubtless some of you will remember), and my aunt was there too... I don't remember if it was her shift... oh, no, she was living there at the office at that time - she'd just moved back to Georgia and was working a couple of days at ASAP to relieve me a little - and we were spending a LOT of time walking through houses and condo's for sale - she wanted to buy one... anyway, I was feeling really yucky... tummy aches - pains, headaches, dizzyness, muscle aches, too much belching (sorry, not attractive, but it's true), feeling disoriented, and sooooo sleepy... no amount of sleep could alleviate my tiredness. Finally I'd had enough and at my aunt's urging I called my husband, B, to come take me to the emergency room. With his usual amount of compassion and understanding (none) he asked why I couldn't drive myself over there... he was at work. Upset... well, actually hopping mad... I said "yeah, ok... why not" and hung up on him. My aunt offered to take me, but by then my anger at B was enough to give me the umph I needed to go on my own, and I left her in charge at the office and drove myself to the emergency room.
Once checked in I apologized for taking up their time with my "upset stomach and achiness - probably just a flu - but I just couldn't take it anymore" and was ushered into a tiny room to wait to be seen. A technician came in and took my blood after a very nice little roly poly of a man with round "John Lennon" glasses and the whitest smile you ever saw assured me that he was going to find out why I was hurting so much no matter how many tests it took. He asked if I could be pregnant and I assured him it was not possible for me to have a baby. Despite this, he said he was going to order a pregnancy test anyway, as well as a ct scan and ultrasound of the stomach. I was comforted, validated, and considerably calmer as I settled in for what I knew would be a lengthy wait... as anything done in an emergency room ALWAYS entails a lengthy wait... channel flipping and dozing on the hard as a board table like "bed" (I use that term extremely loosely).
After four hours without a return visit from the doctor, or anyone else for that matter, I thought I might venture out into the hallway and ask a nurse (or who ever was out there) if they had forgotten me, lost my blood, abandoned the hospital... something. I did so, and was assured by a very nice, although surprised looking nurse (I think they did in fact forget I was in there) that she would check on the progress of my lab work. She explained that they were having trouble in the lab, which was probably why it was taking so long, but she'd check. In the mean-time, she would send me for the CT scan of my stomach the doctor had ordered. True to her word, about two minutes later a nice young man came and settled me in a wheel chair to take me to get my CT scan and she told me that the doctor would be in with the results of my labs after I got back.
After making the trip to get my CT scan, and being returned to my room without having one (the technicians in the CT department refused to give me one because the labs were not back yet and they didn't have proof positive that I wasn't pregnant - and it didn't matter that I assured them I wasn't), the nice smiley roly poly doctor came in... smiling even wider and shaking his finger at me. "This is why we don't listen to our patients young lady" he wagged his finger... What did I do? I asked him in surprise... "you are not only pregnant, you are VERY pregnant" he said... and I called him a liar.
I said there was no way I could be pregnant... it wasn't possible. "Did a doctor tell you that?" he asked me, concerned. No... actually the doctors say I'm just fine and they don't know why I haven't been able to carry to term. "Did GOD say you couldn't get pregnant... because HE's the only one who could..." Nooooo..... (doubt and confusion in my voice as the tears began to fall) I just have never been able to carry... I've had 6 misscarriages (that I know about)... and I was crying even harder now as the possibility that it might be true seeped into my overwhelmed brain... "Is it a happy thing then?" he asked me, looking a bit concerned now, and I stuttered as I said OH... OH YES... I... I just didn't think it was possible.. I sill don't believe it... are you sure? He showed me the paperwork with my name on the top of it... which I couldn't read through my tears... all I saw was several lines with the word "elevated" at the end of them. I said are you sure there hasn't been a mix up in the lab? Those are probably someone else's results. The doctor said "I'm going to send you for an ultrasound and when you see that baby waving back at you from the screen, you'll know you're pregnant."
The nice technician with the wheel chair came back and he looked at me with concern - I don't blame him, by this time I was almost sobbing. He asked if I was ok and I almost yelled "YES" at him... explaining that a miracle might have taken place... I might actually be pregnant though I didn't truly believe it yet... over and over in my mind the prayer, the gratitude, the amazement was repeating itself "OH GOD, if it's true, THANK YOU!!!!.... If it's true GOD, THANK YOU!!!" over and over and over... all the way down the hall to the ultrasound room.
A very nice woman was there and she'd been briefed as to my situation. We spoke just enough to get me up on her table... though by this time all I could say was that I hoped it was true but didn't believe it - how could it be true? She got me set up for a vaginal ultrasound, and she proceeded... and then stopped. She said "I'm going to have to do an abdominal ultrasound... I can't see anything with a vaginal after the first tri-mester". HUH? After what? I looked at her and froze... I couldn't talk for a minute... then finally... "you mean I'm more than three months pregnant? you mean I'm actually pregnant? there's a baby in there?" She realized she'd let the cat out of the bag, which she wasn't supposed to do, so she smiled with understanding (and I think a little joy for me) and said "Yes". That was it. I couldn't stop crying now... she did the ultrasound and was kind enough to tell me all looked good, though I'd have to wait for official results from the doctor... and I wasn't allowed to see the screen at that time.
Got to go... to be continued... I promise. |
|
|
