And baby makes 3 (hours of sleep, that is)

This blog officially transformed from Newlywed Blog to Mommy Blog on the coolest birth date ever – 07/08/09. Michael Thomas entered the world at 5:27 pm, weighing 7.5 pounds and measuring 20.75 inches. I’m a mommy! Can you believe it?

All mothers think that they have the most beautiful and special child to have ever graced this planet with their presence. They brag about every accomplishment, both real and imagined. After boring you with every minor detail of their child’s life, they confide in you that they are certain that their spawn is destined for greatness.

And I’m no different.

So let’s just get that out of the way, shall we?

My son is the most beautiful child to ever be born of woman. I know just from looking into his eyes that he is also the smartest. I feel certain that he’ll be walking by 3 months and speaking by 5 months. He will spend his first birthday putting the finishing touches on The Great American Novel, allowing him to focus on Broadway adaptations of various John Hughes movies. Sixteen Candles – The Musical will be his breakthrough endeavor. At 5 he will be the youngest member of the US Olympic team, competing in a minimum of three sports. By ten he will have been on the covers of every major magazine, but he won’t care because it would be too much of a distraction from his research into finding a cure for the common cold.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning…

Like most birth stories, Michael’s birth day was nothing like I imagined it would be. I thought for sure that Michael would come a month early and weigh 20 pounds. But his due date came and went without a peep from him. My body did not take well to pregnancy (major understatement), so we decided to induce labor as soon as possible, which was two days after the due date.

By 7 am, I’d been strapped in, induced, and had my water broken. The whole breaking of the water thing scared me, but I totally didn’t feel a thing other than the trickle of fluid. As a matter of fact, the most painful part of the first couple of hours was the blood pressure cuff on my arm that was intent on breaking a bone, or at the very least driving me to have words with the medical staff about their faulty equipment (mission accomplished). I am now convinced that it was part of a vast right (hospital) wing conspiracy to take the focus off of my labor pain for as long as possible.

Speaking of pain, the word of the day was Epidural. The doctor informed me that the magic number for the magic juice was 4 cm. I came into the hospital at 2 cm, so I thought, “No problem!” Well, after a couple of hours of ever-increasing pain, the nurse suggested that I take something for the pain because I was nowhere near getting the epidural.

After that dire statement you better believe that I said yes to her offer. And I regretted it. Whatever she gave me made me hazy and loopy well into the next day. It knocked me out for a little bit, but once I woke up I felt every contraction with the added problem of having trouble communicating. So for the next couple of hours I lay in bed moaning, “Oh God, no no no NO NOOOO…” without much awareness of anything going on around me. I was in my own little world of Pain.

(Side note: Contractions felt totally different than what I thought they would feel like. I expected sharp stabbing pains, but instead contractions felt like a dull-yet-extremely-intense ache. Kind of like food poisoning with rhythm.)

Once I did reach the goal of 4 cm, the anesthesiologists were too busy to get to me right away. Of course. I expected no less. Ninety minutes passed before one of them got to me. The good thing about the delay was that I continued to dilate, so most of my dilation occurred without an epidural.

Having the epidural administered was one of the most difficult parts of the day. I was desperate for an end to the pain, but I had to be completely still or the doctor wouldn’t continue. I had at least two contractions during the administration of the epidural. Keeping my body still during those contractions took every bit of my will power.

It should have been smooth sailing after the epidural, right? Well, not so much. Before I go into that, let me first say that my husband and I did not romanticize labor. We didn’t care one bit about it being a “beautiful” experience. Labor is called “labor” for a reason: it hurts, it takes a lot of work, it hurts, it’s physically and emotionally draining, and oh yeah, IT HURTS! All we cared about was seeing our beautiful baby.

We were prepared for the unexpected, and we got it – THE EPIDURAL WAS TOO INTENSE! My lower body became completely numb. I felt absolutely nothing. As a matter of fact, my legs were so numb that it actually hurt. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but that’s the only way I know to describe it. I became completely paranoid that my legs would get into some sort of weird position and cut off the circulation, and I wouldn’t be able to feel it to do something about it. So instead of dealing with contractions, I was dealing with the beginnings of a panic attack.

Once it was time to push, my body started shaking like crazy. But I was completely useless. Since I couldn’t feel anything, I was not able to pinpoint how to push. From the reading I’d done about labor and epidurals, I knew this wasn’t right. Forty-five minutes of blood-vessel-popping pushing achieved nothing. They moved me into four different positions, but nothing worked. While the nurses whispered about a C-section, I somehow communicated to my family that THE EPIDURAL, IT NEEDED TO GO AWAY.

The anesthesiologist was called in to turn off the epidural. After about fifteen minutes, I was able to feel enough to properly push. My doctor arrived at around this time and determined that a C-section would not be necessary. So I started pushing.

One of the nurses offered to bring over a mirror so I could see the baby’s head. The mirror hadn’t interested me before, but I said sure, why not. It ended up being the turning point. Besides the awe of seeing my little boy’s head for the first time, I was able to see what pushes were productive. So twenty minutes after resuming pushing, my son was born!

My first thoughts after seeing Michael consisted of the following:

• “Oh my goodness, that’s a real little person!”
• “He’s so beautiful! I DIDN’T REALIZE HE’D BE SO BEAUTIFUL!!!”
• “I COULD TOTALLY DO THIS AGAIN!”

Michael’s arrival was met with much yelling, laughing, crying, and rejoicing. Seeing the joy and pride on Garrett’s face was one of the best things about the day. Seeing my baby boy’s face for the first time was the other best thing. I’ve always thought that babies look so much alike, but I could have picked Michael out of a baby line-up after looking at him for ten seconds. It seemed like I’d known his face forever. Maybe that’s because he looks so much like his daddy!

I just love this kid.

His Abuelita is pretty crazy about him, too.

What mother wouldn’t love this face?

Or this face?

Or especially this face?

Whether he’s sleeping…

…or wide awake…

…he’s my son, and I adore him.

I am truly blessed.

And baby makes 3 (hours of sleep, that is)

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/08/and-baby-makes-3-hours-of-sleep-that-is.html

What does one do while waiting for a dream to come true?

The waiting is almost over. We’re scheduled to be induced tomorrow morning at 6am, otherwise known as the butt crack of dawn. Praying that they still have a bed available for us at that time.

That leaves us about 18 hours of anxiousness to occupy with the mundane. Our chosen brand of mundane is sleep. Which shouldn’t be difficult considering the lack of sleep that we’ve been dealing with lately, but here I am on my computer so you can see that already things aren’t going according to plan.

Garrett, on the other hand, is napping on the couch. I can’t tell you how much I love to watch that man sleep. He’s just the cutest thing. And he certainly deserves to catch a few z’s. I knew when I married him that I was a lucky woman, but after the way he’s taken care of me the last nine months I can assure you that I am married to the best husband ever. There was no way for us to predict how sick I’d be during this pregnancy, but he just went with it, taking care of me, our pets, the house, and working at building up his new business all at the same time.

Garrett is the kind of man that any mother would want for her daughter. He’s the kind of man that I want for my sisters and friends. And he’s the kind of man that I would love to see Michael grow into. Just to be clear, please allow me to list some traits that describe exactly the kind of man I mean, in no particular order:

• Hard-working
• Intelligent
• Funny
• Kind to friends and strangers
• Smiling eyes
• Takes whatever God teaches him to heart
• And he’s just darling

He also sings like an angel, but there aren’t many guys that can sing like him. So good luck finding that in someone else.

I waited a long time for Garrett. I never thought I’d enter my thirties without a husband or children, and there were definitely some lonely times. But God used that time well. I grew so much closer to Him, had opportunities for ministry and travel, developed great friendships, and was able to devote some quality time to my family.

Now I have a wonderful husband and am about to deliver my firstborn. The purr of joy and contentment in my heart is loud and strong. I feel ready for the future, excited, alert. The way I felt the weeks before I met my future husband.

So I think I’ll spend some of the next 17 1/2 hours treasuring these things and pondering them in my heart. It’s not every day that I get the chance to prepare for seeing a dream come true.

What does one do while waiting for a dream to come true?

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/07/what-does-one-do-while-waiting-for.html

“Pregnancy – 40 Weeks” or “I’m trying to distract myself from the pain and discomfort by writing this post”

Picture it: Mayaguez, Puerto Rico, 1974. A young peasant girl administrative assistant, cheeks still pale from the trauma of natural childbirth, leaves the sterility of a hospital and walks into the warm tropical air holding her firstborn…

Then again, there’s no need to “picture it” when there’s an actual picture available:

That young administrative assistant was my mother, and that firstborn was me!

A few things to note about this picture:

• My mother looks like she’s about 14. But she was actually 21. Really. Almost 35 years later, she looks like she’s about 30. Here’s proof:

• Notice my mother’s smooth straight hair.
• Notice my head full of hair – at birth.
• Notice I do not have my mother’s hair.
• Notice my cheeks.
• I still have those cheeks. Here’s proof:

• My appearance as a newborn saddled me with a nickname. I’ll let you guess the nickname, and why, with even more proof:

And look who else has chubby cheeks!

He comes by them honestly:

Back to the original picture – moments after my parents brought me home for the first time, my mother placed me in a bassinet, stared down into my face, and then listened as I exploded in my diaper. Then she cried.

I should meet my firstborn within the next 72 hours.

According to the ultrasound, Baby Michael has lots of hair and chubby cheeks. Just like his mama.

I’ll eventually leave the sterility of the hospital and walk into the warm air with my firstborn. Just like my mama.

Unlike my mama, I will be 34 and not 21.

Unlike my mama, I will do all I can to avoid a natural childbirth.

And unlike my mama, my hair will not be smooth and straight but curly and frizzy.

(It will explode in volume once I step out of the hospital and into the water-saturated Houston air.)

(I will attempt to combat the extreme volumizing by weighing it down with mousse and gel.)

(I will lose the battle with the humidity, but not for lack of trying.)

Picture it: Houston, 2009. A (not-so-)young peasant girl engineer, legs still weak from the effects of an epidural, leaves the sterility of a hospital and walks into the humid south Texas air holding her firstborn…

(…sob…darn pregnancy hormones…sob…)

“Pregnancy – 40 Weeks” or “I’m trying to distract myself from the pain and discomfort by writing this post”

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/07/pregnancy-40-weeks-or-im-trying-to.html

"Pregnancy - 37 Weeks" or "Documenting Some Pregnancy Random"

It's been almost two months since I've posted so I'm almost too ashamed to show my face on this here blog. But the need to document some Very Important Pregnancy Facts before Baby Michael is born trumps my shame. So here goes...

- Pregnancy Fact #1 -

I will miss having Garrett call me his "baby squared." I will also miss hearing him say, "Leggo my preggo!" My husband, the poet.

- Pregnancy Fact #2 -

Back in February I shared with the world our concerns about the extra fluid in Baby Michael's kidneys. We spent the next couple of months praying for our baby's kidneys and overall development. We were finally able to go to a follow-up ultrasound and received the fantastic news that Baby Michael's kidney condition totally cleared up! Garrett and I kept it together during the ultrasound, but once we got to the car we prayed a thanksgiving prayer and cried like little girls. Because that's how we roll.

- Pregnancy Fact #3 -

The nausea and vomiting have continued, but have greatly lessened over the last month. If I behave, anyway. During the last couple of weeks I have become quite the hungry girl and inhale whatever food I come across, which is probably my body's way of preparing for labor since I understand that, once I check in, the hospital intends to starve me until the baby is delivered. Like I need something other than the promise of meeting my firstborn to induce me to push. Unfortunately, my body hasn't sent the memo to my tummy because overeating inevitably results in undesired purging. Just last night I sacrificed a Sonic Reese's Blast to the Porcelain Prince.

- Pregnancy Fact #4 -

I have packed my hospital bag and included some contraband cheese cracker sandwiches for personal use in case of emergency. I have also informed Garrett that if I ask for something to eat during labor, HE SHALL COMPLY.

- Pregnancy Fact #5 -

Less than two years ago I looked like this:

(Photo by Joe Heiliger)

The wonder of pregnancy morphed my body into this:

Now I look like...

...wait for it...

...WAIT FOR IT...

...THIS!

Or maybe this:

- Pregnancy Fact #6 -

Excerpt from my birth plan -

We prefer to have only our doctor, nurses, anesthesiologist, and guests present (no residents, medical students, or other hospital personnel).

The mother would like to wear contact lenses as long as a C-section is not needed.

The mother would like an epidural as soon as possible.

The mother would like to be coached on when to push and for how long.

- Pregnancy Fact #7 -

We took a tour of the birth center at the hospital we'll be delivering in. The tour consisted of a nurse and about ten penguins and their significant others. I'll go out on a limb and say that every one of the penguins is ready to deliver their babies and walk like normal people again.

- Pregnancy Fact #8 -

I dedicated several hours to researching diaper bags. My initial plan was to buy something cheapy cheap, but then I considered that I would be carrying said diaper bag in place of a purse for long enough to justify spending a little bit more on it. But I wasn't willing to spend too much on something that will one day carry a bag of poopoo. Here's what I settled on, and am quite pleased:

Garrett gets his very own black Eddie Bauer diaper bag that looks like a laptop bag - a diaper bag incognito.

"Pregnancy - 37 Weeks" or "Documenting Some Pregnancy Random"

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/pregnancy-37-weeks-or-documenting-some.html

"Pregnancy - 27 Weeks" or "Houston Restaurants Will Never Be the Same"

Yesterday I added Panera to the list of fine eating establishments whose bathroom I have violated.

And after eating the creamy tomato soup in a bread bowl. What a waste.

So my morning sickness continues all the live-long day. But I've decided to see it as a blessing rather than a curse. If nothing else, it has helped me to not gain 50 pounds of extra weight. I haven't weighed myself in the last few days, but I have reached the 20-pound mark. There's no telling what I would look like if not for the morning sickness.

My husband and I talked about this very fact last night. He says that from behind I don't look pregnant, but once I turn around it's like, "Whoa, Nellie!"

What a sweet and delusional man. He seems to have forgotten that he had to make a run to the maternity clothing store for me to buy new underwear because MY NORMAL UNDERWEAR, THEY DO NOT FIT. And they have not fit for many a moon. Proof positive that the nether regions are not what they once were.

And they weren't all that to begin with.

But enough about my derriere. Let's get back to the belly and its many looks.

My belly has taken on its own identity. I feel like I have the belly version of Sybil strapped to me, with a different personality for every day. All it needs is a pair of glasses and for my belly button to start saying, "You like me! You really like me!" and it would be Sally Field.

But if my belly button doesn't start talking soon, it won't get a chance. It has begun to flatten at an alarming rate, bringing to the light of day regions of my belly button that have never before been seen.

One of the personalities that my belly is taking on is that of the heat-seeking missle. I say that because it is now growing straight out. With a bit of a point. If we had some time-lapse video of my belly growth I feel sure that you would duck for cover.

Although it's nowhere near as dramatic as the "Jon & Kate Plus 8" belly. Bless her heart.

Despite the shape that my belly is taking on, I can say with certainty that I am not going to birth a missile, but an acrobat. While Baby Michael's movements the last couple of months have consisted mostly of jabs and kicks, the last few days he has moved into rolls and turns, with a little bit of the Marine belly crawl thrown in for good measure.

As a matter of fact, sometimes his movements cover so much area so quickly, I imagine him gripping the umbilical cord and swinging from one side of my belly to the other.

But you won't hear complaints from me. I rejoice over every movement because they tell me that my baby boy is alive and kicking. And that's not something that I'm willing to take for granted.

Swing away, Baby Michael. Swing away.

Just take it easy while I'm in Panera. Mama likes her soup.

"Pregnancy - 27 Weeks" or "Houston Restaurants Will Never Be the Same"

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/04/pregnancy-27-weeks-or-houston.html

Pregnancy - "Facing Reality" or "Pictures That I Will Later Regret Sharing"

Everybody knows that you're not really pregnant until you've got a picture of the baby bump.

This was me at almost 23 weeks. I didn't plan to have a picture taken because this is what I see:

Some thoughts about my new body:

• Swollen feet should be hidden at all times. Nobody wants to see that. Even though they haven't looked this good in a long time, thanks to my sister and a trip to the spa.
  
• The hemline on this NON-MATERNITY dress is almost even, which means that my butt has grown at the same rate as my belly.
• I honestly didn't know my belly was this big until I saw this picture. Ignorance is bliss. What would I look like if not for all the vomiting? Like I did soon after this picture was taken? (You had to know that I couldn't let a week go by without a vomit reference.)
  
• I have more hair than ever and clearly don't know what to do with it.
• At the time my bridal pic was taken, I felt fat. Now I would give just about anything to look like that again.

The good news is that my obstetrician informed me at my 24-week appointment that my belly measures perfectly for how far along I am. Shocking, I know. The bad news is that I have 16 weeks of growth to go.

Giving me time to adopt the motto, "Go big or go home."

Garrett got in the game and poofed out a sympathy belly. How do men do this with their bodies? My belly, on the other hand, is all me, all the time.

Notice that he spread out his legs in an attempt to get down to my height. I am clearly a Woman of Short Stature.

In other baby-related news, my hard-working husband cleaned out the garage last week to make room for storing some of the furniture that's in the baby's room right now. I wish I'd taken a "before" picture so that you could fully understand what a major undertaking this was. Now we sometimes walk into the garage just to look at it. We're so proud that we may host tours highlighting the "Wall of Yard Tools" and "Tank That Used to Hold Our Dearly Departed Lizards." Lizards never had it so good, dead or alive.

While Garrett was slaving away in the garage, I busied myself with chatting on the phone and reading a forgotten book. Until I felt guilty and made him a nice dinner that did not involve microwave steamer bags or take-out menus. It did involve the oven and many, many dirty dishes.

By the time the day was over, Garrett could barely move from all the lifting and nailing, and I could barely move from all the standing while cooking. It was debatable whether or not we'd have enough energy to climb the stairs to the TV room just to throw ourselves on the couches for some mindless channel-surfing.

So we attempted to check ourselves into a retirement community, but were turned away for acting too old.

Because everybody knows that you're not really retirement-ready until you can at least have as much fun as some dead lizards.

Pregnancy - "Facing Reality" or "Pictures That I Will Later Regret Sharing"

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/pregnancy-facing-reality-or-pictures.html

Pregnancy: I wonder if my child is channeling Seinfeld

Welcome to the latest installment of the Vomit Chronicles.

I know y'all have been waiting with bated breath to get an update on my nausea issues, so let's just get that out of the way: I'm in my 22nd week and still throwing up pretty much every day.

Honestly, I don't even care anymore. It's become a way of life. I just always hope to get it over with before leaving the house. I'd hate to have to pull over on some freeway and lean out my car door, only to cause a ten car pile-up due to all the rubbernecking.

On to more pleasant news...

On February 17th we had our long-awaited 20-week ultrasound. This ultrasound was the gating factor for such decisions as nursery decor, onesies color, and the colors of the stripes on the blanket I'm crocheting.

That's right, you read correctly - CROCHETING. Engineer by day, homemaker by night. How "every woman" of me.

So anyway, Garrett and I were sure we were having a girl. Besides always imagining that I would have a girl-child first, time-tested old wives tales also indicated that our first-born would be a daughter.

So you can imagine our surprise, nay, SHOCK, when the ultrasound tech announced that it's a BOY! Little Michael Thomas Maddox is on his way!

Those old wives clearly don't know what they're talking about.

It really didn't matter to me if it was a boy or girl. I just want a chubby baby in my arms. But I was absolutely thrilled for Garrett that he was getting his boy.

While waiting for the doctor to see us, we busied ourselves with phone calls and text messages sharing our news. Now all we had to do was get the ol' "Everything looks great" speech from the doctor, and we could be on our merry way, imagining life with our son.

So the doctor finally comes in, sits down, and starts talking about kidneys, ureters, and bladders. It took me a few seconds to realize that she wasn't saying, "Everything looks great." She said that my baby boy has more fluid in his right kidney than they like to see, so we would have to go for a higher level ultrasound.

I started to panic.

The doctor saw my eyes glaze over with shock, so she scooted a little closer and stressed that this didn't have to be a problem, her son was born with the same issue and he grew out of it by the time he was three. Apparently it's pretty common in little boys due to the nature of their plumbing. And everything else did look great, picture-perfect. This made me feel better, but I'm sorry to say that the damage to my emotions was already done. Garrett was a champ and took up the question-asking after that so that I could just take it in.

I was numb for the rest of the day. I did talk to various family members on the phone, excited that now we could really plan in earnest. But I was glad that I'd decided to work from home that day because I really needed the time to myself. The cubicle farm environment just doesn't afford the privacy necessary to a worried mother.

I held it together for most of the day, but finally had a meltdown that night. Full-fledged worry and panic ensued about everything from the serious to the mundane:

• Worry that my baby's kidneys would get worse.
• Worry that I didn't know how to mother a boy. I didn't realize until that day that I was scared to death to be a mommy to a little boy. Preparing a son to be a man, to be both strong and gentle, seems like such a huge undertaking to me.
  
• Worry about the nursery. I didn't have anything picked out for a boy!

Garrett spent some time talking me down from the ledge, so to speak. I felt better the rest of the week, but I'm still praying like crazy for my boy's kidneys.

We went to another facility for the higher-level ultrasound a week later. Before looking at the kidneys, she checked out the rest of Michael's body and saw that it all looks good. We then asked her to confirm that Michael is indeed a boy, just to make sure.

The tech in our previous ultrasound didn't have any problems checking out his boy part. But this time around Michael got a little shy and kept his legs closed.

And, really, can you blame him for being shy? I don't care what kind of viscous goop he has covering his body right now, being in fluid for months has got to do something to your skin, including the boy part. Sometimes I wonder if little boys in utero want to hold up a sign saying, "I was in the pool! I WAS IN THE POOL!" (Everybody remember George Costanza?)

(Michael just kicked me as if to say, "That's right!")

Just when I was thinking that the doctor would have to give up and move on, she started to pound on my stomach with the ultrasound wand in an effort to get him to move.

I found that particular maneuver to be quite ironic considering how vigilant Garrett and I have been about keeping our pets from jumping on my stomach. And here the doctor is, pounding my stomach like it was a ball of bread dough.

If she had just asked, I would have been more than happy to jiggle my belly for her. And it probably would have achieved the same result. But I'm not the one with the medical degree.

Michael finally did move and reveal the family jewels. So we can proceed with decorating a little boy's nursery with confidence.

The doctor then looked at his kidneys. She found fluid in both kidneys, but said that it wasn't anything that she was too worried about, it was probably just reflux. But she also cautioned that things could progress, so we're going back in two months for a follow-up ultrasound.

Most of my worries have been calmed, but I have to work at it sometimes. I'm comforted by the fact that my son isn't developing randomly, but being formed in my womb by a loving God.

Now the big question is: what's he gonna look like? We're predicting that this short, dark-skinned Puerto Rican girl is going to birth a big white baby boy. Which means that I will forever be mistaken as his nanny.

But I'm cool with that. I'm just looking forward to having him in my arms and looking down at his chubby-cheeked face, knowing that all the vomiting was worth it. I can't wait to meet my son.

Pregnancy: I wonder if my child is channeling Seinfeld

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/02/pregnancy-i-wonder-if-my-child-is.html

Pregnancy: From Gas Bubbles to Little Hands and Feet

Back when Garrett and I decided to try for a baby, I had visions of chronicling our pregnancy journey on this blog with posts discussing the "deep things," like how there needs to be a level of trust with your spouse to conceive a baby, or how physical pregnancy can teach us lessons about a sort of "spiritual pregnancy" where we see the purposes God has placed in us come to fruition over time.

But all the vomiting and nausea pretty much drove the "deep" right out of me.

And I was left with thoughts like, "How many restrooms does this store have?" and, "Larger underwear, I NEED LARGER UNDERWEAR!"

So I'm not having many deep thoughts these days. But every once in a while a tender thought will trickle through the nausea- and pain-related thoughts cluttering my mind and fight its way into my consciousness.

This has been a week of tender thoughts. I am currently in my 19th week of pregnancy and felt my little one move for the first time this past Monday.

I'll be perfectly honest with you and admit that I thought it was gas, but a moment later realized that was probably a funny place to feel a gas bubble.

(There's a tender thought in here somewhere, I promise.)

So then I started paying closer attention. And lo, the little child did move and kick. Wonderment and awe did fill the mother, as no gas bubble could.

My little sweet pea has been moving more and more as each day goes by. And that has helped me so much in really believing that my child is growing inside me. At a Christmas event last December, Beth Moore talked about Elizabeth's pregnancy with the child that would become John the Baptist. Scripture tells us that Elizabeth became pregnant and remained in seclusion for five months. Beth pondered why the five months and came to the conclusion that Elizabeth may have waited until she could feel her child move inside her, in that way knowing for sure that she was indeed pregnant in her advanced years.

(My own pondering would have led to the conclusion that Elizabeth just thought it was best to stay at home when dealing with morning sickness accompanied by sudden projectile vomiting, but hey, that's just me. Ok, back to tender thoughts. Focus, Leslie, focus!)

Now that I've felt my baby move, I can go with Beth's theory and believe that Elizabeth wanted that proof. So much of the earlier part of pregnancy is cerebral. Sure, there's some physical evidence of the pregnancy, but much of that could be explained away with other reasons. We ultimately have to believe in our minds that yes, there's a baby in there somewhere. But when your child moves inside you, stretching those little arms and legs, all of a sudden it's not about the back pain, weight gain, or nausea. It's about cradling a child in your body, allowing your body to expand and change to make room for a new life.

I've been thinking about those little arms and legs. About the first time we'll count tiny fingers and toes. About the first time that we'll grasp the little hand and feel a grasping in return. Little arms wrapped around my neck in a hug, chubby little legs crawling, then walking. I wonder where those little legs will take my child, who those little hands will soothe. When those little knees will hit the ground in prayer for the first time with little elbows resting on a bed.

And then I think about Who those little hands will serve, Who those little feet will follow...

The Same Little Hands
By: Dorothy Brock Holtslander

His mother held Him close
As she gazed at His perfect face
She wondered if He knew even then
That He was the One, the Savior, the Lamb

She counted His toes, as new mothers do
and then tiny fingers
on tiny hands

How could she have know what was to be
That He would change the world for eternity
The same little hands
The same little feet feet
That would one day be nailed to a tree

She watched with a mother's joy
as His little feet took their first steps
She took pride when He was a little boy
and with His little hands built His first toy

How could she have known, how was she to see
the same little hands
the same little feet
would one day be nailed to a tree

His Father knew what had to be
those same little hands
those same little feet
nailed to a tree
for you and me

Pregnancy: From Gas Bubbles to Little Hands and Feet

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/01/pregnancy-from-gas-bubbles-to-little.html

"Pregnancy - 17 weeks" or "A phrase I never want to hear again"

So it's officially been over a month and a half since our last post. Whatever happened to my intentions of keeping family and friends updated on our happenings through this little blog? Especially now, when we're expecting our first little one?

Well, you know what they say about the best of intentions.

But I'll excuse myself by saying that I have been dealing with morning sickness from hell. You know how I said in the last post that my morning sickness was lessening at 11 weeks? Well, it was like I triple-dared the gods of all that is unholy to prove me wrong. Soon after writing those daring words, my morning sickness came back with a vengeance.

And when I say it came back with a vengeance, I mean food became my enemy. I had little appetite for most of the day, and when I did eat, I ate knowing that it would only be a matter of time before I would have to run my pregnant body to the bathroom (praying that I wouldn't trip over a cat or dog) to vomit at least half of my stomach contents.

(Here's where my mother will stop her reading to call me and demand that I do something about the cats and dog. Mom, I eagerly await your call.)

I normally love going out to eat, but after a couple of unfortunate incidents at a Denny's and a Red Robin, I realized that I would have to give up my love of being waited on hand and foot at restaurants for the next few weeks and instead have to be happy with being waited on hand and foot at home by husband.

(And here's where my sweet husband silently curses Eve and that dastardly snake in the Garden of Eden for the pain and suffering we're both dealing with in this pregnancy. Sweetie, I really do appreciate all you do for me. So much so that there's tortilla soup in the crock pot for your enjoyment tonight. Nothing but the best crock pot meals for you, baby. The sour cream and cheese are in the fridge.)

At least once a week someone would tell me, "Oh, it'll get better soon."

• The midwife at my OB's office told me, "It'll get better soon," while prescribing anti-nausea medication that ended up not working for me because even a fourth of the tiny tablet knocked me out. And, like most people, I find it difficult to hold down a full-time job while in a medication-induced coma.
• The doctor at the ER told me, "It'll get better soon," when I ended up there one night after extreme dizziness, causing me to crawl to the bathroom to throw up into the bathroom rug. Turns out I was pretty dehydrated, most likely caused by all the vomiting. I left the ER five pounds heavier thanks to two bags of IV fluids, clutching a prescription for a different anti-nausea medication. It ended up being completely ineffective. Anti-nausea meds, you are dead to me.
• My OB told me, "It'll get better soon," after diagnosing me with bronchitis and prescribing me a heavy-duty antibiotic. Unfortunately, antibiotics do not help the anti-nausea cause.
• After the antibiotic didn't heal me, the internal medicine doctor that my OB referred me to told me, "It'll get better soon," after diagnosing me with the flu. Again, catching the flu was counter-productive to my anti-nausea goals.
• A very sweet girl in our Sunday School class told me, "It'll get better soon," after she heard me whimpering and vomiting in the church bathroom. If only.

Dear readers, if you want me to hang onto my sanity, please do not tell me, "It'll get better soon."

So tomorrow I'll be fully at 17 weeks. I won't tell you that the nausea and vomiting seems to have improved over the last few days because I now know better than to tempt fate.

Here's where a picture of my 17 week belly would be appropriate, but I haven't gotten up the nerve to take a picture yet.

"Why?" you ask. "A pregnant body is a beautiful thing."

I'll tell you why. Because my 17 week belly looks more like a 25 week belly. Y'all, it's embarrassing. You see, I wasn't skinny when I got pregnant. So by the time I took the pregnancy test, I already looked like I was a couple of months along. Add to that fact my short stature and even shorter torso, and you have a recipe for a big ol' belly. No one has said anything overtly rude, at least not that I can prove. (As I was getting a pedicure this weekend, my nail technician was talking in Vietnamese to another nail tech. They stopped to ask me how far along I was, then continued their conversation in Vietnamese. I can't prove it, but I just know that they were saying, "She so big fo' 4 months.") But I'm still paranoid.

I will eventually take pictures since my mother already bought me a Belly Book and has convinced me that I will want those pictures one day. But I can't promise that they will ever appear on this blog since I can't bear the thought that readers of the World Wide Web will also be saying, "She so big." Vanity, thy name is Leslie.

So instead of a picture of my preggo belly, here's a picture of our precious and much-loved little one at 11 weeks. We have our next ultrasound on Feb 17, when I'll be 20 weeks. We can't wait to find out if I'm carrying Isabella Anne or Michael Thomas!

"Pregnancy - 17 weeks" or "A phrase I never want to hear again"

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2009/01/pregnancy-17-weeks-or-phrase-i-never.html

The Most Precious Heartbeat

Yesterday I heard the most precious heartbeat I've ever heard - the heartbeat of the child I'm carrying.

I am currently in my eleventh week of pregnancy, almost done with my first trimester. And the second trimester can't come soon enough! While many women go through their first trimester unscathed, mine has been marked by extreme fatigue, nausea, headaches, aches, pains, and bloating. I finally started feeling more "normal" last week, enough so that I could actually do some cleaning and get through a day at work without wanting to crawl under a table. I'm still running to the bathroom for a bout of nausea now and then, but it's nothing like it was before.

And here's where I need to give a shout out to my wonderful husband. Garrett has been taking wonderful care of me, doing a lot around the house, and even took over clean up duty after an unfortunate incident when I didn't make it over the toilet fast enough.

Now that's true love. You know you've found a keeper when he's willing to clean up the remains of your day, so to speak, without complaining. His only comment was, "You don't know what I just went through in there." You're right, darling, I don't know. And I don't want to know unless you're willing to see a repeat performance.

But I digress.

We're finally at the point in the pregnancy when I'm comfortable telling the world about the baby we're expecting. To say that we're excited would be an understatement. I've been wanting a baby since I was 12 years old, so once you do the math you'll see that's 22 years of longing. Garrett has wanted to be a daddy for a long time, too. We agreed when we got married that we would wait a year before trying. Well, we got the baby itch sooner than that, so we were already in our seventh week of pregnancy on our first anniversary. Which meant that we celebrated a very quiet anniversary since I was absolutely exhausted all the time.

Our families are super excited, too. This is the first grandchild on my side of the family, so my parents are just beside themselves that they don't have to adopt grandchildren, after all. My brother an sisters are ready for a little niece or nephew and have already started buying little presents.

Incidentally, when my brother found out I was pregnant, he called me (which is unusual enough because Eddie, you don't write, you don't call...) and said, "So, I hear Garrett got one past the goalie." Nice.

Yesterday I went to see my OB for a little procedure to check some stuff out. She surprised me by saying that we would get to hear the heartbeat. I knew that Garrett would be disappointed since he wasn't with me, but I just had to hear it. Easier said than done. About 15 minutes, two rooms, two nurses, three Dopplers, and one very sore tummy later, I finally heard clear evidence of my little sweet pea.

What a moment. Those first couple of months of pregnancy you're thinking, "Is there really something in there?" I took three pregnancy tests and still wondered. So hearing the heartbeat was just overwhelming. I started crying, which kind of freaked out the nurse. She asked, "Oh, was I not supposed to find it?" In my head I thought, "Stop your crazy talk, woman! I've been waiting for this baby practically my whole life!" But I just shook my head. So then she rightly guessed that this is my first.

I tried to keep from crying too much so that she could get the baby's heart rate. It was 180 bpm! Pretty fast, but still within the normal range.

Next week we have our first ultrasound. Garrett and I are so ready for it. We want to see our little one and hear that everything is ok.

Then over the Christmas break I'll start cleaning out the guest room, which will be the baby's room. We need to get some painting done, but I'm not planning to buy anything until we find out if our sweet pea is a boy or girl.

Right now we're just praying that the baby is healthy and strong.

The Most Precious Heartbeat

https://thelatebloomersblog.blogspot.com/2008/12/most-precious-heartbeat.html