Teaser

I have good news and bad news. First, the good news: my usb cord arrived today, at about noon. Yay! The bad news? At about 11:50, I found my old usb cord, thus rendering the new one totally superfluous and unnecessary. So now I've got two, and should never have a time when I'm without. At any rate, the very good news is that I've dumped lots of pictures from my camera onto my computer (AND onto kodakgallery.com, just to be safe) and will continue to do so, so you won't have to suffer through quite so many word-heavy posts in the future.

I would show you all of them right now, but it has been a busy, busy day, and I've got about 30 pounds of peaches to freeze and turn into jam, so I've got a full night ahead of me. Soto whet your appetite, I'll leave you with one new-ish picture of each of the kids. Enjoy!

This is Charis at an extended family member's lake house. I loved the rustic, aged quality of those steps juxtaposed with the beauty and youth of my daughter. Now, if only I could stop her from making faces when she's getting her picture taken...

This is little man Judah in one of his two favorite hats, working on some bubbles. He's so serious!
This picture was also taken at the lake house.

This photo is new--just taken on Sunday in the picnic area above one of our favorite Lake Michigan beaches. Ruby was borrowing her cousin's hat. I know I may be slightly biased, being her mother and all, but I'm pretty sure that Ruby is the cutest baby in existence.

So that's all for now! But I promise I'll have more to come--and soon! Unless I misplace both of my usb cords, in which case I might have some sort of memory-loss issue.

Oh, USB cord, Where Art Thou?

I'm still waiting on my usb cord. Sherrie seems like she's getting a bit antsy for a new post, so I thought I'd give her one.

A couple of days ago, my computer was running really slowly. I mean, the thing is ancient in computer years, so it's not ever lightning-fast, but on this day, its speed approximated that of slugs or my husband when I ask him to take out the trash. In an effort to thwart whatever was holding my RAMs back, I re-started my computer. Only, as proof that it was possible for the computer to move more slowly than it had been, it wouldn't restart. Not at all. Not only that, it was piping hot like a fresh dinner roll, if dinner rolls were made of metallic gray plastic. I pressed the power button over and over, like you do when you're waiting for an elevator, but with each press, the result was the same: not a darn thing happened.

I can live without the internet. I've done it for months at a time. I can go to the library to pay bills, though I don't like to do it. And I can go a couple of days without checking my email . . . I think. I can even do without Facebook. And I'm sure about that last one, because I still don't totally get the allure. But one thing I cannot do without is pictures of my kids, and unfortunately, many many pictures of my children exist solely on my computer. I know this is irresponsible--they should be backed up somewhere, like on an external hard drive or something. But the fact of the matter is that, on this computer-crashing day, they were not. So I panicked.

Immediately, what had been an okay day turned ugly. I was so sad to think about all of the beautiful images that were lost, and angry with myself for not protecting them as I should have. I moved my computer to the dining room table and left it to sit, hoping it would resurrect itself after a nice rest in a cool spot. I have this theory about electronics, that they need naps just like we do. Whenever they start acting up and being naughty, it's a sure sign, to me, that they need a few moments alone. I'm a big fan of giving electronics moments alone, so I walked away from Mr. Backstabbing Computer and went off to sulk and pretend the crisis had never happened.

When Abe came home that afternoon, I was visibly upset. Actually, he had called before coming home, and could hear the distress in my voice. "Are you okay?" He asked.
"Rough day," I panned.
He paused knowingly. "Oh," he said. "The kids?"
I sighed. "Actually, no. The kids are fine." Oh, my kids, my precious kids, whose childhoods I'd just erased because I was stupid. "We'll talk about it when you get home."

Only, here's the thing: by the time Abe got home, the computer was as cool as a metallic gray cucumber. I had, after all, given the machine a nice naptime--was it possible that it might start up now? I pressed the power button and waited. Miraculously, my beast of a laptop sprang to life! I was overjoyed. I immediately opened my photo software, and there were the smiling faces of my children. Ah, bliss. And sweet relief.

My next thought as that I had no idea how much longer my computer might hang on before it left me for good, so right away, I began uploading my precious photos to the internet--not the most trustworthy place for them, I know, but better than nothing. I am still in the process of uploading, because I have approximately twelve million pictures, but the process has nonetheless begun. And here are a few things I would have lost if the computer thing hadn't turned out so well:

Charis, 3 months

Charis, 10 months

Judah, 2 days

Judah, 10 months

Two of my beautiful children

Aren't those good ones?

Now. I have more than a hundred pictures sitting on my camera, waiting to be uploaded. When that blasted usb gets here, I will put those photos onto my computer. And then, I will save those precious images somewhere else, too, because this whole computer scare was enough to teach me a lesson about taking the time to protect the things that are valuable.

I'll be back soon with current photos!

An Oodah by any other name

Judah will now say Charis, if pressed. It has a very "care-us" quality to it, but it is funny to hear it coming out of his mouth so fully formed after months and months of saying Oodah when referring to his older sister! The other thing we love to hear him say is the word pepperoni. It is so small and so perfect, as if he has known how to say it since the womb, but has been saving it for a special occasion.

My new usb cord arrives this week, so prepare to be inundated with kiddie pictures!

Charis' Story

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The Most Timely Gift

Ruby is growing to be an actual human, which quite took me by surprise. She has been a really easy baby, so I don't have complaints, but for the first several weeks of her life, she was very lump-ish. Our favorite babysitter, Shelby, watched the kids last night for the last time before she leaves us for college (kids and their wayward priorities), and she asked me at what point babies really start to show personality. Thinking back to Ruby's lumpiness, I was tempted to tell her it took a year, but the reality is that any mother searching for the sparks inside her baby's head will tell you that the first glimpses of personality accompany the First Smile.

I remember Charis' First Smile very vividly: at two months, she was of course not sleeping very well, and I was, as a first-time mom, wondering what's in it for me? I mean, what with all the spitting up and poopy diapers and leakiness and lack of sleep and NO REAL ACTIVITY OF INTEREST WHATSOEVER from my little one, I was wondering what, exactly, the payoff was. But we went camping sometime in that second month, and one night ventured into town for pizza. Abe was holding Charis in a standing position on the table, and she was looking across at me, and all of the sudden, there was the payoff: a real, honest-to-goodness, with-her-eyes-and-everything smile. Sure, she'd had those little, gassy, involuntary smiles, but they hadn't really meant anything. This smile was ON PURPOSE. And she gave it to me in a Pizza Hut in Attica, Indiana.

Fast forward to the present. This past Sunday was a really weird, difficult, confusing and sad day. I was dealing with some Self issues and some family issues that had come to a head, and I spent the better part of an impromptu drive over to Ikea crying it out, asking Abe to make sense of it for me. When we arrived, Ikea was busy and crowded and we didn't end up buying anything all that fun, and I was pretty much feeling like the day was a total bust and that it had been a very disappointing end to a weekend I had really really been looking forward to. The day didn't seem like it could be redeemed.

But then, bada-bing, The Payoff.

I had just fed Ruby and was gazing into her smoky blue eyes, trying to find a bit of happiness in her innocence and unconditional mommy attachment. We had carried her around in the front pack all day and she had mostly slept a very lumpy baby sleep, oblivious to the world around her. But there, in the front seat of the van, in the parking lot of Ikea, after a disappointing and teary day, Ruby gave me the most fantastic gift: her First Smile. A real, honest-to-goodness, with-her-eyes-and-everything smile.

A miraculous thing happened: for a little while, I forgot about my shortcomings and those pesky family struggles and remembered to breathe in those gifty moments of life, the moments that surely God provides when we most need them. I laughed with my children, because there may come a day when laughing together won't be as easy as it is now, and I laughed with my husband, because he is good for putting up with me. And I rode the rest of the way home sitting next to Ruby, watching for another beam of light. She didn't give another one then, but that's okay. She had saved the day with her gift, improved my state of mind, and become a little bit more like a real human all in one fell swoop. Things were definitely looking up.

And He Has, Hasn't He?

It's 2:51 am as I sit down to type this, and I'm doing so not so much because I feel SO SO compelled to write its contents, but because I was just awoken by the most unsettling dream (and some itchy feet, for some reason), and I cannot go back to sleep until I get the disturbing images of the bear in our house (Yes. A bear. In our HOUSE.) out of my head. I fully realize that tomorrow, when I read this post in full coherence, I will find it absurd that this dream kept me up--it was a friendly bear, apparently, because after it wandered into our yard, it had come into the house, hopped up on the kids' bed with them, and was letting them pet it like a dog--but there you have it. The bear dream was too much for me.

So now I'm here, listening to the calming hum of the fan and squinting against the glare of the computer screen, and I want to tell you about the most marvelous illustration of God's forgiveness that I saw today. It really struck me when it happened, and I knew at the time it was destined for Ye Olde Neglected Blog, I just had no idea I'd be giving it words so soon.

The napping arrangement in our house finds Judah upstairs in the kids' bedroom and Charis downstairs on our bed. We tried having them nap in the same room with each other, but it did not go well. At all. So Charis is in our bed for naps, and for the most part, this works out well. The downside is that, at age four, she has come to the point where she really doesn't need naps everyday (even though I really need her to nap for my sanity's sake), so naptime is very frequently a battle to try to get her to stay in bed. The rule is that she is not required to sleep, but she does need to stay in bed for a rest. Some days, she actually falls asleep. But on some days, like today, she is up a lot, claiming a need to use the potty (I'm afraid to call her bluff on that one) or claiming a need to "tell me something," or just up in our room playing in the curtains or in the closet, where she inevitably dumps the single-sock basket. Again, let me reiterate that while she doesn't have an absolute need for a nap on a daily basis, it is essential to the preservation of my sanity, and when naptime is a struggle, my sanity creeps away from me.

Today was one of those lost-sanity naptimes.

Charis had come out THREE times to use the potty, and one time to get another book to look at, and another time, she burst out of the door, waking poor Ruby with her excited yelps about the lost shoe she just found. I deduced that if she had found a shoe, she was most certainly out of bed. So I told her to go back into the room, which she did, and lay down, which she didn't. Minutes later, I stuck my head in the door, hoping to find that she had decided to obey, but was dismayed to find her in the closet and single socks scattered all over the room. She had also removed the pillowcases from our pillows, and had filled them with books and the eye-relief rice pack that is off-limits to her. To say that I was incensed would be putting it mildly. My sanity flew out the window, and I flew into a rage. I was so angry she had flouted the rules so repeatedly. I yelled and I yelled, I threw socks back into the closet, I flung books, and I scared my daughter. She cried. "Mommy, mommy, I'm so SORRY," she sobbed. I yelled something about her being SO NAUGHTY and stormed out of the room to the kitchen, where the Holy Spirit immediately gripped my heart. I prayed and prayed for God to forgive me for yelling at Charis in such a way, but He made it clear to me that I needed to go to her first. I nearly started sobbing myself for the conviction of it.

I went back into the room, and Charis, assuming that I was still out of control with fury, started crying at the sight of me. It broke my heart into a thousand little pieces. Like a small child myself, I crawled into bed with her, wrapped her in my arms, and repented. "Charis," I said, "I need to ask you to forgive me. I was angry, but I wasn't the right kind of angry, and I am so sorry for yelling at you like that."

"Mommy, I'm so so SORRY for getting out of bed!"

"I forgive you, baby girl. Will you forgive me for yelling at you like that?"

"Yes, mama, but will you lay down with me for a minute?" And I did. I laid with her for several minutes, in fact, until both of us had calmed down. And then I begged her not to get up again--which she didn't--and left the room.

Later that evening, we were tucking the kids into bed. I bent down low over Charis' bed and hugged her. "Charis, will you please forgive me for being so angry today?" I asked.

Charis looked at me as if I was crazy. "Mommy, I already DID!"

I am nearly in tears as I write this (though, thankfully, that dumb bear dream is gone for good), because if that isn't the perfect image of God's forgiveness, I don't know what is. So often, I beat myself up about a stumble or a shortcoming, or worse, my direct disobedience, and I beg forgiveness from God over and over, somehow thinking that He hasn't granted it yet. Like the incident with Charis, I carry those horrible images of my failures and faults around with me and they play on a more or less continuous loop, and I am convinced that I am the worst parent/friend/Christian there ever was, totally unworthy of forgiveness.

But when I ask for the umpteenth time, here's the truth: He has already forgiven. Can't you just picture Him saying, "I already DID!"? I usually can't. But today, when my sweet girl forgave me for being such a mess of a mother, I did. I saw that His Son's blood has paid for my sins, once for all, so that when I ask forgiveness, it is granted. Covered. Wiped away.

I can't say that I'm thankful to have lost my temper so completely today. But I can say that I am thankful that my daughter was able to be the mature adult that I was incapable of being, and in the process teach me a lot about God.

I'm Sure He Understands

We sat down for some mac'n'cheese today, and the exchange went something like this:

Judah: PRAY!
Me: Yes, Judah. Let's pray. Dear Lord, thank y--
Charis: No, Mom! I want to pray! Thank you for this food, and--
J: A-MEN!!!!
C: No, Judah. Not yet. Thank you for this food, and thank you for this--
J: GOD! BIG! MIGHTY!
C: No, Judah, you have to be quiet. Thank you for this food, and thank you for this day.
J: AMEN!!!

Judah likes to be in charge of the praying around here, but he's got some stiff competition in Charis. Time will tell where Ruby falls in the mix.

Happy Birthday Oodah

Dear Charis--

Happy belated birthday, Baby Girl! It does not seem possible that you are already four--it feels like it was just days ago that I was cradling you and marveling at your tiny fingers and toes. Now, you have huge, Big Kid fingers and toes, and you use them to do Big Kid things like draw pictures of people you love and pick black raspberries and put Ruby's paci in her mouth (just your fingers--your toes aren't that dexterous.). Moments ago, it seems, I was thrilled that you had said what vaguely sounded like "kitty," and now, here you are, four years later, and I think you know all of the words in the whole world. And you have the ingenuity to make up your own (definitions unknown) words, like chompley and wompley.

I love you for so much--for your independence, how you fearlessly adapt to every situation; for your spunk, how you really do light up a room when you enter it; for your helpfulness, how you are quick to comply every time I ask you for a favor; and for your kind heart, how you treat everyone as a friend, even those total strangers in the grocery store that you are constantly inviting to come to our house. You are so very silly, but when the rubber hits the road, you are also able to be sincere, too: two nights ago you woke up with a nightmare about a bird that was in our house, and we prayed that God would give you sweet dreams, and this morning, you told me that you had asked God for happy dreams last night and He had answered you! I love that you're old enough to be able to talk to God on your own.

I am so proud of who you are growing up to be, even if I am mystified by how you came to be that way. For instance, how is it that two confirmed non-morning people could produce a child that is so perpetually sunny as soon as she wakes? How could we, who enjoy team sports like basketball and volleyball, be raising a little girl whose only desire is to be a ballerina? Your dad can't understand how you can eat a tomato or a pepper and enjoy it, and I am equally stumped by your attraction to olives. How is it that you came to be so fascinated by dresses, and so repelled by clothes like jeans? We may not always understand your choices, but we're proud that you're capable and mature enough to make them.

I love that you will proudly claim the name "Oodah"--I have no idea why Judah calls you that, but it is kind of you to allow it, and even more wonderful that you seem to enjoy it. I love that you are (mostly) sweet to your brother and sister. I love that my only complaint about your treatment of Ruby is that you sometimes show her just a little too much love. I love that you love others, and talk about them often, usually asking if we can go visit them RIGHT NOW. You are a kind girl. I love that.

I am so pleased to be your mother. So pleased that you are so intelligent. Pleased that you are kind, helpful, fun, and sweet. I look forward to many more years of watching you grow! Happy Birthday, Baby Girl. I love you!

Kid Talk

Judah prayed for dinner for the first time today. "God, Thank you. Food. AMEN!!"

Charis sang a sweet song to Ruby today. It went something like this:

Rock-a-bye baby
In the treetop
When the wind blows,
You'd better get out...

I couldn't be more proud.

What a Difference a Stent Makes, etc.

April asked how things were with the stent and kidney stone, so here's a brief update. And after that, kid stuff.

Last Wednesday, I went to the urologist and had the stent removed. It took approximately 43 seconds. Tell me: why did it take a killer epidural and a surgeon to put the dadgum thing in, but it took no pain meds and a simple doctor's office to remove? At any rate, the effects were almost immediate--I am now more comfortable than I have been in months. And as for the stone, well, I still don't know. I go into the urologist's office in a week or two for a follow up (mostly so the urologist can charge exorbitant amounts of money for relatively little effort on his part), at which point they will X-ray (x-rays are so 1991) to see the location and size of the stone. If the miracle I've prayed for has occurred, the kidney stone vanished long ago. If not, we'll likely break it up (and by "we," I do not mean me at all) with lithotripsy. Until then, I take a big bottle of vicodin with me everywhere in case the stone decides to strike again.

On a more humorous note, Judah adds new words to his vocabulary every day. One of the more interesting is theword "Truck." It wouldn't necessarily be interesting, except for the fact that he can't so much say the TR sound, and instead substitutes an F. We just hope there aren't any trucks to play with at Sunday school. Goodness knows what they'd think we teach our kids.

Charis has taken to calling Ruby "My Baby." This is pretty cute. I thought she was just being affectionate until yesterday, when she asked me if we could pick a different name for our baby because she doesn't like the name Ruby. Some days, you just can't win.

Today we take Ruby for her two-week well-child appointment. I forgot to call my mother in law to ask if she could watch the older two munchkins, so I guess we're all taking a field trip! I'm definitely thinking that some McNuggets are in order to help make it a smooth experience. I might also get some for the kids.

Also: I seem to have misplaced the cord that connects my camera to the computer. So I have MANY pictures to show you, but no way to convey them at the moment. As soon as I locate that important piece of plastic, I will post more shots of our little chunk, Ruby. And also shots of her siblings, because while they aren't chinking out at the rate Ruby is, they are still mighty cute, in my estimation.

Peanut, Bubba, and Jelly

A long, long time ago, when Judah came to live with us, I took to calling Charis and Judah Peanut Butter (Charis' nickname) and Judah.

Then I thought it would be cute if Judah's nickname was Jelly, because then they'd be Peanut Butter and Jelly. And besides, there's the matter of all the matching J's. C'mon. That's cute. Well, Judah as Jelly didn't really work, but we did take to calling Judah Bubba on occasion, so, as much as any nickname did, Bubba stuck. So at that point, in my mind, they were Peanut and Bubba. Still cute. (I realize that right now, many of you think I'm completely cheesy. I have no defense for that.)

Well, when we found out we were going to have a third, my mind started really working. How could we incorporate the new one into the PB&J theme? Simple, I reasoned: Charis is Peanut, Judah is Bubba, and the new child would be Jelly. Easy peasy. And when Ruby turned out to be a girl, I was elated--because really, Jelly is a much better nickname for a girl than a boy. I love it when a plan comes together.

One problem.

Charis decided she wanted to be Jelly. She reminds me regularly, too: "No, Mom. I'm JELLY." Apparently Jelly fits her four-year-old sensibilities better than Peanut.

Well, I'm trying to make the switch. I can't tell you how many times I've said, "Hey, Peanut. I mean, Jelly." But I'm committed to making this work, even if it means that this particular amount of cheesiness will transform me into one of those denim jumper-wearing kindergarten teacher-types. It's just a risk I'm willing to take.

So, because I'm committed to making it work, and because I can't continue to call this blog "Charis and Judah" on account of Ruby's existence, I've decided to rename this thing "Peanut, Bubba, and Jelly." The url will be the same, but we'll go by this new and (I think) improved title.

Just thought you should know.

Oh, and by the way, if you should see Charis, call her Jelly. It just might help it to adhere.

Day One

Well, I survived it: Day One of Mother-to-Three-land. My parents left yesterday, and Abe worked today (of course), so I was on my own for the very first time in almost two months. I was pretty anxious about it, but it wasn't all that bad. The only glitch was that Ruby's right eye has been goopy, and since Judah had a plugged tear duct as an infant, I was concerned Ruby had one, too, so I took her (and her older siblings) to the doctor to get it checked out. Nothing like starting out Day One with a solo doctor's office visit with all three kiddos. It wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't had to wait to see the doctor for so long--their patience (and mine) was definitely tried. Turns out it probably isn't a plugged duct, just a run of the mill infection, probably acquired from a young visitor we had who, as it so happens, also saw the doctor today for an eye infection. Neat. I will say, though, that unfortunate as it was to have had to go in, I did find out that Ruby is gaining weight like some sort of mini-sumo. Considering I was convinced that she wasn't eating enough for even a small mouse like herself to thrive on, this was a huge load off my mind.

I also took Ruby (but not the other two) with me to the store to snap up a few 4th of July cookout bargains and to get her prescription filled. It was a difficult trip because of the stent, but it was refreshing to be out by myself doing something for my family, rather than having others wait on me hand and foot. It was nice to feel productive. Along the same line, I served my kids breakfast AND lunch, and with the help of a rotisserie chicken, I served them dinner, too! And I did a load and a half of laundry! And that's it, because MAN. I've got to work my way back in SLOWLY. Thankfully, we've got nice friends from church bringing us meals, starting tomorrow, and another beautiful friend from church gave us a gift certificate for maid service. So to a certain extent, I can just pretend at productivity without having to commit myself fully, and my family will still be well taken care of. I love helpful friends.

If tomorrow goes as well as today did, I will upload and post some more recent pictures of the kids, specifically our newest little miss. See you tomorrow! (Hopefully)

Hallelujah!

the three of us--just before taking ruby belle home for the first time.

the kids meet their new sister for the first time--judah can't believe how "tiny! tiny!" her toes and "finners" are.

miss charis just wants to be sweet to her new baby.

you wouldn't believe how excited judah was to see "wooby."

hallelujah! we're so glad ruby is here!

And Baby Makes 5!

Just a brief post to announce the arrival of our newest gem, Ruby!

She was born on Friday morning, weighing in at 6 lbs., 12 oz., and measuring 19 inches in length. We're JUST home from the hospital, so I haven't uploaded pictures from our camera yet, but I will soon. She's a beauty, and we're thrilled. Charis and Judah are also very excited, and come home tonight--let the new family begin!

Bed Rest Update

Well, as of last Friday, I'm officially not on strict bed rest. I'm still on "take it easy," but since I'm now 37 weeks along (what a miracle!), my midwife wanted me to be up getting some sort of stamina back and helping my body progress towards labor now. Funny--a couple of weeks ago, I was on a slew of medicine to keep labor at bay, and now we're actually inviting labor to the party. I cannot tell you how ready I am to meet this little lady. No, really--I could try, but I'm not certain it would end up being emphatic enough.

The one glitch is this: because I still have the dadgum stent in, I am unable to be up for very long at a stretch. On my first day of non-bed rest freedom, I may have overdone it a wee bit--and paid the price. So now, I'm just up as much as possible, and the rest of the time I'm laying down. I've tried the whole sitting thing, but my body was not a big fan. I did, however, get a chance to get a haircut and make a trip to Meijer for some post-baby necessities. I thought I'd be able to walk around the store and stretch my legs a little bit, but I was obviously fooling myself; here in the land of the stent, walking more than thirty feet is like taking the long route to Mount Olympus. Instead, I opted for one of those scooter carts. I got some pretty funny looks from people who probably thought I was just being lazy.

In other news, today is Charis' 4th Birthday! I am planning the official Happy Birthday Post, but I want to give it the effort and attention it deserves, which I am at present unable to do. So stay tuned! After Baby Girl arrives and Mr. Stent leaves us, I plan a doozy of a post to celebrate my precious firstborn. I imagine there will also be a celebratory post about our precious Third Born, so stay tuned!

Happy Birthday, Charis! You will always be my Baby Girl.

Since I've Been Gone

Well, it's probably high time for a post. I'm still laying on my side in bed, typing with one hand, so this will probably be brief.

To recap:
I went to the hospital ER in Ohio with severe left flank pain, and was diagnosed with a kidney stone. I was admitted, and the next day they inserted a stent. I do not recommend the stent. It is no fun at all, and is in fact one of the more miserable things I have ever experienced in my life. At the time, I had just entered y 31st week of pregnancy.

Four days later, I endured the longest car ride ever (thanks to the stent) to return home to my family. There, I embarked on a course of bed rest, owing to the fact that I was really incapable of doing much else. My mom stayed with us for a few days to help out and prepare enough food to last us until the next millennium.

I had been home for about five days when I started bleeding and began premature labor. Earlier in my pregnancy, I had been diagnosed with placenta previa, but that condition had been upgraded to "low-lying placenta," which is less serious, but still creates the potential for a C-section. As far as we knew, the bleeding meant that placenta had abbrupted, and we were about to have an emergency C. We rushed to the hospital, where I spent the next five days on some pretty powerful drugs to stop labor. They also gave me a few doses of steroids to "jump start" the baby's development in case SHE came early. Yep, it's a girl! We found out premature girls generally fare better than boys, so we decided to find out the gender of our baby, an unprecedented event in our lives. We met with neonatologists to learn about what would likely take place if our baby was born then, at 32 weeks. Twice during my stay, we seemed to be moments away from having that C section. Obviously, things did not end up that way. When things had stabilized, they sent us home, and prescribed strict bed rest for me. Thankfully, my dad was able to come up and stay with me, and the kids were able to go to Abe's parents' house (during the week) so I could rest as prescribed.

About 3 days later, I spiked a fever and was again admitted to the hospital, this time for a kidney infection (thanks a lot, stent). I was there for three days this time, and they sent me home with some Keflex for the infection, and also Procardia to stave off the contractions that were beginning again.

Three days after that, I went back to the hospital in incredible pain. They basically did nothing for me but tell me to take baths for my "discomfort," and sent me home right away. Two days later, I was still in intense pain, so my midwife advised me to head to the ER. They diagnosed a UTI (thanks again, stent) and gave me Macrobin for the infection and Vicodin for the pain. The nurse told me to take the Vicodin sparingly, so I did. Bad idea.

Two days later, I was back at the hospital, again in intense pain and with contractions five minutes apart. The midwife, after determining that I was not dilated or effaced, gave me more Procardia and told me I could take the Vicodin every 4 hours as I needed for pain. This helped a lot. She then sent me home. At this visit, I had just crossed over into my 35th week of pregnancy. 36 is considered carrying to term, so we were really hoping I'd make it that far. We scheduled an appointment with the midwife for the next Friday for a checkup.

The next Thursday (two days ago), my dad took me to the midwife's office, but not because anything was wrong; I had just completely lost track of the days and thought it was Friday already.

Yesterday, I went to the real appointment, and discovered that I am 75 percent effaced and 1 cm dilated. This really means nothing in terms of delivery time line, but it was encouraging that I was obviously progressing and not having any more bleeding, which means that there is still a chance for a non-C section delivery. She took me off of the Procardia, but I am still (somewhat groggily, most of the time) taking the Vicodin to manage the pain from the stupid stent and kidney stone issues. The stent will not come out until after the baby's arrival, but as of today, I am at 36 weeks, so it could happen any time. Charis was born at 37 weeks, so it could be soon. Judah was born at 39 weeks, so it may not be very soon. At any rate, I continue to be on bed rest in case of other bleeding issues.

Well, this is a very unceremonious ending, but my laptop is about to run out of power, so I will go ahread and post this. Likely, next time you hear fro me, I will be the mother of three!

Out of the frying pan and into the hospital

Again, this will be short, since I'm typing with one hand from a recumbent position. On Tuesday afternoon, after more than a week of kidney-stone-induced bed rest, I found myself in the very scary position of needing to go to the hospital again. This time, it had nothing to do with kidney stones. I will spare you the gory details because they would probably gross you right out, but suffice it to say that when I arrived at the hospital, we were pretty sure that an emergency C section would be in order. At the time, I was 32 weeks along--I'm now 33--and we were briefed by all sorts of medical personnel on what to expect with a per-term baby. They started me on magnesium sulfate to try to stop the labor, and eventually, it worked. It also made me nauseated, churned up all sorts of acid, made me extremely lethargic, and took away any sort of muscle control. My time on that drug was not good. They started me on steroids to try to speed up baby's development, and we waited. Things seemed to have stabilized until Thursday night, when we again believed we'd be celebrating a birthday. We didn't, thankfully. I am now home, but on complete bedrest for the foreseeable future. Please pray that the baby will stay put for many weeks, and pray that my family will survive this time of adjustment. That's all the gusto I have in me for now. If I come by more, I will post again later.

A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to a Relaxing Weekend

I had my first epidural--and did not deliver a baby.

I have to give you the short version because I can't really sit up for very long, which makes things like parenting and housework really hard. But I had--still have--a kidney stone. It's a super lot of fun when you are 32 weeks pregnant and have a large baby resting on your bladder.

I went to the emergency room this past weekend while I was visiting my parents with the kids. Abe was still at home, finishing up drywall, so he wasn't there for the drama. After my dad and I arrived at the ER, they did an ultrasound to confirm their suspicion of a stone and began a regimen of painkillers to help ease the pain. Let me be clear: kidney stones are a million times worse than childbirth in terms of pain. But they couldn't give me any "good stuff" for pain or nausea because of the baby, so they admitted me to the hospital, and then the next day, with the use of a very strong "C-section-type" epidural (which I hated), surgically implanted a stent to relieve the pain of the stone. I was released from the hospital soon thereafter, but my recovery has been particularly slow and uncomfortable, and pretty much all I am able to do is lay on my side all day. It was days before I felt I could travel, so Abe, who arrived on the scene shortly after the surgery, took the kids home while I stayed at my parents' home to recover. I am home now, but I can't do a bloomin' thing except lay on the couch. I am so sick of TV.

I feel very vulnerable saying all of this right now! Sorry if it's too much information. But I wanted to let you know that this has taken me forever to type, and so I will be stepping away from the blog for a few weeks, until either a) I've had the baby, or b) I've had some sort of miraculous recovery. Pray for my husband! He's now got a whole lot on his shoulders.

And pray for me--it's really challenging feeling as useless as I do. While I do want this baby to go to full term so it's healthy, I cannot fathom another 6 weeks of living like this. Pray that my body will figure out how to function so we can get back to life as normal! Thanks so much.

Sleepovers

This past weekend, while Abe and I were enjoying a day away, we farmed the kids out. We sent Charis to her friends Katie and Travis (Charis and Travis apparently think they will be wed someday), and Judah went to Aunt Beth's house to have a sleepover with Gideon and Elise. We've left the kids before, but only with Abe's mom, so this was a new one--and the first time Charis and Judah have been apart for a night.

Uncle Tim and Aunt Beth were over helping work on our house on Friday night, so they just took Judah away with them when they left. Then Abe and I strapped Charis in the van and drove her to our church, where we were dropping her off to be driven to Katie's house by her mom, Tanya. The departures of both children seemed to go smoothly--no tears, no longing looks, no clinging (and the kids did okay, too).

But when we returned home from dropping off Charis (and stopping for ice cream, of course), the phone rang. It was Beth.

"Uh, oh." I said. "What happened?"

"I just need some guidance about what to do. Judah really misses you. A lot. He's in the crib, and he's really, really sad, and I just don't know what to do. Sould I let him cry it out? How long should I wait?"

Poor Judah! I felt terrible that he was so sad. But a part of me was secretly pleased--my little boy misses me. And he asked for me by name. I told Beth to let him cry for a few minutes, as I was sure he was absolutely worn out and would fall asleep soon. We found out the next day that he didn't fall asleep soon--in fact, Beth had removed him from the crib and cuddled with him on the couch, where they both had fallen asleep at about midnight. The next night started out similarly, but Judah ended up falling asleep in the midst of his sadness. Needless to say, he was happy to see us the next day. (And I'm working hard to overcome my jealousy that, even though he asked for me at night, when we walked in to collect him on Sunday, his first words were "Daddy! Daddy!!")

On Sunday, we picked Charis up from church. She seemed to vaguely recognize us ("Hey. You're my mom.") but didn't seem compelled to stop playing and come home with us. I was standing with Tanya, who had hosted Charis for the weekend, as I said to my beloved firstborn, "Charis, I missed you SO MUCH!!!!" Tanya hesitated only slightly before she said, "I wish I could tell you she felt the same." Of course, this is the Charis that never once cried when being left at the church nursery, never scoffed at being left with a babysitter, never seemed sad about our absence--ever. She is the most independent child I have ever known. And while it breaks my heart just a little bit to know that she's perfectly fine with our being gone, I guess I'm glad to know she knows who we are when we return. It's a start...

And Don't Even Get Me Started on the Bottled Water

Hello, all. We had a very nice day today at the ballpark watching the Tigers play the Angels, and while I have approximately the energy of a geriatric cat on Ambien (my friend Jon wrote something like that once, and I frequently imagine myself as that cat--go figure), I figured I'd better write something about it while it's still fresh. And this might take me a while, because apparently, when I'm tired, my fingers don't type very well.

Okay. So, the kids are with others--Charis is chillin' with Katie and Travis, and Judah is hangin' with Gideon and Elise, which means me and the old man have the whole house to ourselves this weekend. Woo Hoo! That might mean something, except for the fact that we have no opportunity whatsoever to sleep in, so the whole no-kids-in-the-morning thing is pretty much wasted. Back to my original point, about the nice day. Are you still with me? 'Cause I'm not sure I am. We got up stinkin' early this morning so's we could get on the road to go spend the day at the ballpark. There was a special program today, see, where Christian speakers get up and share their testimonies and things, and it was pretty cool. So we had to be there at 11 or so for the special program, a mere FIVE hours before the game was to start. We stopped for breakfast beforehand at a local joint called Cracker Barrel--if you're ever in our neck of the woods, you should stop in. You know, they really ought to franchise it or something.

But I digress.

Not that I currently have a train of thought anyway.

It was supposed to be overcast today, with a high of 56 or so, except that NOT SO MUCH. It was sunny and about 95 degrees down near the field, so good thing I wore jeans and a sweatshirt! And not so good about the fact that we wore no sunscreen, because Abe and I both got a little pinker than we would have liked. After the speakers were all done, we had an opportunity to go stand on the field for a "baseball clinic," which, when 5,000 people are in attendance, pretty much amounts to, "Some man is talking about base running--or it may be outfielding. One can't be sure." All the same, it was really cool to stand in the middle of the outfield whilst someone who may or may not be a major league ball player talks about pitching and/or sliding and imagine what it must be like to play a professional sport where 43,000 people come to your house and stare at you while you play.

Really, paragraphs are a lost cause here. I'm just giving you these spaces so you'll have a chance to come up for air.

We still had an hour to kill before kickoff--I mean, before the first two ceremonial pitches were thrown out by some dude named Brandon, and some other dude named, oh, I don't know--we'll say Chris. Who knows. It was not very ceremonial, and do we really need two non-ceremonial pitches? Don't they just cheapen the real ceremonial first pitches? Anyway, to kill some of the time, we thought we'd go find our seats. We had been told they were really good seats in Row 17. And when we heard that, we were all like, WOW! Row 17!! Well, those seats are humdinger! And they were indeed in Row 17, but in Section 329 in the upper-upper deck. And for those of you scoring at home, there are only approximately 21 rows in the upper upper deck, which means we were pert near the top. We so enjoyed the climbing of the stairs that we decided to kill some more time and go back down to the main level for some overpriced treats and then come climb back up the stairs to our version of Row 17--which, if there were any truth in it, they'd call Row 96.

Which brings me to the real travesty of major league ball parks: the overpriced treats.

When we were sitting in the first portion of the program, baking in the sub-Saharan heat (isn't it still April? Isn't it?), I sent the hubby to get us a refreshing beverage. He returned some minutes later with a 32-oz. pop, $4.75 poorer. $4.75. FOR ONE POP. Is that not the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard? I just spent $5.00 this week on a 24-pack of Coke in cans. And while those cans don't hold quite half of the 32 oz. that were in our cup, I was still bitter when I did the mental math and realized they'd marked up my canned pop by about 4,000,000 percent. And don't even get me started on the bottled water; you're not allowed to bring in your own containers of anything, which is presumably so you won't have a choice but to fork out $3.75 for a cheap plastic bottle full of water that likely came from a large faucet in a warehouse somewhere. During the seventh-inning stretch, we were singing about peanuts and cracker jack, and I couldn't help but think that peanuts and cracker jack would set us back about $10. Ah, the ballpark. Where else on the planet would people stand in line to spend $14.50 on a Little Caesar's pizza that they could purchase hot-and-ready a block away for a third of the price?

Moving on from the travesty portion of the program... We went to sit in our nosebleed seats (Wait a minute--my ears just popped from the altitude change--that may still be a travesty) and discovered that the sweltering heat we had experienced only, well, an hour before--heat that made us seriously contemplate spending $5.00 on an icee (AN ICEE!)--had given way to a bone-chilling, Arctic temperature that had us switching our order to the $3.75 hot chocolate. I zipped up my sweatshirt, tugged my hood up over my head, and wrapped myself in my gore-tex to fight off the wind.

Nine innings, a popcorn, nachos, Italian sausage, five waves, and a second mortgage later, we won the game.

Then we walked the block to our parking spot, where we waited for half an hour to move, and then inched along for another half hour until we were shuffled with the rest of the traffic onto the highway to head home. Start to finish, driveway to driveway, we were gone for fifteen hours. We are poorer, bloated, and sunburned. We're stiff from sitting and sore from climbing.

But, you know, it was still a good day.

Go figure.

Now I'm off to curl into a ball, groom my paws, take some Ambien, and go to bed.