Nine

Ahem, nine days.

Yes, I said NINE DAYS.  That is a single digit number of days left, you guys.

In nine days, I will have three kids/my last kid/a daughter.

I'm far more nervous than I think I should be after having already done this three times.  I'm more nervous about having Vivian than I was before I had Gavin and was facing the journey into being a single mom to two kids - one being a newborn the other being a super active three year old.

I didn't do this with the boys - maybe because they are boys, but I have spent a substantial amount of time reliving the day I went into labor with Anabel over the last week.  That, I think, is what is causing the bulk of my nerves.  The fear of something being wrong and her being taken from me.  

I'm not trying to turn this into a sad, weepy, woe-is-me post.  Just being honest.  Also?  I ask you guys to pray all the time, so you shouldn't be surprised that I'm calling on you again.  I ask that you please pray for Vivian to be healthy and whole and to live a long, happy life.  

I'm not sure how much more I'll be posting until she is born.  I have a lot of stuff I have been procrastinating about (as I previously mentioned once or twice).  So, I imagine I will be pretty busy for the next nine days.

If you don't hear from me until after baby day, I promise baby pictures in that post :)

Wish us luck!

Oops, I did it again

Oh y'all.  I did it again.

I dragged someone to the hospital in the middle of the night for no reason.

False labor tricked me again.  My contractions hurt so badly that I was in tears.  So, even though I felt really dumb when they sent me home, I don't think I would have done anything differently had I been presented with the situation again.  I must have looked as defeated as I felt when they told me they didn't think I was in labor because Jimmy told me over and over again, "please don't be upset.  You are just being a good mom."  Because (as I have mentioned) he is amazing.

So, trying to look at the bright side: now there is a bag packed.  It took me over an hour to get it packed because I was refusing to let him do it, and I kept stopping to have contractions or look for things that I had walked past 40 times or things I had already packed.

Jimmy: "if they send us home tonight with no Vivian, you leave this suitcase packed!"

Me: "duh."

I'm actually kind of glad that I had this experience.  Having a scheduled c-section is 99% awesome.  I won't list the reasons, but they are numerous.  However, what you don't get is that "OMG, this could be it!" experience, so even though the drive to the hospital on c-section day is very much exciting, it's different.

This little dry run was quite enjoyable in hindsight because I got to see Jimmy's reaction to me possibly being in labor.  He was a nervous wreck (although still managed to pry the bows I was trying to pack for Vivian out of my hands and hide them from me....he gave them back yesterday, and I snuck them into the bag because two can play that game).

At one point, I was dealing with Gavin and I'm pretty sure I heard him in the bathroom hyperventilating.  

Me: "are you having an anxiety attack?!"

Him: "no. (gasp). I'm fine. (gasp). I promise. (gasp)"

Once we finally got loaded into the car and got Gavin dropped off with my mom (Silas was already there), Jimmy drove like a lunatic until I gave him "the look" at which point he rambled off into a speech about how he was sorry and I had to trust that he would never do anything to put mine or Vivian's lives in danger but he was very nervous about me having a baby in the front seat of his truck what with us living, like, an hour from the hospital.  Also, he slowed down.

Once we got to the hospital, they hooked me up to the monitor which tracked my contractions and monitored Viv's heartbeat.  Her heart rate sounded pretty steady while the nurse and I chattered away, and then Jimmy spoke for the first time.  Her heart started racing, and he and I got little happy tears.  It was insanely sweet to hear her reaction to her daddy's voice.

They checked to make sure I wasn't dehydrated (I was not - thank you very much) and made sure I wasn't "progressing" (I wasn't), and then just kept coming back to ask about whether or not the pain was getting worse (it was).  Finally, they decided to sedate me (I think my nurse felt sorry for me because I was so tired but couldn't sleep for the pain and couldn't stop crying).

After the medication kicked in (3 am, obvi), they woke Jimmy up (I had insisted he go to sleep on the little couch) and told him he could take me home.  

I haven't taken any sort of sedative-type medication since I had Gavin, so I was a mess.  I put the seat back in the truck and tried to sleep but kept popping up to speak every random thought that occurred to me, "I really like the color gray!"  We got home at 4 am, and I somehow managed to climb the stairs and fall into bed.  The last thing I remember before drifting off into insane dreams was Jimmy kissing my cheek and saying, "thank you for being so brave."  (ugh, he's sickeningly perfect at being a good fiance/baby daddy).

I spent most of yesterday on the couch trying to come back from the land of Oz.

Today it's back to work as usual.  My last week of work before taking a few days off to finally tackle the last of the last minute preparations for Vivian.  

The dry run was embarrassing, but it certainly let me know I am in good hands.

One week, four days.  Eeek!

Just a couple of things

BEARDS
Can the whole of the male species get together and have a chat about knocking it off with this beard nonsense?  (Excuse me ladies who like a rugged-looking man. I apologize for stepping on your toes, but I cannot handle it anymore).  

I just want my clean-shaven fiance back, but he seems to have the impression that it is perfectly fine to go weeks without shaving.  I have a sneaking suspicion it is because the rest of the male population has decided: shaving is work.  Work is bothersome.  Out with shaving!  Either knock it off or I'm calling a meeting of women to discuss leg hair (shaving is work.  work is bothersome.  out with shaving!  catch my drift?)

Exactly

DRIVING
Now, I can't speak for the rest of the country, but in Texas, driving has gotten bad (okay, worse).  I'm flabbergasted at the lack of respect for the yield sign.  People are coming off the highway at 60 mph and trying to slow down to merge into much slower traffic.  The slower traffic is supposed to look at that upside triangle that says YIELD and know "oh, hey, people are coming off the highway and probably want to get home to their families instead of dodging and weaving and having collisions with my self-involved ass, so maybe I should slow down and let them get on the frontage road safely."  But they don't.  They just keep driving, and if you are coming off the highway, well, you figure it out.  I have taken a little survey to make sure that I'm not just pissed off because I grew up in a state of far superior drivers (I'm sorry, but it's true), and the Texans seem to agree with me that it is out of hand.  So, now you know it's bad.

Also, (and this is just something that I think irks me as a southerner) what happened to the "thank you" wave?  I'm pretty much a pushover in traffic.  You put on your blinker?  I'll let you over.  That simple.  But, you know, it's kind of nice for you to then acknowledge that I did you that solid.  NO ONE DOES THIS ANYMORE.  Why?  No, seriously, I demand an explanation.  It requires very little effort to just hold up your hand to say, "I appreciate you letting me into traffic instead of making me sit on the side of the road praying that someone would let me get in so I can get where I'm going."  Because, honestly, have you tried to merge in this city?  Or change lanes?  No one is going to help you out.  You stumbled upon the nicest driver in all of Dallas, and you can't even be like, "that was super weird that someone was just nice to me on the road here.  Maybe I'll give a little wave."  Nope, you just want to make me resent all of you and turn into another selfish, entitled Texas driver.

I realize I've probably just offended half the people I know with this post, but at least you know I will tell you your faults to your face (or over the internet) and not lie and tell you that your beard is fabulous (it's not) and that I think you are an excellent driver (you aren't).

You're welcome for that.

Getting it right

Planning our wedding took me back to Pinterest. I hadn't been on the site in months, and now it has become my go-to website when I have time to kill.

There is something about the perfect storm that is being pregnant and being engaged and browsing Pinterest that is assaulting my emotions. "Best songs for your father-daughter" dance almost did me in and with that came the notion that my grandmother isn't going to be there either.

Maybe you are thinking "it's your third marriage - what's the big deal?" And that is fair.

The thing is, it IS a big deal because Jimmy should have been my first marriage. He is the only person in the 15 years since I started dating who actually makes sense for me. And maybe I wouldn't know that had I not made those first two mistakes. What I do know is that I always questioned whether or not I had listened to God in the slightest when it came to Shane and Michael. Before, during, and after those marriages.

Right now, I KNOW I'm doing the right thing.

When we first got engaged, I went back and forth about whether or not to have a wedding. "It's my third marriage. What will everyone think?"

And then I sat down and thought and came to the conclusion that what matters is not what anyone thinks but what feels right to me.

A wedding is a celebration of the decision two people have made to commit to one another. And, frankly, I want to celebrate everything about my relationship with Jimmy.  Our relationship and the happiness it brings to us is something I am excited to share with our family and friends.

Jimmy and I have both overcome so many things in our lives - things that would have annihilated some people. Our loved ones have watched us make wrong turns and bad choices. Stood helplessly watching while our lives for one reason or another collided with heartache and tragedy. These people who love us and see the good in us probably wondering if we'd ever get it right.

And when Jimmy and I stumbled upon one another, we were both at the tail end of cleaning up the messes we had made of our lives. Overcoming the heartache inflicted on us by people we had loved. We were each at a place of beginning. A place of starting over. A place of taking what we had learned and applying it in order to be better and have more.

And somehow when we each started down that road of beginning, we found that our individual roads intersected and then merged into one. We found that the journey was much better with each other as companions. That it made the bumps along the way less harsh if we held hands.

This love was a divine accident, and that is absolutely something worth celebrating.

So, that is why it is a big deal. That is why I wish my father and grandmother could be there. To see me finally get it right and celebrate my true happiness, true joy, true love.

Although I cannot make that happen, I can and will surround myself with as many of the people as I can who have cheered me on, held my hand, encouraged, and loved me through those parts of my life where I was trying so hard but getting it all wrong.

And I will beam at them through my tears of joy as they share in the celebration of me finally getting it right.

Nesting

Lest you think nesting is not a real thing, let me just inform you that I got out of bed at 7:30 yesterday morning (I was off work and the boys were still with their dad) and started a marathon of cleaning, organizing, and doing laundry that did not end until I went to bed at 9:45 last night.

This happens to me every pregnancy without fail, and thank God.  Seriously.  If it wasn’t for this little last minute, panicky burst of energy coming over me out of the blue, I don’t think any of my children would have had a stitch of clothing to wear when they were born.

It always causes me to do weird things I’ve been putting off as well – like go through 4 years of little boy clothes in search of things to give to someone who is about to have a little boy.  My aunt asked me to do this about 3 months ago, but every time I have thought about doing it, I have gotten overwhelmed and found something else (anything else) to do (don’t worry, she’s due after me – I’m not a total asshole).  You have absolutely no idea the amount of clothing accumulated when a person has two children, is a shopaholic and has a shopaholic mother and aunt.  So far, new baby has four boxes of clothes, blankets, bibs, etc.  I’m not done collecting for new baby.  Ran out of time. 

That is what I was doing between washing Vivian’s clothes/blankets (shopaholics made that a fun task too) and all the normal laundry that has accumulated in the midst of my being sick/pregnant and perpetually tired/lazy.  And when that wasn’t going on, I was organizing everyone’s bedrooms and washing new bottles and organizing the garage.  Just pure randomness.

I had a little hmmm, could I be going into labor??? moment on Sunday (no, I didn’t go to the hospital, smart ass).  And apparently my body/brain decided enough was enough on the procrastinating.  So, when Jimmy forgot everything and came back home half a dozen times yesterday morning before going to work, my brain switched on and said, “GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!”

I’m still not done (like, our bag still is not packed, and I really don’t want to have to rely on Jimmy to do that should I actually go into labor).  The nursery still isn’t 100% together, but we do have an assembled crib and some teeny diapers and some formula (I’m sorry but I cannot hear your tsk-tsking about me not breastfeeding because I have tried valiantly with 2 children, failed both times, and flat out refuse to put myself or Vivian through it) and some receiving blankets and some bottles and some clean clothes.

What I’m trying to say is: a rather large dent has been made in the to do list.  Yay nesting!

As far as my neurosis is going, I’m now having frequent anxiety about all the tubal-ligation-screwing-up-women’s-hormones horror stories I’ve been blessed to hear recently (and – okay – I kind of Googled it after the personal stories started, and if someone could just take away my Google access, that would be greeeeeeeeeeeat).  I’m severely concerned considering I just got my anxiety under control a little more than a year ago, and the thought of traveling back down that path (or a worse path – God forbid) makes me want to cry or scream or do both simultaneously.  Once again, I’m left to pray.

So, that’s pretty much the gist of where I am on the almost baby time front.

Two weeks, three days.  Woo hoo!!!

Officially, official

As you may have seen on Instagram, it is officially official (i.e. Jimmy and I are officially engaged).

Friday evening, something seemed off when Jimmy came home from work.  He usually calls and lets me know he is headed that way, but Friday he just came through the door unexpectedly.

Normally he puts his stuff down and heads upstairs to shower and then comes down to eat.  Instead, he spent a good 45 minutes pacing around the kitchen talking ninety to nothing about work and fidgeting while I sat on the couch thinking he sure was in a weird mood.  At one point, he blurted out, “I’m going to have a glass of wine if you don’t mind?”  I laughed at him because he doesn't like wine, but it was the only alcoholic beverage in the house, and I assumed he’d had a rough day or what not.  “Yeah, sure, I don’t care.”

Three glasses of wine later, he worked his way into the living room and stood slightly behind me and said this, “So, I come home from work every day, and I am filthy, and I itch, and I smell terrible…”  I turned around laughing to look at him like he was nuts and said, “oooookay…” and that is when he got down on one knee and produced a ring and said, “but will you marry me anyway?”

It was adorable, and I couldn't stop giggling at him once it all came together for me.  It was so cute to me that he had been so nervous about asking a question he already knew the answer to.

He informed me that 1. He was late getting home because he had left work and went to pick up my ring.  That is also why he didn't call.  He was worried I was going to figure out what he was up to before he could get home.  2.  He had drank the wine because he was so incredibly nervous and wanted some liquid courage.  3.  He had asked in that manner because he just did not know what to do to surprise me and wanted to catch me off guard.  He had tried to figure out my Pinterest password to see if he could get ideas from there because he wanted it to be special for me, but he couldn't figure it out and gave up.  (I’m not surprised.  I don’t know what it is either.)

All in all, I love the memory.  I adore how boyishly nervous he was.  I love that he tried so hard to surprise me.  I love him to pieces, and I so look forward to spending my life with him.

Get your Cowboy boots ready.  We’ll be gettin hitched in August!

Torn

So, I'm 3.5 weeks from having this baby, and I am awash with mixed emotions.

Firstly, there is fear.  How are the boys going to handle this?  How am I going to handle the second straight year of sleep deprivation, teething, and spit up?  The laundry.  I mean, should I just give up on the laundry after she's born?  Just burn it all and buy new once a month?  (J/K....mostly).  How do I take three kids to Target?  How do I manage the stairs with Gavin and Vivian?  How horribly terrible is maternity leave with a one year old and a newborn going to be?  And, of course, that damn epidural.  I pray nightly that I won't jump and that they won't have to do it more than once.

Two nights ago I dreamed that my doctor forgot to tie my tubes, and I had a complete and total meltdown about it.  So, I feel even more confident in my decision since I wasn't even slightly relieved in my sub conscience.  I told my doctor about my dream and encouraged her not to forget.  She laughed at me.

Secondly, there is an emotion I can't quite figure out how to name.  I don't want to call it sadness because I am not sad in the least about meeting my darling daughter.  But I am going to miss work (please stop rolling your eyes at me).  My job can be all things hard, stressful, frustrating, anger-inducing, and sometimes even boring. But mostly I like coming to work.  I like interacting with my co-workers.  I like what I do (most of the time).  I like the satisfaction I get in doing certain things well.  I like using my brain to figure out complex things.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to miss the drive or the days when it is boring or entering my billing or the sometimes overwhelming stress, but I am going to miss working.

Thirdly, I feel unready/behind/ill-prepared.  I look back at just how prepared I was for Gavin at this stage and am astounded by how not prepared I am for Vivian.  People keep talking about me going into labor, which I guess at this point is technically possible, but I'm just behaving as if I have all the time in the world.  All those contractions that sent me running to the hospital once a week with Gavin?  I just ignore them now and go to bed.  My motto has become: if it's labor, eventually it will wake me up in screaming pain, and then I will involve the professionals and deal with it. 

Her crib?  Not even out of the box.  Her nursery?  Totally empty (save for the box full of un-assembled crib).  Our bag?  Not packed.  Her clothes?  Not washed (but you already knew that, didn't you?).  Her come home outfit?  Not purchased.  Carseat?  Not installed.  Newborn diapers and such?  Not purchased.  Her changing table?  Needs painting.  Her dresser?  Not even at my house.  Coverage at work?  Not determined.  

I keep telling myself, "I'll work on all of that this weekend" and then the weekend comes and goes and nothing is accomplished.  So, the current plan is to work on it this weekend...

Lastly, there is obviously an exorbitant amount of excitement.  I envision being in the OR and hearing her cry for the first time, seeing Jimmy holding her, holding her myself - and happy tears (obvi).  I cannot wait for all of that.  I cannot wait to see what she looks like and to snuggle her and set out on this journey of raising her with a man I am so proud to have as the father of my daughter.  

Because I've already done this before, I know it all comes together.  I know everything gets done and that everyone in the house adjusts to having one more person.  I know that sleep deprivation and teething and spit up eventually end, and they are survivable.  And mostly I know that this is the very last time I get to do any of this.  And I honestly think that is why I am not in a hurry to get ready for it.  Because I know just how fast it is going to fly by.  Just how soon that first birthday is going to be here.  Just how much I am going to ache for that first everything once I can never experience it again.  

And so I am going to linger and savor it and try with all my might to enjoy every minute - even the minutes when I want to scream and pull my hair out and day drink (don't tell me you have never had the fleeting thought).

So, here is to round three closing in on me.  Woosah...