Being pregnant.

I'm baffled by the speed of this year. Some time during the spring, everything suddenly took on a speed and complexity that baffled my mind. Or maybe my poor brain was addled with too many hormones.  Ah, pregnancy. I know enough to be grateful for this healthy pregnancy and the baby who looked great on Tuesday. Oh, yes. And still, I'd like my body to work more effortlessly. It'd be nice to pick things up with ease or to keep up with my two year old without desperation or to sleep a full night. But, truly, I don't want to complain. I've had a sense of calm about this pregnancy from the beginning. Everything is okay, my brain and body say. And I am deeply grateful for that. 

My first pregnancy was easy. Ridiculously easy. Of course, I had time to take special care of myself - massages, yoga (for free!), water aerobics. I didn't love my OB, but hadn't really thought much about that. I knew my mom had no trouble with birth, and assumed I would be the same. The biggest concerns were how to walk the dog with a baby and if my husband would be halfway across the country when I went into labor. The dog part worked out so I walked her less. Poor puppy. And I never needed to worry about where we'd be. I had to be induced. It wasn't my dream labor, I didn't want to have an epidural, but the contractions were clustering in ways that allowed no break and I was making no progress from 7 centimeters. So, after the drugs and an hour's nap, I was ready. I told them to turn off the damn medicine, which they did with only moderate grumbling, and then a crowd flowed freely into the delivery room (they were worried she'd be huge and get a shoulder stuck) and I pushed out my under 8 pound baby girl. That moment of transformation is beyond words.  I felt kissed by the divine.

My second pregnancy was awful. No heartbeat, and my body did nothing. Nothing. I carried death and I hated my body for not doing what was needed.  I was so lucky to have switched to a new OB, who will forever be the best doctor I have ever met. Her compassion and focus and care were wonderful. Especially through the turmoil. It ended with surgery and tears and pushed my relationships in ways I cannot think of without tears. My grandmas, who would have known, were gone, and instead I was surrounded by family who needed as much handholding from me as I did from them. Instead, a friend reached out to me and gave me the soft place I needed. And then more friends showed up with their stories and their knowing eyes. Miscarriage is painful and frightening, and I am almost ashamed to say that it taught me humility and such deep gratefulness for what I have and reminded me of the power of connections with women.

My third pregnancy was fraught. There were clots, I had a clotting disorder. The best moment, was a specialist telling me that the disorder was inconsequential. Best word ever. And then in a hurtle of crazy, we were welcoming a house guest, who turned into a roommate and then we were moving.  I had no time to think. Except worry that my husband would be halfway across the state when I went into labor. He drove up no less than four times in a month, finally staying put. Have I said that his workplace is wonderful? It is. But, I started worrying that he'd need to head back and set up an induction date. And promptly that night went into labor. (I followed advice given by my OB and it got things going.)  It wasn't short labor, but nearly 24 hours later, I pushed out my second baby girl. Hooray--- wait. I didn't get to hold her. They called in NICU nurses. My heart stopped. There were no cries. She had taken a large gulp of amniotic fluid and needed to be suctioned, but about 30 minutes later, she was in my arms. Those were agonizing minutes. They felt like days. I worried, but her lungs sounded great the next day, and though they continue to react a bit more than her big sister's, they are good strong lungs.

And now, we're here. Moving again. By choice. Having to do construction work first. Having to sell a house again. Oh, gosh, I hope it sells fast!  I hope the baby waits at least a week after we move. But, I don't control those things. So, instead, I sort girl clothes into sizes again. I resort the toys into their bins for easier moving. I go through the art supplies and the games and find missing pieces and dried out pens.  I'm trying to find peace and order in a world that is in complete chaos.  I guess that's what we're all doing.

My birthday came and went too and what remains most is this silly song my mama sang me: "Happy birthday to you, you live is a zoo, you look like a .... (pregnant pause)... hippo, ....." I finished it with "and I waddle like one too." Because I do.  And sorry for the bad pun. I can't help myself sometimes.

Our house is still littered with boxes from our wonderful far flung family. Boxes that soon will help move our lives to a new home. We had a good Christmas. The best gifts were books, as they often are. But the best toy is a basket that is hidden behind a couch I had to move to set the tree up. It's a train, and the girls go everywhere in it. Even Hawaii. Of course, the very best gift is being here, almost healthy again from the dang croup virus, with two lovely girls and my best friend who looks at me with the best twinkle in his eyes.