Patience

Yesterday was a milestone for me; after being on bed rest for 8 weeks due to preterm labor contractions, I reached the 9 month mark.  It is truly amazing how God can create a masterpiece in a day, a week, or 9 months.  It feels my heart with gladness and joy to know that I am carrying the most precious miracle inside of me, another human being, a living, breathing soul, a masterpiece from God.  Only three weeks and six days left until my little boy's grand debut's date.  I cannot wait to see what my little guy looks likes, feels like, sounds like.  I cannot wait to hear his first cry, see his first smile, and the look on his daddy's face.  I cannot wait to see the look on Jim's face when he holds his son for the first time.  I'm so excited!

In Sunday school last week, our teacher prayed for patience.  (Thanks, Mr. Jim)  Praying for patience is a dangerous thing because you are literally asking God to give you a circumstance where you will have to practice it.  I have learned to not pray for patience, but ask for peace during times of trials or tribulation.  I have learned my lesson about praying for patience.  Well, this week I have learned to practice patience.  I had a scare on Wednesday, thinking I was going into labor.  False Alarm!  Ever since Wednesday, I have been restless and unable to sleep because any minute now, my little guy can arrive.  (Thanks, Mr. Jim) 

A friend of mind told me recently that God sometimes prepares us in the strangest ways for what is about to come.  Well, I am definitely getting prepared for my little guy...no sleep, worrying about the smallest things, going to the extreme with cleanliness (I've been a neat freak, but this is OVERBOARD), and trying to stay calm around Jim, in laws, and outlaws about this baby. 

I'm not asking for patience, I'm asking for peace...it's a much better feeling! 

Pleasantly Plump? NOT!

Throughout my 35 weeks of pregnancy, I have enjoyed every week.  Yes, every week.  Even the weeks where I laid in the bathroom floor praying to the porcelain god that I could throw up.  Yes, even the weeks when I had uncontrollable contractions that made me worry, I have enjoyed.  Those days are history.  I'm not in love with being pregnant anymore.  In fact, I am down right miserable and it's time to complain. 

At 28 weeks, I was put on an IV pump for contractions.  I had medicine going in me every three minutes and large quantities every four hours.  The IV made my heart speed up and the medicine to help with the heart rate made me sleepy.  Around 34 weeks, I came off all the medicine and my doctor decided to let nature take its course.  Well since I've come off the stupid medicine stupid side effects have taken place.  I itch all the time.  People have told me it's dry skin and just apply more lotion.  Who has dry skin on their tongue, inside of their lips, their cheeks, the palms of their hands or the soles of their feet?  (Well, I have to admit, my heels are a little dry, but that's besides the point.)  I wake myself up itching, along with Jim.  On top of itching, my feet remind me of what my great grandmother's looked like, I have no ankles.  Bye-bye cute pregnant Amber.  Hello miserable, kankled, swollen, and waddling Amber.

I know all of these "gifts" will be exchanged for a remarkable gift, but in the meantime, I'm not pleasantly plump anymore, and just down right miserable. 

Daddy's Home

It's the neatest, unexplainable, most amazing feeling in the world to feel the movement of your unborn baby.  My little guy used to move constantly, punching me, kicking me, and doing somersaults in my belly.  Now that I have five weeks to go, his movement has slowed down quite a bit because he really doesn't have much room to stretch or play.  What I have noticed is that when Jim comes home and sits beside me, our little guy goes crazy.  Evidently, he loves his daddy!  Even at night when I snuggle up to Jim or when Jim puts his hand on my belly, the little guy goes insane with his wiggling and squirming.  I can't quite figure it out yet, but I'm elated that the two of them have already formed a bond before he gets here.  I have to admit, I'm a little jealous that he doesn't show out for me, but will show out for his daddy.  Boys will be boys!

Unsolicited Advice

Have you ever had a time when people think they know so much about what you are going through and they empathize or even sympathize with you?  Have you ever had a time when the more wise and experienced give you advice in which their parents or elders gave them?  What about a time when someone gives you random advice?  I welcome advice and even constructive criticism, but my recent pet peeve has become unsolicited advice.

So I'm new to the whole pregnancy and motherhood thing.  Every new mother is.  I often worry about the things I don't know, and as I told my mom, I'm going to look at this go round as a "trial-and-error" thing.  You never know until you try, right?  Recently, I have come across people who give their opinion on EVERYTHING I say, eat, sit, walk, dress, or do while I am pregnant.  I know that I am carrying precious cargo.  I know my limits.  I know how I feel.  I know what I really shouldn't do.  I get so aggravated when people tell me something over and over, or give their opinion when I really don't want it.  Being pregnant has definitely taught me to be patient, but my patience is running thin on people giving advice when they should keep it to themselves.  I know the right thing to do is be benevolent or amiable and smile, but my fake smiles and fake benevolence is running out.  If I want your opinion, I will ask, otherwise, keep it to yourself! 
(I guess I can always blame my emotions on my hormones!)   

Get a Grip!

I have become my own worse nightmare.  I am becoming one of "those" parents.  You know, the kind that makes you want to say, "Get a grip lady, it's not that bad".  As my nursery is starting to come together, I find myself being overly OCD about cleanliness in the nursery.  I'm a neat freak anyway and don't like germs.  This week I found myself Clorox wiping the blinds, the door handles, and the ceiling fan.  Because we have a lady bug infestation in the house right now, I am constantly sweeping the nursery to get rid of the blasted things.  Seriously, where do lady bugs go after their season has come and gone?  Anyway, today I found myself Clorox wiping the inside of the dresser drawers, the rod the clothes hang on, the clothes hangers, and the shelves that I will putting stuff on, too.

That's not the insane part.  After I wiped everything down, I decided that I needed to start washing and putting up the cute little clothes that Baby Rowland has gotten.  After the cute socks, onesies, jon-jons, and sleepers were washed, I saw a need to iron them because they were a little wrinkled.  Sitting in the floor with the iron, I just shake my head and think, "Oh no, I'm one of 'those' parents!"  Does it get any better?

Should you see me doing something that is really insane, please tell me.  Let me know that I need to lighten up!    

Private Property

I've never understood the fascination people have about touching pregnant bellies.  When my best friend was pregnant, I never once touched her belly.  It's weird.  Ever since my belly has expanded, I have had numerous people come and rub my belly.  Some go to the extent of shaking it a little to see if my little guy will move.  It's different if my mom or Jim wants to touch my baby bump, but they don't touch unless I offer.  I've had people at grocery stores, baby stores, and maternity stores rub my belly. Strangers I've never seen touching me.  Seriously, if I wanted someone to touch my belly, I would wear a shirt that says "Rub Me" or "Touch Here."  As tempting as it may be to touch or rub, my belly is private property.  So HAND'S OFF PEOPLE!  I'm sure I'm not going to have the little pats and rubs when my little guy gets here.

I'm Drowning!

Pregnancy comes with a lot of challenges.  Some deal with nausea, being lethargic, moodiness, stretch marks, swelling, cravings, insomnia, and sleeping too much.  All deal with the inevitable, weight gain.  Each woman is different when it comes to gaining weight.  According to the "experts" the ideal weight gain is 25-30 pounds.  Every woman's anatomy is different, so not all will gain the same amount. 

With me being so petite, I figured my doctor would tell me to gain close to 20 pounds, but I was wrong.  She said that she wouldn't get on to me if I gained up to 40 pounds.  40 pounds?!?  This woman has to be INSANE!  Note, before I became pregnant, I weighed 95 pounds, at 5 foot.  I know 130 may be the ideal weight for some women, but not for a petite person like me.  At 31 weeks, I have only gained 15 pounds, which isn't bad, considering I have a little one growing inside of me.

When I was told that I would be on moderate bed rest, my doctor told me to increase my fluid intake.  Fluids such as juice, tea, or Pepsi doesn't count.  Fluid means water, and only water.  Of course I could spice things up a bit and drink Koolaid, but that's it.  I was told to drink a gallon of water at 22 weeks pregnant.  As hard as that was to master, I did my very best.  With moderate bed rest and contractions still not under control, she increased my daily intake of water to two gallons. Yep, two whole gallons of water per day.  A gallon of water weighs 8.3454 pounds.  Multiply that by two, that's 16.6908 pounds of fluid intake per day.  Multiply nearly 17 pounds of water intake by 12 weeks, that's 1404.0272 pounds of water intake for the remainder of my pregnancy.  No wonder my doctor said 40 pounds was okay, heck, I'm to consume more than a thousand pounds of liquid in 12 weeks! How am I supposed to be on moderate bed rest when I dash to the restroom every three minutes? 

I'll be honest, I cannot drink two gallons of water a day.  The best I can do is a gallon and a half.  Go ahead, try and see if you can do it.  I dare ya!  When this little boy is born, bye-bye water, hello the good stuff!