Quiet Milestones

Today. Today is the day.

Warning: This is a pregnancy post. There is no way around it.

Today I am 31 weeks and 5 days along in this pregnancy.

The last time I was 31 weeks and 5 days into my pregnancy, I had a quiet day planned, much like today. I don't remember much before 10 am, when I experienced that mysterious gushing and a few hours later, after going to work for an hour and making muffins for a family in our ward, I figured out that something wasn't right and I should probably go get checked.

What followed was one of the biggest nightmares and traumatic experiences of my life. Yes, we made it through, we survived, Kevin survived, and everyone is now healthy and happy (unless it is naptime or bedtime, that is).

But something about being a pregnant a second time is forcing me to relive many of those experiences and wonder why I didn't do things differently. I've always said that it would take more courage to have a second baby and now I am discovering that sometimes it is hard to muster that courage--even when you don't have any choice. Do I know enough now to do things differently this time around, or will I have to go through six IVs and not get my epidural until the very last second and then not be able to hold or nurse my baby right away again?

Is it even possible to plan for Italy when all you know is Holland?

So many questions. No answers.

Just a lot of waiting, hoping, and praying.

Every child is different, and so it follows that every pregnancy will be different. There have been some things that have been easier this time around (a significant decrease in morning sickness, better overall health, and not having to balance three jobs and a full class load with pregnancy) but also things that have been much more challenging than hourly dates with the toilet.

In addition to the blood sugar checks, abundance of appointments, daily insulin shots (total is nearing 350 shots I've given to myself in the last twelve weeks), weekly progesterone shots (which sometimes feel like getting stabbed with a three inch long quilting needle, depending on the nurse), carpal tunnel in my wrists, back pain, cramping, and other general pregnancy symptoms (I left many things out)...there is the mental game I have been playing with myself for the last few weeks.

It isn't just a general round of being depressed. It isn't that I've suddenly become a cussing queen (my grandpa would be proud) or that I have turned into an introvert who now struggles being in large crowds and holding conversations or being around people in general.

It's the fear and the knowledge that I have so little control over how this pregnancy will end. We have so many questions, the biggest of all being when will he come? But then there is also the question of if he will spend time in the NICU and how much time he will spend there and how we will balance everything if that is the case. There is the question of how big he will be and if I will be able to deliver vaginally or if we will be stuck with a C-section and how do you recover from that while taking care of a toddler and newborn all day? And how will Kevin handle all of this? Are we ruining her life, or making it better? And how do we balance a child at home and one in the hospital? And what happens when grandparent detox meets new baby brother meets a teething toddler? How will we survive?

For now, we have survived today. That is something. The hospital bag is halfway packed, the nursery is 80% put together, and we have a name picked out.

We aren't ready, but we are.

Fathers of Daughters

It was yesterday, 10:00 pm. Since the sun refuses to go to bed, my Kevin refuses to go to bed also, and neither of her parents were up to fighting bedtime for an hour, so we just let her stay up. We're weak like that. And exhausted.

So when we finally decided to attempt bedtime and family scripture study last night, we agreed to read half as much as we usually do and call it good and hope to get to sleep before midnight.

I started reading. I made it through a few verses. By the time I got to the middle of the page, I couldn't hear myself think, much less comprehend what I was reading. 

I looked over and Scott and Kevin had started an epic game of "stick the stuffed kitty on the top of daddy's head and laugh hysterically when it falls off."

I shook my head, smiled, and kept reading until I had gotten all the way through our normal routine of reading two pages. The two of them barely noticed. 

It's just their thing. I'm starting to get that. It's what they do.  Like how after dinner, she crawled into my arms, looked at Scott, and said, "I need a tickle!" or how she runs away from him every day when he gets home from work until she decides she just can't help but hugging him.

Or how, the night before, when she wouldn't go back to bed after teething pain woke her up at 2 am (seriously, are we ever going to catch a break?), she eventually woke up all four of us (baby brother included, he loves middle-of-the-night parties), and as she was enjoying a snack of graham ("gaham") crackers dipped in milk, all of the sudden she looked at Scott and asked,

"What happened? To your face?"

Here's the answer: she happened.

There should be something special about every relationship between a parent and a child. There is something so beautiful about mothering a daughter. There is something untouchable about that cliche "Mama's boy." But that daddy-daughter relationship? I'd venture to say it results in more tears, giggles, butterflies, shotgun sales, hugs, kisses, and smiles than any other relationship on earth.

So while this daughter of ours drives us completely nuts, it still breaks my heart when I wake up to her crying at the crack of dawn, moaning, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy to work!" because she heard his car drive away as she was waking up.

And I've gotten used to certain behaviors where he has shifted the focus from me to her: Saturday morning cuddles. Matching his tie to her Sunday dress instead of mine. Planning our weekends around what activity would bring a big smile to her face.

I remember talking to my dad on the phone a few months ago and complaining about how I had spent all day doing things for my daughter--reading, playing, battling, feeding, cuddling--and how she wouldn't even give me a hug but the second Scott walked through the door, she ran to him with open arms and planted a big kiss on his cheek.

I could hear the smile in my Dad's voice when he said, "That's just what daughters do to mothers."

And I realized: that's exactly what I did (and still on occasion, do) to my mother.

My dad's statement wasn't a commentary on the daddy-daughter relationship as much as it was him revealing a truth to me: no matter how close I get to my daughter, I will never be her daddy, which means he gets all the kisses and hugs and I get the leftovers.

Good thing #2 is a boy. 

Because guess what else I've realized in the past few weeks? 

Momma's boys make the best daddies.

Rinda's Reads: Kevin's Picks for Father's Day Shopping

It has been a while since I've posted a reading list update. I don't really have any new grown-up reads that have overly impressed me, but I thought I might lend a hand to some of you doing Father's Day shopping this week.

Here is a book for Dads that I found at the library yesterday. It truly is adorable and even Scott said we may have to buy a copy for ourselves to add to our collection:



Daddies do it Different by Alan Lawrence Sitomer
This book follows a pattern of a little girl and her parents and the differences in the way they do things--when Mommy gets her dressed, everything matches and her hair looks perfect. Daddy, on the other hand, likes to combine stripes and dots and put lots of gel in her hair to make her curls go crazy.

And a book for Grandpa's:



How to Babysit a Grandpa by Jean Reagan
One of Scott's brother's families gave this book to Grandpa Fowler a few years ago. This year we decided to give it to my Dad (aka Papa) for Father's Day. There are lots of helpful instructions (like appropriate snacks and how to get Papa to nap) for any little one "babysitting" a grandparent.

And if you happen to have a Grandma with a birthday or some other holiday coming up, you could check out the book that we gave Scott's mom for her birthday this week:



How to Babysit a Grandma by Jean Reagan
This one is just as cute as the Grandpa one!

"That Scare You?"

Kevin has reached a new phase that has taken me by surprise. Though she's always been a bit jumpy, she is usually fearless and oblivious to anything that would normally terrify either of her parents (we're a little bit chicken). Over the past week or so, however, she has started to recognize fear as an emotion she feels. Any loud noise (even our relatively quiet vacuum cleaner), sudden movement, or passing animal makes her shake and come running to one of us as she asks, "That scare you?"

My usual response to this is to put my arm around her and talk about whatever has been scaring her. "No, that doesn't scare me. They are just doing some work on the hospital and it gets kind of noisy." or "No, you don't need to be scared of the dogs. They are in their yard and we don't have any dogs in our yard."

Still, fifty times a day I am being asked, "That scare you, Momma?"

Maybe, though, it is an appropriate question. No, I am not scared of vacuums or hammers or loud noises (I am not a big fan of dogs, however), but it seems like over the past week I have found more and more things to be scared about.

I am scared that the spike in my blood sugar means that something is wrong.
I am scared that these backaches aren't normal and might actually be preterm labor.
I am scared because I can't tell the difference between cramps and contractions since I never had a normal contraction before.
I am scared that my water is going to break early again and I just can't control any of it.
I am scared that this baby will come too early and premie boys don't do as well as premie girls.
I am scared for Kevin, and what will happen to her and who will take care of her if I suddenly end up on bed rest or in a hospital for weeks.
I am scared that this baby isn't going to be okay.

Mostly, I am scared of going back to Holland when we have been working so hard to get to Italy this time.

I remember telling friends in the months after we finally brought Kevin home from the hospital that it will take a lot more courage for us to have a second baby than it did for us to face the first. With our first, we had no idea what was going to happen, it just did, and there was some kind of bliss and comfort in our ignorance--we simply didn't know any better. Now I know what could happen and I am increasingly anxious because I don't know when it will happen, but I fully expect it to.

That scares me.

I keep telling myself, and God, and this baby that all we need to do is make it to 32 weeks. I know we can survive having a baby at 32 weeks (we've done it before). And although I don't really want a baby in July (we have too many July babies in our family already), quite frankly I would be ecstatic if we made it past 34, or 35, or 36 weeks.

I just don't know if my nerves can hold on that long.

There is a reason, I think, that we are told that great truths come from the mouths of babes. There is also a reason, I think, that Kevin has started having this "scared" phase...it is to remind me that it is okay to be scared sometimes, and it is okay if the things that scare us seem silly to others.

And sometimes asking, "That scare you?" is a nice way of sharing our fears with those we trust.

Because sometimes all you really need is someone to put their arm around you and say, "it is scary, but you will be okay."