Ready or Not

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would still be pregnant on August 12th. August 1st or 2nd maybe...but certainly not the 12th.

I am counting my blessings.

And my stretch marks, medical payments, bruises, and hours of pregnancy left...

Tomorrow is the big day. When we originally found out that we were due on August 17, I thought it would be so neat if he came on August 13th because that is my "MTC birthday" as my trainer put it. Six years ago tomorrow I entered the MTC and started my Texas mission journey. Tomorrow I begin a whole new kind of mission.

Mothering a little boy.

Six years ago, my mind raced all day and time moved so slowly and yet raced past at the same time. I had dozens of things written on my to do list, but only the very most vital things got done, and most of that happened after nine pm that night. Today has passed much the same way. Tomorrow, everything changes and I have no idea what to expect.

That might sound silly, since I've been at this mothering thing for twenty-nine months now. But everything happened differently then. By the time we reached four days before my due date, I was back into normal clothes, a pro at pumping breastmilk and taking care of my girl, and planning my graduation day and her baby blessing that weekend.

This time around, everything has happened according to schedule. The only real surprise we've had is that nothing surprising has happened. The nursery is done, I actually have a hospital bag packed (I may have to blow the dust off of it, since it has been packed for two months), we have a schedule figured out for people bringing in meals, and there is an actual reality that we may be home--with a baby--by Saturday morning at the latest.

I'm sure this baby will find ways to show us he is still in charge and that childbirth (and parenting) is not something I have complete control over. Case in point, last Thursday. I had back-to-back appointments that afternoon, so I had coerced my parents into taking Kevin for a day (and keeping her another day so that I could have a childless "Day of Rinda" and a last one-on-one date night with Scotty). I began the day tired but hopeful that everything would go smoothly. I ended it by crying myself to sleep.

The appointment with the endocronologist (diabetes doctor) went well. We ran a few errands in between and then headed to the Women's Clinic. The doctor was running on time but they still decided to do the Non Stress Test (NST) before I saw my doctor. Baby boy decided not to cooperate and wouldn't give them satisfactory readings on the NST...he was moving enough to keep us all from being really concerned, but not enough for my doctor to give me the okay. Since she had two patients in labor and one waiting for a C-section, she decided to just send me up to the hospital for a biophysical profile (BPP). I'd had one of these at the perinatologist's office the week before, so I wasn't very concerned.

Somehow, between leaving the clinic and making it to the hospital (less than five minutes drive), the plan had changed without us being told anything. I wasn't given a BPP, but rather admitted and hooked up to monitors for what ended up being a three-hour long NST. And, to make things even more fun: enter extremely painful contractions.

I stayed pretty optimistic through the first hour to an hour and a half or so...and then I looked around and started reviewing the day and the PTSD kicked in. There were so many similarities between this day and the day I went into labor with Kevin: it was a Thursday, I went to the Diabetes doctor, it was supposed to be a routine checkup, the hospital room felt dirty and forgotten, I had been told what was going to happen to me rather than asked permission, Scott didn't know what to do and so he settled in a corner and started watching TV, I hadn't gotten to see my actual doctor...there were too many things the same to count them as coincidences. About the only thing that wasn't the same was the fact that this time I wasn't really in labor (that would have been nice, actually).

It is not a good idea to put an almost-overdue diabetic pregnant woman in a dark room with bad cable and non-functioning air conditioning and no water and make her suffer through both snack time and dinner without any food. It is a recipe for an emotional breakdown and that's just what happened, later on that night when the PTSD really kicked in.

"I can't do that again," I cried to Scott. I can't do childbirth the same way I did it with Kevin. I can't do it alone this time and I can't do it without getting some positive attention from medical professionals (tylenol and ambien don't cut it) and some questions answered and somebody listening to my needs and wants. I felt like the whole time we were at the hospital on Thursday I was just reliving what I'd already been through--and more than anything, I was mad at myself for not demanding things go differently. I knew all he needed was the BPP. I should have made them send me to the ultrasound department instead of letting them admit me. I should have demanded someone get some air flowing and bring me a huge glass of ice water and let me eat a snack. I should have, I should have, I should have...but I didn't. All I did was steal the remote back from Scott so that I didn't have to suffer through contractions and  Seinfeld (I like Seinfeld once in a while, but this was not the right time) and make him get me a cup of water so I didn't die of dehydration and so my contractions wouldn't be as painful.

All evening, I had conversations with God. I was mad at Him. Furious, even. "Why would you do that to me?" I asked. "Why would you make me relive all of that when I'm days away from facing it again?"

I still have no answer. Scott gave me a beautiful blessing that night, but when he didn't say exactly what I wanted to hear ("this is going to be easy"), I shut down and only half-listened (probably not the best idea). I was told that I would get exactly the help I needed--and that should have been enough for me that night, but somehow it wasn't. I was mad, upset, and more than slightly terrified of what it is to come.

In the days since, my heart has softened (even if my cervix hasn't). I have seen many of the promises given in that blessing come to pass. From the smallest things, like multiple texts and phone calls from friends and neighbors making sure I had the help I needed and my aunt being able to take Kevin last-minute during my appointment on Monday, to the biggest things--like baby boy passing his NST at the perinatologist without having to do any extra time (first time he's done that in six weeks!). I was so worried about how I was going to make it through today (because I am exhausted and I have an over-active two-year-old) and make it a happy day for us to remember (it is our last day just the two of us, after all), and Kevin has been perfect. She has played by herself just enough to give me a break, but taken lots of time to let me hold her. AT one point this morning she even suggested we go lay down in my bed and watch a show, like she knew I was going to fall asleep for half an hour and she let me do it!

I am still scared about what is going to happen tomorrow.  I know much of it is out of my control, just as that day almost two and a half years ago was not mine to direct, and just as the day I entered the MTC six years ago was unexpected and long and hard. It worked out then...and even though last Thursday I might have said something different, today I have faith that all things will work out for our good.

I've given you your best chance, baby boy.

Ready or not, the day has come!