…it’s super fun for about 2 hours. And then?
Everybody is out doing something. I’ve got laundry I know I can easily fold. Can’t I put chicken on a pan and turn on the oven, even?
After experiencing some unexplained and unsettling symptoms on and off over the last day or so, I finally went to the doctor for yet another check-up and ultrasound (a mere two days after my last appointment.) She didn’t totally bring the hammer down, but I have what’s known as a loving, concerned husband who has practically chained me to the couch until Monday’s follow-up. I’m surprised he didn’t leave me a bedpan.
And so here I sit, and I’ve started to notice a few things: the blinds are dusty. My dog still won’t eat his food. My toenail polish is chipped. It’s really quiet here during the day. There are about 4 good movies on Netflix and everything else is garbage. GARBAGE.
Caleb is protective and insistent. I love him for that. My kids are sweet and helpful. And the hours of sitting followed by the hours of laying are beyond worth it, my friends, so I won’t complain (too much).
Everything is fine for the moment–active, healthy-looking baby with a strong, regular heartbeat. My symptoms come and go. I know I’m not the first woman to ever deal with a high-risk pregnancy, where panic strikes every other day. In fact, there are people who go through so much worse and my heart goes out to them.
Shout out to Women’s Health Care of Norman here in Oklahoma: I won’t even pretend this is not a busy, busy clinic where women seem to be herded in and out like cattle by record numbers at record paces. I’ve been going here for 8 years; up until now I’ve never needed or wanted special attention and let me just say that my doctor and her staff are the single most knowledgeable, kind, patient, and loving people I’ve ever had the privilege of being cared for by, other than my own mother. When I tell them I feel weird, they drop everything and hug me, and then proceed to check me up one side and down the other and sometimes more, without judgement and without question. And when I sit there on the exam table trying not to shed any tears, they absolutely sob and tell me not to worry. And everytime they find my baby’s precious heartbeat, they take a huge sigh of relief right along with me and sob some more. So these guys? Are in charge of my every female medical need UNTIL I DIE.
You guys please say a prayer for my husband. I’m not an awesome “patient” ,and he is juggling all the fun stuff like lunches and dinners and drop-offs and pick-ups, and house-building and car repairs, and t-ball and softball. He’s a total champ but even Caleb gets frazzled from time to time. (Also: he didn’t say anything about not putting chicken in a crock pot.)