fun (and not-so-fun) moments

Dear Jillian…

It’s 2:20, and you’ve finally fallen asleep for your afternoon nap.

(Still love to watch you sleep...)

No more crawling like a critter under the computer desk and through my legs. No more incessant pleas of “hellllp” to cut up your wooden, green pepper. No more turning on the Vornado aimed directly at me on this chilly 36 degree day.

Your vigor and verve are VERY adorable, but not all the time. And not for an hour straight.

Your nap time is mommy’s break time. And I am fully soaking up this quietude to write a letter jam-packed with all the fun (and not-so-fun) moments we’ve shared these past few weeks.

Let’s first back up to mid-November, when leaves blanketed our lawn, but the weather was still pleasantly placid. We ventured to Monkey Joe’s, a fun-filled inflatable play center. This was your second visit to this arena with the first time being less than successful, due to your nervous-Nelly nature. With exposure to FMC’s Fall Fest bounce house a month earlier, you were quite prepared for this collection of bounce houses. And while growing a bit taller would behoove you for climbing, you made mighty fine work of daddy’s ‘lift and push’ to tackle those hard-to-reach places. We had a fantastic time and, of course, you threw a fit when it was time to go. Parents = stoppers of fun. Wah wah.



The following week deemed to be a busy one with Thanksgiving and activities the day after. We hosted my cousin, Dan, and his family for dinner Thursday evening. Daddy tended to the turkey and delivered a tasty bird to feast on. We delighted in fixings such as pumpkin bisque, rosemary bread with sea salt, harvest grain bread, mixed greens with candied nuts, stuffing, green bean casserole (your new favorite phrase), roasted potatoes with carrots, pumpkin swirl cake, mint chocolate squares, sparkling cider, and wine (for those less pregnant than I). Simply delectable…and we’re still eating leftovers.





For Black Friday, we decided to NOT go shopping. Oh wait…we’re not into this Day After Thanksgiving tradition anyway. Hence, we had plenty of time to cruise down southwest of Indy to Bloomington, home of the cream and crimson. We visited IU, and while neither daddy nor I are avid Hoosier fans, the campus was scenic and serene and splendid. I can now fully attest the notion that this campus is indeed beautiful. (And now we've seen the Showalter fountain that everyone asks us about!) The weather was absolutely gorgeous making our nearly 3-hour trek around the town even more enjoyable.



After a rest period back at home, we ventured to the Circle of Lights extravaganza in downtown Indy. Floods of folks flocked around the Indiana Soldiers and Sailors Monument to watch over 4,500 colored lights come to life. Since this was our first visit to the event, we didn’t know what to expect. But we plopped ourselves on a grassy patch in front of the Christ Church Cathedral and enjoyed the view.

Yes, it was all a wonderful time, but we had no idea how a wicked incident would further shake up the next week.

On Thanksgiving night, I attempted to lift you up in the process of getting ready for bedtime. Unknowingly, your feet got hooked under the sofa’s armrest, and you didn’t budge as I tried to heave you upward. First mistake. I immediately felt a muscle pull in my lower back, but managed to hoist you onto my hip and carry you upstairs. The following day, I felt the strain. I walked a little slower than usual and changed positions a little more gingerly, but my mobility was intact. I was just a slow-poke preggo.

I was put on-call for work come Monday, which was a blessing in disguise. My back was more tender than I anticipated, and the thought of working 12 hours straight with a dull, achy backside was less than appealing. Next comes Tuesday, with you at daycare to provide a smooth transition between me and my various appointments. “Perhaps I should try and vacuum while I have the house to myself,” I bargain. Second mistake.

By the time I neared the last few steps down on the staircase with the vacuum, my back was throbbing. Seeing the swirling tornados of Caesar’s hair tufts fueled me to ignore the searing discomfort and chug along with vacuum in hand. With a dentist appointment next on the to-do list, I finished the main level and headed out into the rainy, dreary day.

While in the dentist chair, the hygienist was chipper and chomping at the bit to ask me all about my pregnancy. As she lowered the chair into its horizontal position, my back seized and locked in agony. It was all I could do to curb a blood-curdling scream. She instantly noted the grimace on my face, her eyes spewing worry, but as soon as I was supine and in the slightest Trendelenburg position, my tension eased. Throughout the exam, she often asked how I was doing, and all I could muster was, “I’m okay.” (In the back of my mind, I’m thinking, “If you put me into labor, lady, you’re going down!” (And the only reason I’m thinking this, by the way, is because I went into labor with you on the same day as a dentist appointment in November two years ago.)

I survived the dental inspection, but not without phoning daddy afterwards in the car and leaving a long-winded, on-the-brink-of-tears message. Onto the next appointment, but not without grabbing a bite to eat. Oh, how that turned out to be, you guessed it…third mistake.

My haircut at Aveda was in forty-five minutes. Plenty of time to spare, right? Oy. Once I sank heavily into a bench with my toasty warm, jalapeno, Auntie Anne’s pretzel, I should’ve been in heaven already, right? Oy. I couldn’t call my OB’s office fast enough to reschedule my Thursday appointment for tomorrow. “The soonest available. Puh-lease!” No, this back pain was not going away. It was getting worse by the minute. Wouldn’t you know it…eating my trusted carbs and drowning it with a hefty cup o' water was putting me on the necessary road to a restroom. Lovely.

But. Oh. My. Word.

I could barely walk. I was a snail. A pregnant snail avoiding onlookers wondering if I was going to a) shuffle along any slower, b) pass out, or c) have a baby right then and there.

Long story short? I don’t know how I managed to get through my haircut. Or why I even decided it was worth it to stick around. My eyes cracked open the waterworks once my sloppy, rain-soaked self crawled into the driver’s seat in the mall parking lot. Phone call #2 to daddy. With an appointment to meet him downtown at your daycare within the hour, I realized the impossibility of this due to my current state of unhinged, maddening pain. Again, I left a nearly breathless message and drove home.

Back at home, reclined on the sofa in a motionless side-lying position, I tried to focus on my fear.

{{Was I in labor?}}

The painful back labor I endured with you, m’dear, felt all too similar to this sharp, throbbing pain plaguing my lower backside. And in my frenzied state-of-mind, it was too difficult to tell the difference. After phoning daddy at least 5 more times, he finally returned my phone call, heard the L-word, and hurried home.

Another long story short? It wasn’t labor. Even though I landed us in the hospital for a couple hours, I was relieved that baby was well and wouldn’t be making an appearance at 32 weeks. My pain, however, was unrelieved. By Vicodin (Obtained by my triage visit). By Dilaudid and Flexeril. (Obtained by my OB visit.) Even by just resting. My pain, apparently, was from back spasms or cramps. And these spasms, apparently, could happen even when I was stick still. Wow, I had really outdone myself. Back labor was beginning to feel like a piece of cake compared to this distress. Speaking of cake, I didn’t have any cake on my birthday, but I suffered at least 20 back spasms that day. Happy F&@K!#G birthday! (Please pardon my extreme distaste for back spasms, in general, on a supposedly festive day.)

Here I am…nearly two weeks after it all started. And I survived. You survived. Daddy survived. Your daddy did more than survive; he excelled at daddyhood. He wins the Father of the Year award for taking such good care of you and I. And despite the future, inevitable, not-so-fun times together, I hope I can look back on this one day, share a jolly laugh (maybe), and be grateful that we have each other to carry us through our hardships.

(Father of the Year and moi on December 3)

For now, I’m just glad to be able to hold you again. Carefully, of course. ;)

Love,
Mommy