All it took was a single cup...

This cup, to be exact. I'm trying to get into a routine with my son. We wake up, and I go out to the kitchen to get both our breakfasts ready. Warm his bottle. Brew my coffee. Putter around and get together random breakfast foods while those first two things accomplish themselves. If I'm lucky, Sam waits patiently. Today, Sam was not patient. He was already screaming, and I was trying to rush around to get organized. So everything was ready and lined up on my bedside table. Everything except the coffee.

I poured in some cream, stirred it up, turned to put the spoon in the sink, and then turned back to grab the coffee.

I wish I'd gotten a picture, but my mind obviously didn't go there at that moment. Or for several moments after.

I spilled the coffee. Obviously. And I don't mean spilled it on just the counter or just the floor. No. I did a grand job. Start with the counter. The momentum carried the coffee onto my stovetop, into the drip pans, and then under them. Then it sloshed down the front of the cabinets, where it immediately stained. Continue down the door of the oven, and into the oven, and down into the storage drawer. And then the floor. The coffee hit the tile floor with force, splashing it across the room and under the refrigerator. It was, for lack of a better word, spectacular.

But I think I handled it well. I swore. I swore so terribly that, were I Catholic, I would be left hoarse from the number of Hail Mary's it would take for atonement.

Next logical step would have been throwing things, right? Or crying? Screaming? Nope.

I sloshed through the mess, put the mug back under the Keurig, stuck in a fresh coffee cartridge, and pushed start.

You can't tackle that kind of mess without coffee.

Today's lesson: When you go two weeks without mopping your kitchen floor, it will inevitably find a way to force itself to the front of your attention. And this means drowning out the screaming, desperate baby while you get your surgically wounded body down on its hands and knees to mop up the mess. The upside? Kitchen floor's clean.

There once was a woman...

There once was a woman...

who left a prayer on a wall.

One week later, that woman was in Rome...

and saw the beginning of the prayer being answered.

And after many months of waiting, the woman got to see her prayer face to face.

And for that? I have no words.

Welcome to the world, Sam.

I am becoming a walking (waddling) joke

Welcome to my due date. How nice of you to come. I have the nursery completed, all the clothes washed, the cradle next to my bed, and the carseat installed in the car. The only thing missing?


The baby.


Last week, the nurse practitioner examined me and announced that the baby is "done." However, baby is not aware of that. Despite the lovely contractions I had the day before my appointment, my body has made no progress whatsoever. And then the NP said the most lovely words I've ever heard: "Don't worry. We're going to induce you." YES!!! I was so excited that I went skipping to the front desk. I signed a little paperwork and was told the scheduling coordinator would call me after my doctor reviewed my chart. I thought the end was near!


Then I got the phone call the next morning. They'd like to schedule my induction. For two weeks from that day. That was a week ago. Still another week and another doctor's appointment before the baby comes. Which is, of course, perfectly fine and perfectly normal and very prudent of my doctor. But there's a problem.


When I got pregnant, I started to frequent a pregnancy messageboard for moms who were going to give birth in February. My doctor and my nurse both told me that was the worst thing I could ever do, because everyone's pregnancy is different. But did I listen? Uh, no. And despite the fact that I'm due at the beginning of February and everyone on the board has due dates spread out all over the month, half of them have already given birth. And 2/3 of those births have been by induction. I know my baby is healthy and happy and can wait another week. So what is with these women giving birth by choice SO SOON?? Now, I'm not talking about perfectly healthy moms having perfectly healthy inductions around 39 weeks because that's when their doctor has room in their schedule. Or the moms who develop pre-eclampsia or other problems and NEED to deliver early. I'm talking about the crazies who are electively inducing as early as 37 weeks. I know how bad they want the baby out, but seriously??


On top of it all, I have gestational diabetes. Doctors will quite often induce diabetic mothers at 38 weeks to keep the baby from getting too big. Not me. I had to be obsessive about controlling my sugars, and my son is of perfectly normal size and still has room to hang around for the extra week. 41 weeks of pregnancy. I will hold this extra week against my son down the road when he complains about making his bed.


So even though I'm uncomfortable and impatient, I am eternally grateful. Because my doctor is doing his job. And as he's told me several times, he's impressed with the way I've done mine when it comes to the gestational diabetes. My hard work means my son is safe and healthy, and can afford to live in the belly condo a little longer. I get one more week of happy baby kicks to share with my husband.


This doesn't mean I haven't given every single old wives tale about inducing labor at home its fair shot. Especially the spicy food. Next try? Pineapple.

Going out to dinner has become interesting. It's really the only place I go these days. I'm too uncomfortable to do anything else. But now when we get seated by the host, they all say, "Two of you tonight? Oh, well, two and that baby!" I had a woman in the restroom of a nice restaurant reassure me that if I went into labor, there was a nurse sitting at her table. And the looks I get! My husband is smart enough to stay close, otherwise I look like I'm 13 years old and hugely pregnant. I've put up a picture of me from a week ago at 39 weeks. I haven't taken the 40 week one yet, but I'll get right on that. *rolls eyes*


Today's lesson: Hard work can really pay off. And comparing yourself to others can make you miserable. And it took the help of my nurse practitioner to realize it. "You are not everyone else. You are healthy. You've done everything you can to stay that way. Stop comparing!" And then she very sweetly saved me from having to beg for an induction by suggesting it herself. Blessed woman.