Third Time is the Charm

This is my third attempt to write April's blog post.  And it's May 8, so needless to say, life has gotten in the way. 

Attempt #1: At first I was planning to write about the truth behind pregnancy photos.  You know, those photos women get when they're pregnant with their glowing gorgeous bellies--they sure make pregnancy look like a glamorous ordeal.  I decided to take some photos of what "real" pregnancy looked like.  Here are some of my pics:

Hemorrhoids.  Need I say more.

Nausea.  My archnemesis. 

I'm pretty bummed that blog didn't work out because I was feeling quite witty about the whole topic.  But, the day I went to write the blog . .  . my water broke.  I was exactly 26 weeks pregnant.

Attempt #2: Despite my water breaking, I didn't have contractions and no immediate signs of infection.  Most people assume that when your water breaks, you have 24 hours to have a baby.  Not the case, especially when you're far from being term.  The catch is you are stuck on hospital bedrest because they need to keep a close watch on you and your baby at all times.  The doctors told me I had a 75% chance of having the baby within the first seven days after my water broke.  If I could make it seven days, then there was a good chance I could stay pregnant several more weeks.  If all looked good, they would even wait until I was 36 weeks to deliver.  I made it seven days, and my body and the baby were still cooperating.  At that time I decided my new blog post should be about how to spend time when you're stuck in bed with only bathroom privileges.  I was going to write about knitting and making friends with whatever breathing person entered my room.  But eight days after my water broke, I started showing signs of an infection . . .  

Hudson and me while I was on bedrest. 

Attempt #3: The nurse discovered my temperature and pulse rate were both elevated at 6 pm on April 23.  By 6:20 the doctors came in and told me they would deliver the baby as soon as I was prepped for my c-section--with or without my husband being there.  Ben was at home an hour and a half away.   I called Ben.  "Now is not the time to be cheap.  Take the toll road!  And speed.  Like a lot.  This is the best excuse you'll ever have," I urged him over the phone.

Ben made it to the hospital.  With 20 minutes to spare.  I've never asked him how fast he drove.  All I know is that he made the trip in less than an hour.

At 8:23 pm our little Jovie, weighing in at 2 pounds 4 ounces, entered this world with the sweetest whimper I've ever heard.  After hearing that cry, Ben and I looked at each other with tear-filled eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

Jovie is now two weeks old and doing remarkably well.  She still has a lot of little milestones to hit before we can take her home, but in about six or seven weeks, the doctors expect her to be bundled up in her car seat in our cool vanmobile, making the trip home. 

So, it's taken three tries to birth this blog post.  April has housed a lot of chaos, worry, and tears.  But as much as I want to erase many of the memories from this past month, there's one tiny little bundle accessorized in pink with a fighting spirit that has made it all worth while.