Hey there. Ready for more? Ridiculously, so am I-and I know the whole story. No shame here. I love a good birth story. Mundane, hilarious, nail-biting, no matter the emotion evoked, I’m glued to them all. The miraculous entry of a new life never ceases to amaze me and each one comes with their own unique arrival.
New to the blog or missed a post in this series? Get caught up on previous Delivery Drama episodes before scrolling down any further. Check them out below:
Let’s see? Where was I? Oh…yeah. I’m standing bent over, staring at a positive stick on my bathroom counter and grinning. Like a ninny.
Yes, that pretty much sums up where I left you hanging. Goofy grin and all.
I was on cloud nine.
Nine was, hands down, my new favorite number. Floating on cloud nine, nine months to go, you get the idea.
But the stretch of months looming ahead didn’t fathom me a bit. I wanted to enjoy every blessed minute of them, pregnancy symptoms and all. Miscarriage had changed me. I also wanted to keep the knowledge of my pregnancy within the family until I could see a doctor/midwife, and quite possibly until the end of my first trimester. A wishful thought to be sure.
However, with this being my sixth pregnancy, I was popping out rather quickly.
This time around we opted to research midwifery options, a result of the prior miscarriage and reevaluating our needs as a family, . We were familiar with a local birthing center and called soon after seeing those two pink lines to schedule a tour of their facility.
So Hubs and I hired a babysitter and went on a “date”.
It was really romantic. We sat in the car in the birthing center parking lot and ate fast food (don’t judge), wiped the mustard from our faces and then toured the birthing center. For two hours. We attended a Q and A, watched videos, peeked in the birthing suites, and filled out paperwork. Then we hopped in our car and drove around town for a few minutes, so we would have something, anything but where we’d really been, to tell our babysitter. Again, don’t pass judgment.
Keep in mind, my bump was getting bigger.
After sleeping on our decision a night or two, Hubs and I agreed that this midwifery center was exactly what we wanted for the birth of Baby #5. The only con we could think of was the forty-five minute drive. No biggie, we’ll leave at the onset of labor.
Only forty-five. It sounded so feasible. Unlike my new favorite number nine, the number forty-five would later return to haunt me.
I set up my first appointment only to discover that they see you after your eleventh week. Wowzer.
So what’s a pudgy gal going to do? Hide it. Thankfully it was late winter and early spring, so I was able to camoflauge my little, growing bump with layered clothing. Sweaters, scarves, vests, jackets and even coats left on became my new wardrobe. I was keeping it under wraps.
Many observant ladies at our church suspected my condition, but sweetly never asked. Bless them for it. I needed to make it to that first appointment and be reassured that all looked well before sharing our news.
I made it safely to 11 weeks and went to my first appointment. All went well and I heard one of life’s sweetest sounds-again.
Everything looked wonderful and I was feeling great. What a blessing. I also loved seeing the midwives. Loved. it. The opportunity to experience attending a birthing center was a dream come true. Family was very encouraged and welcomed at all visits.
We shared our sweet news with the world and I happily continued growing. 😉
At twenty weeks, my older girls were able to see their new sibling at the anatomy ultrasound. They were so cute. Kids can certainly add to the commentary while viewing a sonogram. Ha. We all turned our heads while the nurse checked the baby’s gender for normal development. Being surprised with the baby’s gender was on my wishlist and mine alone. Hubs sweetly let his pregnant wife have her way.
Yup. He’s pretty much the greatest.
I crossed off the days of my second trimester by traveling. Everywhere it seemed. Williamsburg, Charleston (WV). Montego Bay, Jamaica (youth missions trip). The Wilds (teen camp). The Anchorage (ladies retreat).
By 35 weeks, I had definitely entered the “basketball” stage.
I certainly felt every pound. My ankles were puffy if I was on my feet for too long and I had a fabulous map of lines across my abdomen. Delightful stretchmarks, the lingering mark of motherhood.
Week 36, 37, and 38 slipped by. The evidence of 39 weeks was now clearly reflected back to me in every mirror, window and car door. I was downright huge.
None of this really bothered me though. I was still on cloud nine. Pregnancy is such a sweet season of life.
Besides, Hubs thought I was beautiful, watermelon and all.
It was a nickname that only he could get away with calling me.
-to be continued-
Here are the links to the following episodes. 🙂
Thanks for reading,
He’s just the greatest.