This Pregnancy

Henry and I walked into the hallway. I opened the linen closet and pulled out a diaper. I turned and looked down at him and said, "We need to change your yucky diaper." He looked up at me with those big, big blue eyes and smiled that smile I know all too well. He then turned on his heels and ran away from me laughing. I ran after him. But I use the word ran loosely, because I'm sure if you saw me you would see that what I was doing hardly looked like running. And I couldn't catch him. Seriously. He out ran me. It was only until I cornered him in the kitchen that I got a split second to grab his shirt sleeve before he could get away again.

He sure is giving me a run for my money. He actually smells like Joe's Old Spice Swagger deodorant right now, because he took a big bite out of it while I was in the shower. I just can't seem to keep up these days. I'm no longer at the top of my game. And I so badly want to be back feeling like myself again.

I haven't said much regarding my pregnancy, because I'm not one to complain. At least I like to think I'm not a complainer. But I've had good pregnancies in the past. I feel good. I feel energetic. I feel myself, except for the extra 35 pounds I carry around. And when I say "around", I mean it goes all the way around...to my rear end. But I make it to the end of 40 weeks relatively easy and feeling as well as can be expected.

This pregnancy has been nothing of the above. It's been down right brutal. I feel like I have been pregnant for-ev-er. It started out with us packing our things and moving from Washington in the first trimester. I wasn't sick, but I surely didn't have time to rest or take it easy for those first 12 weeks. Although, that's the only thing I wanted to do.

By the time I reached the second trimester, we were traveling to our new home and moving in. I spent every waking hour trying to get us unpacked and settled. I wanted walls painted, furniture picked out, pictures hung, blinds placed on our empty windows. But it was all in vain. There was no way I could get everything done I wanted. It was impossible. And the swollen ankles and the leg cramps I felt at least three times a night reminded me that I needed to slow down and take it easy. It was hard to do though, but I realized I had no choice. My expectations were too high for the way I was feeling and what my body was going through.

And then I hit 22 weeks and that's when things were temporarily turned upside down. I went in for my routine ultrasound and it was nowhere close to routine. Without going into specific details, I was referred right away to a maternal fetal medicine doctor in Topeka. For the three to four weeks leading up to the appointment I lived in fear that there was something severely wrong with our baby. I could hardly think straight. I was in a new place with new people, at a new hospital that I hated, and I had no one to turn to. I pretty much shut down for those few weeks. We told no one, except my mom. I had no choice. We felt pretty alone. I basically closed the door on my emotions. If my thoughts went to the baby I quickly pushed them to the back of my mind. We didn't know what we were facing, but it was too emotional to face even the possibilities. It wore me out.

Finally we made it to the appointment in Topeka. I was sick I was so nervous. I knew something was wrong in the first ultrasound, not because the tech said anything, but because I could read it written clearly across Joe's face. It said "This doesn't look right. Something's wrong." It was one of those times when I wished my husband didn't know so much. Really, really wished it. He went straight to Radiology after I left the hospital and had them read the ultrasound right away...not waiting three days for the news like we were told we would have too. His fears were confirmed and that's when the referral was placed.

When we got into the dark ultrasound room in Topeka, I kept my eyes locked on Joe. I didn't even want to see the tech or the screen. I was too scarred. I held my breathe. It took about two minutes for the tears to well up in Joe's eyes, glance at me, and whisper, "he's perfect" before I let out a huge sigh of relief that I had been holding onto for weeks. And then I was beyond grateful that my husband knew so much, because it took the tech at least an eternity to confirm verbally what Joe already was sure of. "This baby is perfect in every way" she said. She continued to try and see what was seen on the last ultrasound forever, but I knew there wasn't anything there. I knew it.

So here we are now in the third trimester. I have been very protective of this baby. I hated the feeling of the military OB/GYN department, so I changed my insurance and am now going to deliver at the wonderful, beautiful, civilian hospital. The difference between the two has been night and day. I am so grateful for a husband that supports me and is willing to jump through all the unnecessary, ridiculous hoops the military forces you to jump through to do something like this. But I finally feel safe again.

Sure, I still feel weak, and exhausted, and tired, and grumpy, and out of breath, and completely depleted, and like I'm running on fumes, but that's probably because I've been completely anemic this last part of the pregnancy, and no one at the military hospital bothered to tell me. Thankfully, the wonderful nurse with my new doctor spotted my low hemoglobin levels and put me on some iron. Let's hope I get that pep back in my step this last month that I have desperately been missing.

Because I am ready to feel good again. It's been a l-o-n-g 36 weeks. But soon enough I'll be holding the reason it has all been worth it. So very, very soon.

Self Esteem

We were enjoying another beautiful fall afternoon. Henry was asleep inside. Gwen was drawing with chalk on the driveway. I was sitting in a chair reading a magazine. Gwen had drawn a wonderful picture of her standing in the sunlight. She drew big, puffy clouds and showed me how one of the clouds looked like a lamb. It's one of our favorite things to do...find clouds that look like animals or rockets or something.

Then I asked if she would like it if I traced her with the chalk. She immediately got down in snow angel fashion and let me trace her. It wasn't easy getting down to the driveway to do it. I get about as low as a chair these days and that's it. But the idea sounded fun and Gwen was excited. She stayed there perfectly still while I carefully traced her body.

When I was done, I ooched and ouched until I got back to my feet. Gwen stood up and we admired her chalk shape. It looked so tiny to me. I think she is such a big girl, but honestly, that little outline of her body reminded me what a little girl she still is.

Gwen went on to color in her face and hair and draw on the clothes she was wearing. It was so cute to watch her try and draw the letters on her shirt. She drew her toes...14 on one foot and 9 on the other and carefully drew her sandals.

Then she asked to trace me.

No chance of me laying down on the driveway at 35 weeks pregnant. So I suggested she trace my shadow. And instead of looking cute and little in my outline like she did, I looked nothing short of the female Michelin Man.

And in case I forget just how huge I am these days, I now have a chalk shape to remind me. Great.

What's In A Name?

Selma and Alma Ralph Kreipl

One thing is for sure...Joe and I like old-fashioned boy names. The kind of name that has been around for hundreds of years. The kind of name, that when you hear it, you don't think of a specific decade. We like grandpa sounding names.

Unfortunately, we can't decide on a grandpa. I like my maternal grandpa's name-William. Joe likes his paternal grandpa's name-Hector. And neither of us are budging. I thought I won the argument the other day when a friend suggested (as a joke) that we name the baby Hector and call him Tor for short. Thinking I could out smart Joe, I told him that if we have a "Hector" I would only call him "Tor" (which I absolutely hate) but knew that Joe would hate even more. I convinced him that I would never call him Hector and only call him Tor. Joe could hardly hear me say that name without his skin crawling. We were all laughing pretty good until Joe finally said "Fine. Hector it is." I said "Great, we'll have a little Tor then."

But obviously, Tor it is not.

So, do me a favor. Tell me your grandpa's name. Because we cannot have a Tor.

What A Turkey

18 month olds are turkeys. I like to call them a "joyful handful." Henry is no exception. Each day we are hearing a new word emerge from his lips. Last night it was "bubble." A few days ago he said "Batman". One of my favorite stages in children is when they are learning to talk. It's such a joy to hear their sweet voices and listen as they try to say a new word. And not only do they start talking more, but they also understand more. Henry knows what I mean when I ask him to pick something up for me or go but his books back. And sometimes he actually does it.

But, oh. my. word., this boy is go go go. There is no rest for the weary over here. And I am really, really weary these days. Do boys ever slow down? I imagine the only thing that really ever slows down is the mom, because I'm exhausted.

I remember a few years ago, when Gwen was a little younger than Henry, asking Gabriella a bunch of questions about her sister. I wanted to do the same thing for Henry, by asking Gwen similar questions about him. I wanted the almost four year old perspective of our little turkey.

*What is Henry's favorite food? Chicken-he loves to dip it in ranch. Lots and lots of ranch.

*What does Henry love wearing? His Batman shirt-honestly, I did not expect boys to care so much about their clothes, but he loves this shirt. And his sisters pink crocs.

*What is Henry's favorite thing to do? His best thing to do is pull my hair-yes, for some reason Henry always pulls Gwen's hair. So sad.

*What do you love to call Henry? Baby Hank

*What do you love most about Henry? When Henry kisses me and hugs me-We always say our prayers in the girls room at night, and it is tradition for Henry to run over to their bed and kiss them both goodnight before we take him to bed. It's really sweet.

*What makes Henry sad? When he gets in trouble-sitting on the table, throwing food on the floor, opening the flour from the pantry, throwing flour on the floor, things like that, that occur hourly.

*Where is Henry's favorite place to go? Wal-mart, because it has so much toys-okay, we might frequent Wal-mart a little more since we moved to Kansas.

*What makes Henry laugh? When we tickle him

Who is Henry's favorite person? Batman- he doesn't even know who Batman is, just has the one shirt that he loves to wear.

*What is Henry's favorite color? BYU blue

*What does Henry most love about you? When I play with him and let him bite my fingers- I have no idea what this game is.

* What is Henry's favorite word? Moo- We also see a lot more cow's here in Kansas. Go figure that's his favorite word.

I realized after asking Gwen these questions, that she doesn't see him as a turkey at all. He is just her little brother that she still wants to see first in the morning and snuggle on the couch with. She is so very patient with him and is always finding him something to play with so he can play with her (without taking what she has). She talks to him in a sweet, high pitched voice that is only reserved for him. He is obviously very lucky to have her, because she is oblivious to his clearly turkey-ish behavior.