Detention Time . . .

For my students, not me. I'm proctoring the naughty kids right now as they write reflection essays to better understand their crimes. Although I'm on this side of the punishment, I feel at times as though I'm in some sort of cosmic game in which my insides are being poked and prodded and at any moment an alien will burst forth as in the popular 90's film. I know this pregnancy will end, and someday I will feel as if the time just flew past, but I don't exactly feel that way today.

I have a confession that I admit with a bit of unreasonable guilt. Yesterday, I just wanted the baby out--no, not really because that would mean she would be a tiny 2-pounder. But, selfishly, I wanted my body back. Just for one day. I wanted to take the belly off, placenta and all, hand it to Tim and say, "I'm going to Target." I miss Target. I think I've been twice, since the pain started at the end of December, and I'm having withdrawal.

Perhaps the frustration is intensified now that I know a possible cause, a backwards sort-of emotion, I know. We went to the perinatal specialist on Monday, and as he searched for our baby girl's head, he kept moving the ultrasound scanner lower and lower into my nether regions, saying (with his Eastern European accent) as he went, "Da baby is low, very, very low. Itz okay. She's just so low." Ah-ha. A lightbulb brightened in my mind. After seeing pictures of my cervix and my precious (yes, she's so precious despite the discomfort) Macie's head nearly rubbing against it, I realized that perhaps this is the reason for my discomfort. She's "in position," getting ready to meet mom and dad and Lolly and aunt Lindsay and Katie and fairy godmother Sarah and perhaps even Uncle Cody, who wants no part of this whole baby-mess. And she's keeping me off my feet as much as possible and aching to meet her--primarily for the utter and extreme joy I will experience at seeing her dimpled hands, bald head, creased elbows, tiny toenails, and soft cheeks and secondarily for the welcome gift of having my body back, though I'm certain it will be forever changed. I'll take it. Just listing her little baby parts reminds me that she's worth it, no matter how intense my own "cosmic game" seems any given day.

Random Thoughts From My Chair

Today I began teaching my regular class load (we've had a short elective term for the past couple of weeks) from my lovely IKEA chair: http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/categories/series/07472/

I confess that the view from here is rather sparse as I attempt to command the attention of my students, literally from below their level. My first class went so-so with the students often distracted by their laptops and often neglecting to pay attention to the bulging woman sitting low to the ground, feet-up in front of them. But this is my new life and my new view for a season, and if this perspective keeps Macie inside and growing strong, then I gladly accept the challenge.

After class, I went directly to the Nurse's office where I now sit amongst other invalids--all students (thankfully, none of whom have my condition). I arrived and told the nurse "I'm here to begin my daily regimen of sitting." Now, I sit here typing during chapel-time, waiting for the moments to pass until my next chance to get up and wander to my room or to the cafeteria or anywhere really.

One last confession: I feel a bit guilty for such intentional relaxation, because I've been feeling much better the past two or three days. My doctor thinks that the possible pre-term issues may have been caused by intestinal issues rather than contractions, although she still offered advice about how to avoid contractions yesterday at my visit. My immediate reaction is to resume my normal activity, to live my active life as I see fit, but as Tim reminds me, "You probably feel better because you've been resting." I hope he's right and that I'm not wasting my time. But I suppose it doesn't hurt to be careful. And my chair is rather comfy after all.

Irreplaceable

Today I left work early once again because of pains that could be anything from a sour tummy to pre-labor. Unfortunately, everything is so squashed together that sometimes it's tough to know the difference. Thus, I came home after I finished teaching my classes, just like the doctor ordered. I put my feet up and fell asleep shortly after, and when I woke up, a sadness or sense of disappointment seemed to linger through the entirity of the day.

A conversation this evening with Tim helped bring the emotions to a head as I discussed releasing another one of my "duties" into the hands of someone else. So far, I've given up housework, cooking, going to the grocery store, exercise, and teaching standing up. Yes, I know this probably sounds wonderful to my overworked, exhausted friends, and it seemed so at first to me as well. But lately, as I've slowly given up more enjoyable tasks--frequenting Target, driving myself most places, outings with friends that involve any activity other than eating or movie-watching, and singing with Tim and the band--I've struggled against feeling useless, a mere vessel whose sole purpose is to fold my hands and wait.

I suppose I never realized how much of my worth I place in my usefulness and overall efficiency. Tim NEEDED me to keep the household running smoothly. My students NEEDED me to keep up with them. My friends NEEDED me to hang out with them. My church NEEDED me to reach out to women and to sing each week. Nope. I am not NEEDED--at least not to the extent that someone else might not easily "replace" the activities on my personal to-do list.

But, as a doctor friend of mine said recently, "Any monkey can hold a scapel and cut in a straight line. It's the personal touch, the bedside manner that counts." So it is with my life; it's not the things I can DO that give me purpose. Instead, it's the God I know, the person He is making me, and the people He leads my life to touch that offer me a sense of meaning, particularly during this time of rest and waiting.

The Westminster Catechism makes a statement I love, saying that "A man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever." I am finding that at times (like this one) glorifying and enjoying Him means forsaking even good, right, and holy daily duties in order to lie still in his hand, trusting that his quiet, unmoving will is better than anything ony my to-do list. May I not chafe against this will, instead believing that He makes ME--just me, without all my actions and activities--worth enough to be irreplaceable as His child.

The Strong Women

This weekend I was reminded of the reality of the strong women in my life. As I listened to friends discuss difficult situations they (or those they love) currently face, my heart felt grateful to be surrounded by such tough gals, realizing that their strength helps stabilize me during my struggles. Here are just a few of the stories I've heard over the past few weeks:

*Two women with husbands fighting overseas, one raising her daughter while developing her own business
*Two women dealing with the loss of husbands who have chosen their addictions rather than their families
*One woman fostering two sons, not knowing whether or not she will for certain have the opportunity of making them part of her forever family
*One woman bravely facing fertility treatment for the fourth (that's tough stuff, for those who haven't been through it!) time since August 2009.
*One woman embarking on the adoption journey with thousands of dollars (without a 6-figure job) to save looming in front of her.
*One woman dealing with her husband's recent suicide while raising three children.
*One woman dealing with the loss of her father and learning to care for her mother on her own.

For these stories, thousands more exists around us each day. It may sound cliche, but we truly never do know the depth of hurt that other women (even those who seem to "have it all together") may be facing at that moment. So, as women, let's deal gently with one another, allowing petty grievances and grudges to dissipate quickly and covering one another with the grace that we so long to receive. And, as a final word of encouragement, remember that we may not feel the strength as it solidifies in our soul, but someday we'll look back and see how firm and unbending we've become.

"Oy veh with the poodles already"

The above is a quote from one of my favorite mom-daughter shows, "Gilmore Girls." My roommates and I watched this show religiously in our college years, the premiere days of the TVshow, and I confess that I now own every season and plan to watch them with Macie during our first months of late nights.

And lately I've begun to wonder if those late nights may arrive sooner than later. I went to the doctor a week and a half ago and talked to her about the cramping I've experienced lately. I didn't intend to even bring the subject up, thinking they were just the common aches and pains of pregnancy, but the first question the nurse asked when I arrived pulled the info out of me. My doctor's concern surprised me until she said, "You did a lot to get this baby, and we need to keep her in as long as possible." Once again my IVF & PCOS status (PCOS gals are more likely to deliver pre-term apparently) elevates me to receiving even more-attentive care. (A perk that I definitely don't mind.) Thankfully, all is well with my cervix--sealed shut, so "no baby today" as one of the other doctor's told me this past Tuesday--and the discomfort eases significantly when I sit on my bum with my feet up for extended periods of time, avoiding housework, cleaning, and every other unfavorable chore. Thus, my instructions for my 23rd week and so-on of baby-land include keeping my feet up, keeping fluids down, and keeping calm all the way around. Not a bad plan until Week 32, when Macie will look much more presentable to the world. After I cross that threshold, my doctor will breathe a sigh of relief, and my real work will be just beginning. I will enjoy the mandate to rest while I can.