I’ve often said that saying “I can’t wait” is just about the most ridiculous phrase ever cobbled together in our hodge-podge of a language. How can you be incapable of waiting? Things happen in their own time, and it’s not like some kind of personal shortcoming on your part is going to make things happen faster than they’re supposed to. Time doesn’t speed up, no matter how “incapable of waiting” you seem to think you are.
And yet, sometimes the period of time between this moment and an event that you’re waiting for can be excruciating. I refuse to say “I can’t wait” and instead opt for “I’m so looking forward to this.”
Hence, the knitting, the writing, the visiting… at least until someone says, “And how are YOU doing?”
I’m sorry, I can’t answer that right now. I’ve been trying to leave my emotions out of this entirely, keep a stiff upper lip, observe the cheery side of life, etc., etc… and that is kind of the opposite of “easy”, especially as we draw closer and closer to The Alleged Big Day.
Alleged? Mm-hm. There are some things that could get in the way of things happening on time.
You see, first we have to have an amniocentesis. This is a test where they insert a very long but gratefully very thin needle through my tummy all the way into the amniotic sac and take a sample of of amniotic fluid. This should provide certain proteins and clues to help us determine if, in fact, Mr. Daniel’s lungs are mature enough to venture into the Great Big World. If things come back great, no problem. If they’re inconclusive or don’t show enough of the right protein or whatever, we’re looking at either a slightly longer time until he can convert or a higher chance of him getting sent down to Denver, with or without me.
The other thing that could make things cock-eyed is that Joe is sick. Like, REALLY sick – running a fever, chills, aches, etc., and since I saw him yesterday, I could very well have been exposed. They could opt to put me on antibiotics, or they could choose to wait, or they could do it anyway…
But, it may also mean that not only Joe but Nana and the kids would not be able to be here while that stuff is going on for fear of exposing Daniel to a virus. There are provisions if things happen anyway, but still…
In other news, my chiropractor/friend Amanda is just about the coolest chick ever. Yesterday, she showed up with a “care package” – a chenille pillow and blanket set that I have now decided is going to by my breastfeeding wooby, a pair of awesomely fuzzy socks, a book called “Total Baby Knits” with all kinds of awesome patterns, some nail polish, chapstick, and lotion. She said that she knew how hard it was for her to be in the hospital for even just a couple of days, and she could only imagine it going on for weeks on end. And, of course, just to make things even more totally awesome, she brought her daughter Lucy (five or six months old now), and I think that little girl is going to receive all of the girly-girl impulse knitting I’ll get hit by in the years since there is NO way there’s another child coming out of me.
(Of course, I say that, and I have to immediately knock on wood. I’m having a tubal ligation to prevent pregnancy, but it’s not 100% – nothing is – and I’m trying very hard not to think about statistics.)
Also yesterday, Bev from Ravelry.Com swung by while she was in town, and how incredible was that! She actually lives right down the street from me (which is a few miles down the street, but in the country, that’s anywhere…), has some llamas, and is threatening to spoil me with wooden DPNs. She’s pagan – which is what brought her to contact me in the first place – and I feel the beginning of an awesome friendship starting. She has a stitch-n-bitch group that meets up at the Antelope on Thursday nights, so I might just need to find a sitter.
In addition to getting Daniel away from the Big Scary Knots in his cord (and, yes, that’s a plural, since a twist can look like a knot and produce the same effect, and we have an abundance of both), I’m also looking forward to getting this crazy, insane placenta out of me! I have had the exact same thing for breakfast every day for a week – a cinnamon roll, two sausage patties, a tossed salad, some apple juice, and a cup of coffee. So, why suddenly yesterday and today does my post-breakfast register in the “gotta get another insulin shot” range? And THEN, not only do I have to get an insulin shot, but THEN my blood sugar plummets to the 40s and 50s, causing me to feel faint, nauseated, and overheating, pouring sweat and feeling like hammered doggy doo-doo! By the time THAT evens out, I’ve eaten cheese and crackers and pudding and apple juice and all sorts of other things to bring the blood sugar back up, so when they bring me the lunch tray (already an unappetizing thing in the first place), I don’t have the appetite to even look at it.
If all goes according to Hoyle, in less than 24-hours, this part of the ordeal will be over. Daniel will be on oxygen in the nursery with any number of care-givers and doters and well-wishers (one nurse was suggesting drawing lots to take turns going to see him so that the floor isn’t left empty), I’ll be back in my room recovering from the surgery, and between the phone and the internet, everyone will know how it went.
If there was ever a time to call in cosmic favors, I feel like this is it. If we don’t get him out tomorrow in a controlled and pleasant way, I feel like we have a week, maybe less, before we have to do something sudden and drastic, and I don’t know if I have the strength or wherewithal to face that down. It’s taken a lot to get this far, and I’d like to think that I’ve done pretty well, but the cracks are starting to show under the pressure, and I’m really not sure how much longer I can go without being home with ALL of my babies, knowing the outcome, and that everything’s okay.
Is it too late to admit that I’m scared out of my ever-lovin’ mind?