Oh, what a year!

On this, the last day of 2009, I would love to write something meaningful to celebrate such an eventful year in our lives. Our family celebrated milestones, said good-bye to loved ones, welcomed a new life, faced challenges and made it through big changes.

But I'm a little too sleep-deprived to come up with the words to properly pay tribute to such an amazing year. So, instead, I'm joining other bloggers in wrapping up the year bloggy-style.


Here, I give you, the first line of every post of every month from 2009. I was surprised at how well this really did re-cap the whole year.

JANUARY

True confession. I'm waking up this morning on Jan. 1 with no New Year's Resolution. This is actually often the case with me.

I would learn later that there was a reason I didn't set any goals for 2009. I would find out in a few months that all things "Emily" would be set aside, and I would be called upon to take on some roles I would not have considered on my own.


FEBRUARY

Oh my, oh my... We are having the most incredible vacation in the history of our family. I wanted to give a quick update and share some photos.


The highlight of February was our vacation to Acapulco for the Discovery Toys incentive trip. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was a trip we won't soon forget. It also was significant for me because this would be the first time in the last five years I made the choice not to set a goal to earn the incentive trip, making our past trip that much more special.

While we were in Mexico, we also lost my Grandma Dot, who had been a very special influence in my life.

MARCH

You might be wondering why I've been writing posts lately about opossums. Then again, maybe it didn't even seem odd to you, which is a really scary thought.


March marked one of my hilarious encounters with wildlife when THE opossum moved into our garage. Oh, what fun I had blogging about that guy. It even brought out the poet in me.

I also kicked off my own 40 Days of 40 countdown to my milestone birthday and unleashed my inner rock star.

APRIL

OK. I think I'm starting to understand. Seriously. It's all starting to make sense.

How could I recap the year without mentioning all of my posts about my favorite TV show, Lost? This was one in which I had reached the height of confusion about what was actually happening last season.

MAY

About five weeks ago, my friend, Julie, invited our family over for a cook-out. Julie is a busy woman, so I really didn't think anything of the fact that we had to make our dinner plans so far in advance.

I celebrated my 40th birthday in April with more celebrations than any one person should be allowed to have for herself. And then my girlfriends topped it all off by surprising me with this one the first weekend in May. I am blessed!

I also got serious in May, blogging about the topics of autism and allergies.

JUNE

Have you ever had a time in your life during which everything seemed to be falling apart?

And then there was June, the month in which I revealed what had really been on my mind the past few months. I was pregnant. We were going to home school. And I started blogging about my advanced maternal age.

JULY

A few days ago, I mentioned that my husband and I were planning to get away for a few days without our kids.

July was the month of vacations. CapableDad and I visited the Smokies without kids. We camped. And we joined four generations of family for a get-away that I wrote about in August.

Oh, and we also found out we were having a GIRL!

AUGUST

We are home from our little get-away with family.


Our high-flying family really got into the swing of things on that trip.

SEPTEMBER

Monday was our first day of school at home! The day went better than I expected...


And then we got down to business in September. We started our journey of doing school at home.

OCTOBER

Despite the fact I woke up at 5 a.m. this morning, I still found myself running around like a crazy woman at 9:15, shouting, "Has ANYONE seen my Hannah Montana wig?!?"


By October, the third trimester of pregnancy was taking a toll on my body... and my brain. In this post, I wrote about how I was starting to go a little crazy trying to keep everything straight.

NOVEMBER

Judging from all of the cards and letters I have been receiving, you all have been dying to know what ever happened to my UNBELIEVABLE Seven Day Meal Plan That Never Changes.

We celebrated a Golden Birthday in November, and our anniversary. But the first post of the month happened to be one about my never-ending quest to answer that age-old question: "What's for dinner?"

DECEMBER

Introducing... The one... the only... the cutie pie, the perfectly sweet baby...
Jayda Grace
7 lbs, 2 ounces
20 inches
Born TUESDAY, Dec. 1 at 8:40 p.m.


Awww... And of course, the highlight of our year happened on Dec. 1 when we welcomed this sweet gift to our family.


I'm a little exhausted just reading about all of the events of 2009. I'm ready for a fresh start and optimistic about all that 2010 will bring.

Happy New Year, everyone!

** Head over to Musings of a Housewife to find out what 2009 was like for other bloggers. **

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You've come a long way, baby

It was kind of interesting returning to the world of pregnant people after five years of normal life. I can't believe how much things have changed.

I sort of imagined myself as an undercover reporter on assignment as a pregnant woman to learn how much society has advanced in the last five years. OK... not really.

First, there are the maternity clothes. When I had my other children, major retailers were just starting to add maternity sections to their lines of clothing. Thankfully, we had already made it through the days when tent-like dresses with the worst, unflattering floral were the "style" for pregnant women.

Now, pregnant women can buy their clothes at The Gap, Old Navy and Hot Mama. In fact, some of the maternity clothes are so cute, I'm sort of sad I won't be able to wear them anymore. Sort of.


Another discovery I made was the cute "diaper bags" women can now choose from. When I had my other three children, the hospital gave us a free diaper bag that was bright yellow and blue with a Pooh Bear print. Or maybe it was butterflies. Whatever it was, it really stuck out and screamed "diaper rash"!

This time, the hospital gave us a cool, black sling bag that even my husband is happy to carry.



Of course, all of the baby tools, toys, bedding, strollers, swings and chairs now come in a variety of hot color combinations. I'm especially fond of the pink and brown look.

Finally, the best part. The hospital photos.

We still jokingly call my oldest son's hospital photo his "prison photo". The photographer lined up the babies in their bassinets, covered them with the white hospital blankie with the blue and pink stripes and took one shot looking straight down at the baby.

When we got the photo in the mail a few weeks later, we couldn't believe it. He had the most awful, mad look on his scrunched up face that only a baby can make right before he lets out a scream.

Now, the hospitals hire outside companies like BellaBaby to do a photo shoot with the baby. The photographer actually spends about 30 minutes in your room, putting the baby in various poses and offers the photos in black and white or color.

How could we resist buying the CD with all of the photos, giving us rights to copy, print and reproduce them however we like?

So, what do you think? Have I convinced any of my AMA friends it's worth returning to the world of pregnancy? OK, then. How about one look at this face?


** I asked the photographer why she didn't try to hide the Band-Aid and the ankle tags in the first photo of the feet. She said that she was documenting the process and those things are part of being in the hospital. **

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Baby face

This morning, my 5-year-old daughter and I were taking some time to play a little game with the baby.

Baby would stretch out her leg, and we could see her little foot jutting beneath the skin on my right side. My daughter would rub her foot, and we would watch as she would stick her bottom up, making a little mountain in the center of my tummy.

We played with her for about 20 minutes, watching her roll from side to side under my skin, stretch out that leg and then draw it back in.

Even as I watch and feel these unbelievable moments with the baby, it's hard to imagine that we will be holding her in our arms in two weeks. How is it that a fully-formed baby somehow manages to fold herself up so tightly that she fits inside my body?


But I got an unexpected gift today.

I got to see her face.


I know this probably looks like a grainy, black and white ultrasound photo to most people. But to me it's an awe-inspiring thing of beauty.

I can't stop looking at those big eyes staring at me from inside my body. And her nose looks like it will be the same shape as the nose of my other children.

It's so reassuring to see that all of her organs seem to be working properly, her arms and legs are just as they should be, and most of all, to see her face.

I wasn't expecting an ultrasound today. And yet, I wasn't surprised either.

I continue to get lots of comments about how small I am. When my midwife measured me today, I was, in fact, smaller than I should be. The doctor sent me immediately to the hospital to the "old folks" maternal fetal medical center for all the AMAers like me.

I had done a non-stress test earlier, and the baby's heart rate looked perfect. But the doctor and midwife both thought it would be best to do an ultrasound. I couldn't wait. I was needing some reassurance.

It was a little unsettling to hear the nurses talking in the back about the AMA in the waiting room with the IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction).

I was having flashbacks of my pregnancy with my daughter when the exact same thing happened at nearly the exact point in my pregnancy. That time, the doctor decided to do a C-section that evening. I started to convince myself the outcome this time would be the same, and I wasn't looking forward to having a C-section today while my husband is overseas.

But everything looked completely normal. The organs, limbs, brain, blood flow, amniotic fluid levels... everything was good. The baby is about 6 pounds, 1 ounce, just one ounce shy of my daughter's birth weight.

And I got to see just how tightly she is wrapped up in there. Hands in front of face. Legs curled up tight. Then for one brief moment, she lowered her hand and looked at us.

So, continuing with my theme of thankfulness... I am so thankful that I got to see my baby's sweet face today. It was a day of small miracles.

** I'm linking up today to the Tuesdays Unwrapped carnival over at Chatting at the Sky. Check out all the stories of small miracles. **

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Ahhhhh....

If all goes as scheduled, I have exactly one more month of pregnancy. One more month until we get to see the source of all of the flipping and kicking inside my tummy. One more month until we get to hold this precious gift.

This evening when I went for my now-weekly doctor's appointment, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that I needed to sit in a big recliner for 20 minutes while I was hooked up to a monitor that listened to both my heartbeat and the baby's.

It was the most peaceful 20 minutes I have had in about five years.

As I sat there, I realized how long it's been since I have sat still doing absolutely nothing. My only entertainment was the sound of my baby's heartbeat. Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish.

Ahhhh.

And guess what? I get to... I mean HAVE to... go through this same procedure every week for the next month. If only they would throw in a massage, my joy would be complete.

Believe it or not, with my other three children, I didn't have to do this at my weekly appointments. The one time I did, the doctor decided to send me immediately to the hospital for a C-section afterward.

I kept listening to the baby's heartbeat as it slowed down and then started going faster. When the doctor came in the room, I was convinced he was going to tell me to call my husband and have him pack my bags.

"Your baby sounds perfect!" he said. In fact, everything seems to be going well.

I think I'm one of the few pregnant women who worries that I might not have gained enough weight. But because I seem to carry my babies kind of low and I have a long body, even at 35 weeks, I worry that the baby might not be growing as much as she should. I still measure right on target, and I gained another three pounds. So, I guess the shakes from Culver's are working.

My biggest baby-related concern right now is the darned swine flu. My doctor actually shut down his local office because he shares space with a pediatrician, whose office he described as a "petri dish" for the flu virus.

Now I have to drive about 40 minutes every week to his main office.

The hospitals also aren't allowing any children to visit the maternity floors. I'm really hoping this ban will be lifted so my three older children can see the baby as soon as possible after she is born. I recently realized that they are old enough now they could hang out in the waiting room during my scheduled C-section and get a glimpse of the baby soon after her birth.

It's going to be a real test of my patience if my kids aren't allowed to see the baby at all during the full three days I will be hospitalized.

If that is the case, I will have to learn to really enjoy my solitude in the recliner.

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Right on schedule

As I walked in the door of my OB's office last week, I realized I could no longer hide my big belly, announcing to other women in the waiting room why I'm there. So much has changed during these past months.

The size and shape of my body.
My comfort level with being 40 and pregnant.
My acceptance of it all.

The last 35 weeks have lasted forever, and yet they have gone by in a flash.

"It's hard to believe we're almost at the end of our gestation, isn't it?" my midwife asked as she walked in the room. She is expecting her own baby just two weeks after my due date. "It seems like just yesterday you were here on your 40th birthday, starting this whole journey."

She summed up my thoughts perfectly.

For more than 30 weeks, she and I have walked down a common path. I'm sure she has seen dozens of other women in the office each month. But we feel strangely united because our due dates and our stage in life are so close.

We share similar stories each month: A little nauseous. Leg cramps. Feeling good. Still have energy. Headaches. Congested. Aching back. Stretching joints.

Forty weeks.

They are a common denominator for any woman who has ever been pregnant. Rich or poor. Educated or not. Old or young. As long as all goes as planned, this process will last 40 weeks, give or take a few.

Strange as it sounds, it's been making me think about the universe. The solar system. The seasons. We have 24 hours in a day. A year lasts 365 days.

We are studying astronomy this year, and we learned that a year on Mercury, the planet closest to the sun, is only 88 days. A day is nearly as long as a year at 59 Earth days.

On Venus, a day is longer than a year. The planet hustles around the sun in only 225 Earth days. But it takes 243 Earth days to make its rotation through a day and night. And it's the only planet that travels in the opposite direction from all the others, with the sun rising in the west and setting in the east.

How easy it is to take it all for granted.

What if some days were two hours long and others were 48? What if one year lasted 225 days and the next year stretched on for 600?

What if some babies reached full gestation after three months and others took a year?

What if we didn't know what to expect?

Thankfully, that's not the case. God created the universe with order, structure, a schedule and a plan. He thought of every detail, right down to the length of time it should take each planet to revolve around the sun to keep them all in line.

And he perfectly designed each and every child who is born on this planet to grow from a tiny seed to a full-sized baby in 40 weeks.

I only have four more visits to my OB before the big day. They are all scheduled and written on the calendar. It's been an amazing journey.

Thirty-five weeks down. Five to go. They have lasted a wink and forever, all at once.

Just as planned.

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Dear Immune System, I miss you.

I've never been a typical mom when it comes to germ concerns.

I always have to ask someone else if I can use her little bottle of anti-bacterial soap when it comes time to eat lunch at the zoo. I never remember to bring my anti-bacterial wipes to the park.

My kids might play outside all morning and I completely forget to tell them to wash hands before lunch.

I know this is sending chills down the spines of some of my friends, who are self-proclaimed germaphobes.

I have always believed that the more my kids are exposed to germs, the more their bodies will develop their immune systems, and they will be better able to fight off illness as they get older. Isn't that how God made us?

But I have to admit that all the news about the flu virus going around is really FREAKING ME OUT!

Every news report I read makes it clear that those in the top risk of serious complications from the flu include pregnant women. Women like me.

All of my years of eating with dirty hands aren't helping me now. My immune system is weaker than normal. And there's really nothing I can do about it.

I have been fighting a nasty cough all week and spent the entire day yesterday lying on the couch, drinking fluids and taking naps. My poor husband was trying to work from home, but ended up running up and down the stairs to help with the kids. I'm feeling a bit better today... like I can actually sit up and form coherent thoughts.

Through all of this, I've been thinking about how much I take for granted my immune system. I know so many people right now with seriously-compromised immunity due to medical issues and unusual diseases. I can't imagine how they feel not knowing if their immune systems will ever be restored.

It is making me feel helpless. And with all of the reports of school closures in our area due to the widespread flu, I am taking extra precautions.

Now, my little bottle of anti-bacterial soap is attached to the front of my purse, ready for action anytime we're out and about. And I'm even thinking twice about going out if it's not absolutely necessary.

How about you? How are you feeling about all of the reports of the flu lately? Are you taking extra precautions or living life as normal? Are you worried about getting sick or do you think the news reports are overblown?

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A view from the top

This picture really doesn't make much sense, even to me right now. I'm holding the camera right at my nose, looking down to show the view of my feet. Except you can't see my feet.


I have officially exploded. And it literally happened in one week.

I'm not kidding.

Last week, when I went to church, people were still saying things like, "Wow! You are really small. What does your doctor say?"

Then I would whip out my tape measure and show them my tummy measured exactly 31 centimeters as it was supposed to at 31 weeks. (Just kidding about the tape measure.)

This past week at church, someone said, "Wow! You really puffed out all at once!" She said this without making any attempt to disguise her complete shock at how large I suddenly am.

I know the feeling.

Did you notice all of those stains on my shirt in the photo? I don't remember spilling that much food before pregnancy. But now, I have a constant dribble mark down my shirt, showing everything I've had to eat or drink that day.

We have seven weeks left until we get to meet this sweet little girl baby. I'm so excited to see her!

But I'm afraid to think how much I am going to grow in that time.

I'm also a little worried about everything we have left to do.

Since my husband injured his back, all of those projects that we had been procrastinating about are now even more on hold.

We still have to buy a crib, put it together and rearrange some furniture to make room for it. I'm thinking we are going to put the crib in our room at first and then try to figure out some type of arrangement for the girls to room together.

Our daughter's room is the smallest in the house. I think it's only 10x10. I have been searching for a loft bunk bed for her so we could put the crib underneath.

We need to get some type of small dresser to store the clothes and diapers. And, oh yeah. We need to get some clothes and diapers. I'm so excited though because I started giving my daughter's clothes to my niece around the 12-month size. My sister saved all of those clothes for four years! So, I will have plenty of clothes once we get through the baby-baby stage.

The other priority is an infant carrier and car seat. I need to either get one from someone who offered to loan or give me one or we need to buy one.

I should probably be more stressed about all of this, but I know we can pull everything together very quickly. I do keep reminding myself that our other daughter was a scheduled C-section, too, and I ended up having her even earlier at 36 weeks. So, these seven weeks could turn out to be six, or five or four.

I also was brought back to reality this week by a friend who told me about a 19-year-old, who is mother to a newborn girl. The father is out of the picture. And the young mother's parents have both died. One had cancer, and the other died of a heart attack.

My friend's sister has given this young girl and baby a home. But she is in need of everything for her baby. It made me realize just how much I really have and how much we often think we need, but we really don't.

It's been amazing this week to see people come out of the woodwork with donations for this young mom. It definitely helped me put my life in perspective and stop thinking about myself so much.

OK. Not completely. I'm just trying to make a plan to get everything done, rather than worrying so much about what is going to happen.

And I feel so blessed that I have such a wonderful family to help me with everything... especially my shoes. Since I can't really see them.

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Squashed!

I've been having some squash issues lately.

It started with the pumpkin. I must have pumpkin pie. All the time. I think I have baked and devoured four pumpkin pies in the last two weeks.

I do have help. Everyone in my family seems to love pumpkin pie. And really? I think it should count as a vegetable. Why not? It's pretty much become a side dish around here.

Then over the weekend, my friend, A Musing Mom, bragged... I mean, mentioned on Facebook that she was making homemade butternut squash soup.

I don't think I had ever even tasted butternut squash soup before in my life. I know. I'm sheltered. I did have some type of squash soup at the Wolfgang Puck's restaurant in the airport one time, but I'm not sure if it was butternut.

My craving for squash-related foods intensified. You see, if I so much as hear a food-related word it could suddenly and without warning spark a strange craving that I never even imagined was lurking deep within me.

Can I just say again, "Please, please... do NOT mention the words K-r-i-s-p-y K-r-e-m-e". Don't say them! All of those restaurants have closed and it is not possible for me to fulfill that craving. Don't torture me! I won't be able to sleep.

Anyway. Back to the squash.

So, I went out yesterday and bought all of the ingredients for Butternut Squash Soup. It was a LOT more work than I had imagined to cut open the squash and cut it into cubes. When I got to the part about pureeing the squash in the blender, I almost turned back.

But it was delicious. I think they should re-name it "Cream Cheese Soup".

Oh, and I bought a spaghetti squash just in case. When I was growing up, I loved spaghetti squash. I know. It's a strange thing for a teen-age girl to love, but I was weird that way. I can't wait to bake it.

Who knows? It could even happen in the middle of the night. Stranger food-related occurrences have taken place around here at 3 a.m.

So, before I give you the recipe for A Musing Mom's Butternut Squash Soup (straight from AllRecipes.com), please tell me two things:

1. Squash, yes or no? I mean, you either love it or you hate it, right? Do you have a favorite squash? And a favorite way to eat it?

2. What is your favorite soup? I'm on a real soup-making kick right now and I would love some new ideas.


**
Butternut Squash Soup

INGREDIENTS

• 6 tablespoons chopped onion
• 4 tablespoons margarine
• 6 cups peeled and cubed butternut squash
• 3 cups water
• 4 cubes chicken bouillon
• 1/2 teaspoon dried marjoram
• 1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 1/8 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
• 2 (8 ounce) packages cream cheese

1. In a large saucepan, saute onions in margarine until tender. Add squash, water, bouillon, marjoram, black pepper and cayenne pepper. Bring to boil; cook 20 minutes, or until squash is tender.
2. Puree squash and cream cheese in a blender or food processor in batches until smooth. Return to saucepan, and heat through. Do not allow to boil.

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I know what you're trying to do, and you're not going to fool me!

Despite the fact I woke up at 5 a.m. this morning, I still found myself running around like a crazy woman at 9:15, shouting, "Has ANYONE seen my Hannah Montana wig?!?"

You see it was Crazy Hair Day at our home school co-op. And I had spent so much time blow-drying, applying green hair coloring and plastering hair paste to the heads of my children, that I could barely get our lunches packed, not to mention find my blonde wig.



I know home school was supposed to simplify our lives. But I'm not sure. We now have time for other things. Like field trips and mid-week karate and gymnastics and Awana, for example. And all of these seem to require a different costume, a different uniform or a different clothing style than we are used to.

I mean, the kids used to wear uniforms. As long as we could find a clean pair of khaki pants and a navy blue shirt, we were good to go. And I stocked up sufficiently, to make sure we could go more than a week before I absolutely had to do laundry.

But now? Well, let me just mention Awana, the awesome Christian program that focuses on Bible memorization and fun games each week.

We love Awana. Last night was Cubs-White Sox night. Even though with our Southern Illinois roots we are Cardinals fans, I found three Cubs shirts on clearance so the kids could get their Awana points for participating in the theme night.

At least I was pretty sure it was Cubs-Sox night. I know last week was Twins night, where they all had to bring a friend and dress like twins. But maybe it's green night or pajama night or zoo animal night? Oh, I can't remember.

Then there's pre-school. Is it still "S" day or has the letter of the day switched to "P" by now? I can't find the latest memo, so my daughter is taking a Snake, and she can just tell the teacher it's a Python, or a Rattler or a Garden snake if we are off by a few letters. Heck, it could be a six-foot Worm, if necessary.

Then there's co-op, which we absolutely love, as well.

I remembered to bring a gift for my poor "secret sister" who will probably get short-changed in the gift-giving with brain-cell-lacking prego woman trying to make her feel special. Whew! I was pretty proud of myself for remembering that one!

And I finally found my wig. It was tucked behind the rocking chair in my room -- Hannah's once smooth and silky blonde hair now a tangled mess. All the better for Crazy Hair Day.

Or is it?



It would really be embarrassing to come with crazy hair if it's not. Maybe this week is "Dress As Your Favorite Historical Character Week" and NEXT week is Crazy Hair Day. Or maybe last week was Crazy Hair Day, and that's why so many people were telling me how good I looked.

As I drove the kids to co-op with only minutes to spare, I realized what is going on.

You see, in all of my effort to make myself blonde and my kids green and to find an object that begins with "S", right on the heels of dressing them all in support of a sports team I don't even like, I forgot to pack their notebooks for class, the oil pastels we were supposed to return to the art teacher and the liability form that I am now four weeks late to return.

This is all a universal plot to confuse my half-conscious collection of dwindling brain cells. It's one huge conspiracy to make me forget all of the really important stuff I'm supposed to do because I'm so busy trying to remember what kind of special outfits we need to wear.

But I have a plan. I will not be thwarted. Oh, no.

I might be tired. I might be iron-deficient. And I might be losing brain power.

But I won't be lulled into forgetting to pay the bills another month. They can turn off my cell phone. They can threaten me with bill collectors. But I am going to regain some of my organization skills.

Oh, yes. I'm going to take care of all of these little things I have to remember so they don't bog me down when it comes time for the important stuff. Like jackets. Our family no longer has to show up for events dressed in athletic shorts and T-shirts when it's suddenly 45 degrees. This mama is going to get her game on.

I'm packing an object starting with every letter of the alphabet in the preschooler's backpack. Once she uses a letter, we will just remove that object. I will have to get her one of those backpacks on wheels, but that's OK.

Oh, and the colored clothing for Awana? No problem. I will stash a shirt in every color in the back of the minivan and we will just wait outside until we see other kids going in to make sure we are wearing the correct color. I'll throw in a couple of tie-dyes, a pair of PJs and an animal mask, just to be safe.

Some people keep emergency supplies in their trunk. We will have a costume kit full of wigs, hats and capes that we can use when I can't remember if it's a special day at co-op.

I am going to be ON TOP of things! You just wait. Here we come. Fully clothed for the weather. Hair crazy when it's supposed to be, and normal when it's not.

But in the meantime, if you happen to see me wandering around aimlessly in a pair of PJs, wearing a crazed Hannah Montana wig and carrying a stuffed snake, just nevermind. I'm working on it.

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Oh, so fabulous

I have been seeing a lot of news reports lately about all of the stars who are oh-so "Fabulous after 40". Jennifer Aniston probably leads the pack, along with Catherine Zeta-Jones and Renee Zellweger, who both celebrated their 40th this year.

Here's my friend, Jen, showing off her perfection in this tiny, sparkly dress.


I think it's kind of cool that these female stars are proving that their careers don't have to end at 40. They haven't been relegated to the roles of the moms of teen-agers. They still play the hip, hot, happening leads roles on the movie screen. Many of them do look better than ever.

But, I wonder? Would they be quite so perfect without their personal trainers? Or if they had been pregnant and given birth once, not to mention two, three, four or even five times. I give Zeta-Jones credit for maintaining her good looks after childbirth. But does she have a nanny who gets up in the middle of the night, changes the diapers and stands in the preschool line?

How many of them keep their healthy glow because their chefs are cooking meals made from all-organic food? And what about their skin? I'm sure those frequent exfoliations at the spa don't hurt?

About the same day I spotted Jen in her sparkly dress, THIS photo of ME was released.


My son captured all of my fabulousness when we visited my daughter's preschool class. I love how he zoomed in on my prego-ness.


Here I am being attacked by the preschoolers who wanted to get hands-on with the book I brought for Alayna's birthday. I betcha that doesn't happen to Jen very often.

When I saw my photo next to Jen's, I was tempted at first to compare myself to her. But I don't want to make her feel bad.

It's not her fault that she probably doesn't have to come up with a meal plan for a family of five each day. It's not her fault she doesn't get to hang out in the preschool line. She can't help it that she has never developed a laundry system as innovative as mine.

She would probably love cleaning the toilet if she ever tried. Even more, she would love teaching her 9- and 7-year-old boys to clean up all of the extra mess they left in and around the toilet. And she would love the extra challenge of doing it while keeping her nails beautiful.

I've been thinking about all of the 40-year-olds I know. Many of them don't own sparkly silver dresses, like Jen.

They volunteer at school. They serve in their church. They keep their households running smoothly around one or more children. They have endured pregnancies. They have adopted. They have spent many nights awake with crying babies, puking children or waiting for their new drivers to come home from a date.

They have grown wiser through the experiences. They have great stories to tell. They are loved in a way one can only experience when it comes from a devoted husband, a needy newborn or a sensitive 9-year-old.

And, yes. They are fabulous inside and out!

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A minor glitch and a few small problems

There's one thing I always say about pregnancy: It's a good thing women forget how miserable it is or no one would have more than one child.

Of course, I'm being sarcastic. I know that pregnancy can be a beautiful and wonderful experience for a lot of women. I actually love the three months in the middle. But the third trimester feels like the longest year of my life. And that's not good, considering I'm only a couple weeks into it.

If you've ever experienced the third trimester, then your mind probably blocked out all of the aches and pains that came with it. I know mine did. Now, all of those repressed memories are coming back like a flood.

Every week, I take a minute to read about "what I should expect this week" on babycenter.com. They always have some good advice.

For example, this week, the writers tell me that if I would like to avoid some of those unmentionable aches and pains, all I need to do is try not to spend long periods of time standing or sitting down.

Well, I can only walk for about three minutes, so I guess my only option is to lie down. All day. Perfect. I'm sure that will work just fine.

On top of that, I keep making the mistake of reading all of the updates on how dangerous the H1N1 virus can be to pregnant women, especially in the third trimester.

The Centers for Disease Control is recommending that pregnant women get the vaccine both for the regular flu and H1N1. I am reluctant because most of the vaccines contain Thimerosal, a preservative that contains Mercury.

The medical community says Thimerosal is safe both for children and unborn babies. However, families affected by autism believe that the preservative is the reason for the dramatic rise in autism over the last couple of decades. They advise against getting an immunization that contains the preservative.

Regardless of whether Thimerosal is directly linked to autism, it just doesn't sound healthy to me to inject my body with Mercury. Call me crazy.

So, that leaves me with the other option suggested by the news reports. I can just stay away from all people.

My 8-year-old had to go to my doctor's appointment with me today, and he heard me discussing the issue with my doctor. Later my son gave me a good piece of advice.

"Just make sure you don't use handrails, Mom. That is where you are going to get a lot of germs," he said. "If you feel like you need to use a handrail, then you could try doing the crab walk."

All-righty then.

Lie down. Avoid human contact. And when necessary, do the crab walk.

I think this will work.

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Oops, I did it again

The second day of preschool, my daughter had a homework assignment.

On Day #3, we were supposed to send back to school a paper with her answers to questions about her family, her favorite things and what she likes to do. With child #1, I would have had that assignment completed within minutes of getting home from school.

With child #3, I forgot to even empty her backpack the entire weekend.

On Monday, I was so excited that...

1. I remembered it was her birthday.
2. I had purchased her birthday treat over the weekend to take to preschool.
3. I had purchased birthday plates on which to serve the treat.
4. I had worked in an hour of home school before we dropped her off for preschool at 9 a.m.
5. I had found a shirt in my closet that fit.
6. I had managed to get out of bed at 6 a.m. to decorate previously-mentioned door, chair, and kitchen for birthday.
7. I had purchased her birthday gifts and wrapped them the night before.
8. I remembered to send something to preschool that started with an "M", the letter of the day.

... I completely forgot the homework assignment. And this shortcoming was announced to all of the parents in the pick-up line at the end of class.

It seems to be the story of my life lately.

• I'm sorry. I forgot to call you back.
• I'm sorry. I forgot to listen to my voice mail... for three days.
• I forgot to pay the cell phone bill, and they turned off my service. When it was finally back, I was so scared to listen to my voice mail, that I didn't get your message for three weeks.
• I'm sorry. I forgot to respond to your e-mail.
• I read your blog, but I forgot to leave a comment.
• I forgot to say thank you.
• I forgot to send a thank you note.
• I forgot what time we were supposed to be there.
• I'm sorry, kids. I forgot to make dinner.
• I do have my super simple meal plan, but I forgot to buy half of the ingredients.
• I keep finding little slips of paper all over the house with someone's name written on them, but I forgot what I was trying to tell myself.
• You needed a binder for co-op? I forgot.
• You have preschool again TODAY?!?
• What day is karate again?
• What day is it?

The problem isn't so much that I can't think straight. Or focus. Or remember anything other than getting the kids through their home school subjects and getting myself to bed as early as possible.

The problem is that I'm so used to being an extreme detail person. I'm usually one who remembers. And I think ahead to remember the details that would be involved in completing a task.

Now, I can't even remember what the task is.

And I don't really have a coping strategy for all of this. Yes... I am using my OWN planner more than ever these days. But I keep misplacing it. (I'm pretty sure it's WITH my sunglasses. If only I could remember where I put those.)

A few people in my life think it's pretty funny to see me like this. I have to admit, I don't think I'm quite as stressed because I really can't remember what I'm supposed to be doing half the time anyway. It's kind of fun to float through life without so many worries. Until someone calls, of course, and reminds you you are an hour late and you were supposed to bring a plate of brownies.

I'm hoping that at least some of my brain cells will be restored after the baby arrives. I'm really missing the old me. The one who can remember. Maybe I'll see her again next year?

PS... I actually wrote this post four days ago. But I forgot to hit "publish".

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How does a little whine sound?

As of today, I have exactly three months until Baby Girl will enter the world. Ah. The beauty of a scheduled C-Section.

I want to write something really sweet about how much we can't wait to meet our new family member. And I also want to write something funny about how the kids try to yell messages to the baby through my belly button and then try to line up their ears directly over the belly button to hear the answer.

But first... I was wondering if you all would like to hear me whine?

I mean, really?? What is more pleasant than hearing a pregnant woman whine continuously about all of her aches and pains? You are dying to hear it, aren't you?

You do have to admit, that the last trimester of pregnancy is filled with some of the most unmentionable bodily malfunctions that women experience in the first to middle half of life. Fortunately, I had forgotten about some of these horrifying aches, or I would have spent at least ten times as much time dreading month #7 as I have up until now.

And the problem is, you really can't just mention in casual conversation that all of the muscles in the lower half of your body feel like they are being pulled apart by a giant torturing device. It's just not socially acceptable.

Even when my midwife asks me how I'm doing, I still smile and tell her everything is perfect.

"You are way easier than... um... most of my patients," she stresses over and over again in such a tone that I wish she would go ahead and add "most of my NORMAL 25-YEAR-OLD patients who aren't old enough to be a GRANDMA, AND IT'S A MIRACLE YOU CAN EVEN GET OUT OF BED!"

So, I was thinking that maybe once a week or so, I could just set aside a time here on the blog when I could write down all that's hurtin' me. And then you readers would know in advance just to skip reading that whole post and go straight to the comments and say something like, "Hope you're feelin' better today."

And then I would believe for a few minutes that someone actually cares that I have to wake up every time I want to flip over in bed because my stomach is so heavy, except that I'm awake anyway to go to the bathroom, and then I would feel better because of all of the sympathy.

Whaddaya think?

(Smile and nod. Smile and nod.)

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Counting days

"How many more days, Mom?"

That seems to be the question everyday. How many more days?

Well... it's been 23 weeks, and we have 119 days to go.

I hate counting down the days of my life like this, but I just can't seem to stop. For each day I add to the expired days pile, I seem to lose a little more energy and a few more brain cells. For each day on the days to go side, something new begins to hurt and I feel a little extra weight on my body.

Thankfully, we got a new date to count toward: Dec. 3. That will most likely be the day I will schedule my C-Section. It's the earliest my doctor will possibly deliver the baby since that puts me at 39 weeks. I like that date because it has some numeric elements that will make it easy for me to remember: 12-03-09. 12-3=9. See?

We have so many other important dates to look forward to before then though:
The first day of school
Two children's birthdays in September
One more in November
My parent's 50th wedding anniversary
Our wedding anniversary
Thanksgiving

And today!!

What are some of the dates that you are counting down to in your life?

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22 weeks and 3 days

I keep thinking that now that I'm more than halfway through my pregnancy I should update my tummy photo again.

So, this morning, my daughter took some pictures of me using Photo Booth on my laptop. My husband took the camera with him to New Zealand and then took approximately zero photos the whole week. I guess the inside of his hotel room and the warehouse where he spent the week weren't feeling very photogenic.

Turns out, neither was I! To make matters worse, Photo Booth has the same remarkably low photographic quality of a real photo booth.

I have been feeling especially prego -- like my stomach has really popped out the past couple of weeks. And yet, people still express surprise when I tell them I'm halfway through my pregnancy. So, I thought the photo would definitely prove my point. "Can't you SEE how big my stomach is?!?"

But with each photo we took, even the kids agreed that my rear end looked really pregnant, but maybe I should stick out my tummy a little more. I think my upper arm also seems to be carrying quite a bit of baby weight.

My kids were so cute telling me to stand more sideways and adjusting the computer screen to try to improve the size of my stomach in the photo. But only my backside continued to get larger with each adjustment.

I can assure you that my doctor, midwife and the super specialist doctor who does ultrasounds on women who have "high-risk pregnancies" all agree that the baby is exactly the right size and my tummy measures exactly the right size. And yet, I just don't stick out that much.

So, for the record, here I am at 22 weeks and 3 days ...


I'll spare you the more sideways view in which my tummy and behind were exactly proportional. I'm definitely enjoying not being hugely pregnant... yet, at least. And I do soooo appreciate people telling me that I look good.

But I feel like I'm constantly trying to explain myself. When I tell people I'm pregnant, they often react with surprise (which I think is normal). Then, they ask the natural question, "How far along are you?"

"Well... I'm sort of, well, like... I'm not really that far, just maybe around 20 weeks or something... sort of half way... but I don't know... who's really counting..."

It's funny. I actually had a few meaningful things I was planning to write when I sat down here, but I've completely forgotten what they are.

So, Happy Sunday night! I'll be back later!

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Half-way through!

I just looked at the little pregnancy calculator widget on my Google homepage and realized that I am exactly half-way done! Isn't that hard to believe? Today marks week 20: 140 days down, and 140 days to go.

Now that all of the nausea is over, I have felt so good that I STILL often forget I'm pregnant!

I usually wake up in the morning and go through the same groggy thought process.

"Something is different... what is it? ... what is it? ... I know there's something..."

Then I feel a little flip in my tummy. This is the most amazing reminder. I'm usually starting to come out of my coma at this point, and it hits me.

"THAT was a person! THAT was the teeny tiny foot of a 10-once person who actually lives inside my body!"

I usually lay there for a few more minutes just to be sure.

WHOOP!

"She turned over! I felt her bottom brushing against the inside of my tummy. Crazy!" I think.

And then I realize it's not just ANY baby. It's my daughter! It's a little girl who will probably resemble my other children and who hears the sound of my heartbeat and knows the sound of my voice and will immediately recognize my scent as the smell of her mother!

My disbelief is compounded by the fact that my stomach STILL does not look big enough to house a baby with a beating heart, pumping lungs, kicking legs and a fully-formed head, complete with eyelashes. I might even have my doubts if I had not seen her for myself when the doctor did the ultrasound.

With all of my pregnancies, I seem to carry the baby in such a way that my stomach doesn't stick straight out until the very end. I just sort of get thick all over. So, I get tons of comments throughout the day about how I don't look pregnant.

And that's fine. It's really a compliment, and I'm thankful that it's going so well. But it also causes me to spend a ridiculous amount of time analyzing the size of my stomach.

The movement helps ease any fears I might have. I treasure every flip, kick, turn and punch. It's one of the rare times in life that I get to be part of a miracle. The amazing miracle of a 10-inch baby who lives inside my tummy.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
Psalm 139: 13-14

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Top-secret confessions

An interesting thing has happened since the worlds of my 40-year-old pregnancy and my blog collided.

You would not believe how many women have secretly confided in me that either:

a. They have a child-shaped longing in their heart that won't go away, but their husband isn't on board with the plan.
b. Even though they are of advanced maternal age, they would like to have another baby.
c. They would secretly love to unexpectedly get pregnant.
d. They really want to wear cowboy boots but don't have enough nerve.

So, I would like to dispel a few myths about advanced maternal age, as well as propose a new idea that I believe will sweep the nation.

I realize I'm only 20 weeks into this process, but this honestly has been the easiest pregnancy I have had.

With my first pregnancy, I was commuting into the city everyday, walking several miles to and from the train station, working long hours, stressed out and had no hope of taking a nap.

With the second pregnancy, I had a 1-year-old boy running around who was not the slightest bit happy with the idea of his world being invaded by another baby who might want some of his mother's attention.

And with the third, I had two little boys, 3 and 1, who still wore diapers, needed help getting in car seats, had to have scheduled naps and had very strong negative opinions about using the potty.

Now, I have three children who can actually help empty the dishwasher, fold the laundry and clean the toilet. They can't wait to start reading books to the baby, learn how to change diapers and help push the stroller. And the best part? They love nothing more than for their mom to take a nap because this idea holds the hope that they might get to watch TV!

So, with that reassurance, I think it's time for all of the 40-year-olds out there who secretly want another child to come out of the closet. I know that some of you are close to sending someone off to college. You might even be enjoying long weekends away with your husband because your children are old enough to babysit for themselves. Maybe you are entering a new phase where all of your children are off at school all day and you can finally focus on your own interests.

But come on! Isn't all of that a little over-rated?!?

Just think of a cute, cuddly little baby with soft skin who smells like baby powder. Think of the tiny clothes, the first words, first crawls, first steps.

Besides, if more people would just join me in this, we could start a whole PRODUCT LINE! We could make a special line of wrinkle remover for pregos. We could start our own exclusive playgroups for moms over 40! What about a healthy line of food for old pregnant people who are watching their cholesterol?

This could be a GROUND FLOOR opportunity! Don't you want to get on board NOW before this idea takes off??

Come on, Ladies! Who's with me?

Anyone? Anyone?

Hello??

Anyone? ... Bueller? ... Hello?

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Oh, boy! Oh, girl! Oh, my! Oh, wow!

When my daughter was about 2 years old, she used to roam around the house, looking for something. Then she would walk up to me, shrug her shoulders, raise her hands and ask, "Where my sista?"

Oh, my sweet girl. She did this so many times, and it broke my heart every time.

I am blessed with two wonderful sisters, and I couldn't imagine my daughter going through her entire life without one of God's greatest gifts. A sister.

Well, today was the big day. It was the day the whole family has been anticipating for 20 weeks. My ultrasound. Oh... if this is news to you, you better go here real quick and get caught up. Don't worry. I'll wait.

Everyone in the family has had a very strong hunch that we were having a girl.

"Alayna HAS to have a sister!" even the boys would say.

But what if it wasn't?

"God knows exactly what baby our family needs and he is going to give it to us," I told the kids -- and myself -- 100 times.

I could barely sleep last night with anticipation. When the ultrasound tech gave us the news, I couldn't hold back my tears.

It's amazing enough that my 40-year-old body is the home to a growing, thriving baby! But how much more can God bless us that the heart, the lungs, the brain, the spine, the bones all appear to be perfect?!

And, it's a girl.

A G-I-R-L!

A GIRL! A GIRL! A GIRL! A GIRL! A GIRL! A GIRL! A GIRL!

Of course, we all would have loved a boy just as much. With all three of my other children, I truly did not even have a preference going into the 20-week ultrasound. But I am so thankful to be able to give Alayna a sister.


She even spread out her fingers to give us a wave. I'm already having proud mommy moments since the doctor said it's rare for a baby to do that in utero.


And then she posed to show us her footprints:



I am so amazed. So blessed. So thankful. So happy. Thank you, God, for such an amazing gift!

Now, there's a new question coming out of my daughter's mouth:

"When will my sister come out?"



If you liked this post, you also will like:
the gift of motherhood
If you read nothing else, you might want to read this one
advanced maternal age
jayda
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random thursday thoughts

1. I just want you all to know that I go through each day with the same thoughts in my head:

I'm not going to update my blog today. Nope. Won't do it. I'm not gonna do it. Seriously. How much of your rambling can people really read? Today, I will keep all of my thoughts safely confined inside my head. Not gonna let 'em out. No. I. will. not. They are staying in the head.

Well... maybe I could write down just one thing. Only three paragraphs, though. Not another 1,200 word post. Nope. Gonna be short. Keeping it all inside today. Quiet. Shhh.

I think you can guess who keeps winning this battle.

2. Ummm. So, thank you for coming by. I was just wondering who you are. I see people on my stats everyday who never say a peep. Just wanted to say, "Hi!". I wish you ALL had a blog so I could read the random thoughts going through your head.

3. We're getting used to our new life here in Seattle. I might have only mentioned it 52 times, but it has rained here everyday for two dozen or more days. (Not scientific fact, just based on observation.) We're starting to actually like it.

We have gone to the pool everyday this week, despite the thunderstorms, 74 degree temps and black skies. We were cracking up yesterday. The sky was thick with dark clouds, but it wasn't supposed to rain. The pool was PACKED! The water is heated to about... I don't know... 80 degrees, so it was warmer in the water than outside.

People didn't care. They were pouring into the pool. It was like everyone had just given up on waiting for a sunny day and they were going swimming anyway.

Oh, I'm sorry. I don't REALLY live in Seattle. Because I guess it hasn't rained for 29 DAYS in Seattle! Nope. This is the Midwest. And we are used to crazy weather. We are used to snow storms. Traffic jams. Ice storms. Tornadoes. And we don't care if it rains for 24 days in a row. We're going to the pool!

4. Actually, I think I'm going to miss the cool, rainy days when they finally go away next week. We've been getting lots done indoors and reading tons of books. Our most recent favorite is "A Cricket in Times Square."

5. The kids went with me to my doctor's appointment this week so they could hear the baby's heartbeat. They were squealing and giggling with delight... Speaking of the kids, I have to write down the story of their reaction when we told them we were having a baby. It was priceless.

6. I'm trying not to write about being pregnant every second. But on Thursdays, I get to mark off another week. This week, I hit #15. The cravings aren't as bad. I still want to eat Mexican food almost everyday, but I think that was the case before. Now, it's more a matter of: "If I don't get some guacamole in the next 20 minutes, someone's gonna pay!"

Thank you to the ladies who went out to dinner with me last night. Just finished my leftovers. Yum! I also would like some PF Chang's, so give me a call if you are looking to go out to dinner. =]

7. And speaking of dinner, I'm going to make lasagna. Mmmmm. It's going to be so good.

8. Finally, my tummy is starting to puff out. It's hard to tell if you don't know me that well. Here's the pic. As you can see, I carry most of my baby weight in my arms and legs. It's kind of a new "cool" thing in pregnancy. Maybe it only affects those of us in, um, our advanced maternal age.



I know what you're going to say about the tummy... "You can't even see it."

Trust me. It's there. Here's a close-up.


See? If nothing else, we can consider that the "before" shot.

9. Now... should I hit publish? Hmmmm. Oh, what the heck.



Related posts you might like:
the midwife
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advanced maternal age

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the midwife

When I was pregnant with our first child nine years ago, I assumed that anyone who had completed at least one year of medical school could probably deliver a baby.

I mean you see it all the time on TV. People have babies in the subway, in taxi cabs, on the sidewalk, in the woods. Some stranger who is walking by stops to help, and Mom and baby are fine.

So, I opened the book of HMO docs and randomly chose the female OB with the most normal-sounding name. I was really happy when at 41 weeks they sent me to the hospital, and I found out that my favorite of the four doctors who were part of that practice was the one on call.

But 24 hours later, I would wake up from a drug-induced sleep to the startling reality that delivering a baby isn't as simple as it sounds. Sometimes things go wrong. And sometimes, once things start going wrong, everything seems to go wrong.

I found out that delivering a baby can be highly risky to a mom and her newborn. The baby doesn't always want to move down that dark tunnel called the birth canal. And then it's no longer a matter of catching a baby, it's a surgical procedure.

And I found out that not all anesthesiologists are created equal, either. Most are probably trained to make sure the patient is completely numb BEFORE the doctor starts a C-Section. And I found out that it's even possibly to slice vital organs while performing what sounds like a simple surgery.

So, when God blessed us with our second child, I no longer cared about nice sounding names, pretty maternity suites that served cookies before bed or the gender of my doctor. Nope. A friend recommended her doctor who she described as "nearly a plastic surgeon" when it came to performing C-sections.

Thankfully, this older male doctor came equipped with a delightful sidekick. A midwife.

Doris, the midwife, was perfect in every way. She listened when a hormonal prego woman suddenly burst into tears. She would hold your hands and pray for you at each visit. She was there every step of the way, even if your baby was coming out "the sunroof", as she described it.

Doris was a cute, blonde, runner in her mid 30s when I met her. She didn't get married herself and have her first child until she was close to 40. And over the years, I have thought many times about some of the last words she said to me after I had my third child, my daughter, at the age of 36.

Doris asked me if we planned to have any more children. "I'm just too old," I said. Even then, I was labeled as "high-risk" and sent for Level 2 ultrasounds to make sure everything was going OK.

"You are not even CLOSE to being too old," Doris reassured me. In fact, Doris reassured me about everything all of the time.

"You can do it."

"It's going to be fine."

Those are the kind of words you expected to hear from Doris.

In the years since I had my daughter, Doris got married and moved away and started her own family. The older doctor who delivered my second son retired and was replaced by a younger doctor. And he hired a new midwife, who I will call B.

This younger doctor doesn't have the best bedside manner. I always feel nervous when I talk to him. I don't know why.

But for my third C-section, he cut an incision and sewed it up so beautifully that four years later, my scar is nearly invisible. What he lacks in personality, he makes up for in skill with a sharp instrument and sewing utensils. And I learned the hard way, that when you are having a C-section, a good surgeon is far more important than a nice personality.

So, when I found out I was pregnant, I called his office to make an appointment with B, the midwife. I told the receptionist I thought I was pregnant and gave her my birthdate: 4-21-69.

I assumed she would sound some sort of alarm and request that I come in for an exam immediately. Surely, she would put it all together that I was only a few weeks short of 40 and see the urgency in my case.

"B is in your local office on Tuesdays. Her next opening is in two weeks. How about April 21st?"

You want me to wait two weeks? April 21st? I gave it a moment's thought. I really didn't want to wait THREE weeks until the following Tuesday. My 40th birthday. How ironic.

Couldn't I come in just one day earlier. When I was still in my 30s?

So, there I sat in the waiting room for my 5 p.m. appointment on my 40th birthday.

I tried to keep my head low so the pregnant women sitting elbow-to-elbow in the crowded waiting room wouldn't notice me.

I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I was afraid that someone would see my fine lines and wrinkles and make an announcement to the packed room.

"What is SHE doing here?"

I buried my nose in my book, but I couldn't get myself to read a single word.

Finally, the nurse called me back. "Um. We don't have an exam room available yet, but since you have been a patient here for such a long time, we wanted you to come on back and give us a urine sample. You can just wait back here until the next room opens up."

Whew! I escaped the waiting room!

Finally, it was my turn in the exam room. And B came in to chat.

"Well, happy birthday!" she exclaimed.

My eyes were full of tears. I know it must be hard to understand. I'm so grateful to be pregnant. I know other people struggle with infertility. Or they don't get married until later in life. And they would trade spots with me in a heartbeat.

It wasn't that I was sad. Or upset. In fact, I was overcome with awe and wonder.

But at that early stage I was really struggling with fears about how I would handle being pregnant, how I would make it through a fourth C-section and all of the negative things I had read about "advanced maternal age".

I was really needing Doris more than anyone at that moment. I was wondering if they could give me her phone number. I kept replaying that conversation we had four years ago.

I started telling B what was on my mind.

"Let's just not worry about all of that," said B. She's a very nice woman, a few years younger than I am. She's attractive and likable and seems to do a good job. But she's definitely NOT Doris.

"Let's just take this a day at a time. Let's just focus on today. Your birthday. You don't need to look too far ahead. Let's not worry about the birth or what it's going to be like to have a baby."

Why not? I was thinking.

"Let's just make sure the baby is viable."

V-I-A-B-L-E?

Oh, I get it. I smiled and nodded. OK, sure. Let's just make sure.

I was cracking up on the inside. Oh, how Doris never in a million years would have said those words.

I'm just so happy that I know who is in control. It's not me. And it's not B. And He will get me through whatever comes my way.

And I really don't have to worry. And I CAN think ahead. And I can plan. And I can even listen to her make such comments and just laugh inside. And I can even do it without Doris. She was a big help, but I suddenly realized she wasn't the one who gives peace.

As I left the exam room, my chart must have exchanged hands a few more times.

"Happy birthday!" said another nurse.

"Happy birthday!" exclaimed the receptionist who made my next appointment.

It was a happy birthday. And it's been a happy 14 weeks so far.