Wednesday to Wednesday

Wednesday - my last OB visit

Friday morning, heading to the hospital.

Friday, November 9th, 10:20 am

Saturday. Home from the hospital after 36 hours.

Sunday.

Monday. Marmee's here!

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

...and then my camera broke. Let's not talk about it.
 
p.s. Happy Thanksgiving! We had a wonderful and relaxing one...although admittedly the only meal I actually contributed to was Dani's. Marmousch and Steve were rockstars in the kitchen. I'll have to share the pictures we took from our backup camera later. 

I have so much to be thankful for. I'm still pinching myself.

A welcome.

On Friday, November 9th at 20 minutes past ten in the morning, our daughter Daniela Lu was born. Our Dani. 19 1/2 inches long, weighing seven pounds and four ounces...although those statistics were taken a good 3 hours after birth and a few happy nursing sessions later since I wouldn't part with her for a second. 

She is perfect. She can stay.

p.s. VBAC. Yes! By the grace of God, my FANTASTIC doctor, a marvelous cheering squad of nurses, and the most amazing husband ever.

Thirty-seven. Now thirty-eight.

We've all come down with the plague, i.e. that first head cold of winter that makes Steve and I say to each other multiple times daily I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't feel like this. It started with Mila and while she bounced back after two days, one sweet night as she lay on my pillow and we were staring into each others' eyes she sneezed full on and as I felt my eyes, mouth and nose get sprayed I kind of caught of glimpse of this. Kind of. In my glimpse I was quietly suffering, in reality I'm really really vocal in my misery. It hurts to move, to breathe, sleep brings no relief, add to this the already whale-like feeling of feeling 28-months pregnant--oh, and every time I cough, I pee a little? You know? This just isn't fun anymore.

***
Above was the first little bit of a draft I wrote for my thirty-seventh week. But now it's Monday, which means we're at thirty-eight-and-one. That's how they say it at my doctor's office. You're thirty-eight-and-one since every single day counts. Would I like this baby to come out? Yes. Duh. Do I think that's really going to happen? If you look at my actions, it doesn't seem likely. Last night I stayed up late--I mean LATE--doing insane things like ordering felt balls off etsy and paging through the latest Martha Stewart magazine whilst salivating at the thought of being able to eat deep-dish apple pie on Thanksgiving. On Saturday night I made yarn pom-poms to attach to a new blanket I want to surprise Wugs with. If that's not crazy business-as-usual denial, I don't know what is. Many women suddenly clean their homes from top to bottom when in the last days of their pregnancy, but one who stays up past 1 am making pom-poms? Clearly I'm deranged. Baby blanket not yet finished. My hospital bag is only 1/3 packed. But pom-poms and felt balls, we has them. I guess this is my 'nesting' this time around.

Oh, and Steve and I are 99 % sure that poor Mila has hand-foot-mouth disease so that alone has me willing this baby to stay put just a little longer. Can you imagine? Mila, here's your new brother or sister that we've been talking up like crazy for the last 9 months but oh, you can't touch them. No kisses. In fact, just a wave will do. From the door. What a great start to a lifelong sibling relationship. 

So to sum up 37, now 38 weeks. Pom-poms. Some freak toddler sandbox- or shopping cart-catching affliction. And no recent bump picture, just some sweet and sad ones of poor Wugs as she lay on the couch this afternoon with an ice pack on her head and cool washcloth on her back. That pretty much says it all. We're all hoping for good health and to catch a little bit of a break in this next week or so. Just a little. I know the world isn't going to stop for us the way it did/does when you have your first child. The first child comes into a perfectly prepared, almost museum-like house that is hushed in anticipation of its arrival. All subsequent babies come into a home, one that already has a very established, usually chaotic rhythm. Wonderful, crazy chaos that we'll try our best to embrace while still soaking up every new second with our baby.

But until then, a little break perhaps, universe? And an earlier bedtime for me.