You won’t find mother of the year here

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I feel like I’ve been complaining, a lot; however, I am being honest. Something I hope my friends and family have come to expect from me…honesty. It’s so rarely seen anymore. Many don’t know it when it stares them right in the face. Other’s don’t care to know it at all because lying is easier.

Me? I prefer the truth. I will lie on certain things. Christmas. Birthdays. Other holidays/events where gifts or surprises are involved. But in all things big and major, I tell the truth.

I like to think that’s why some of you read the blog at all. Because of the honesty you’ll find here. Because it’s not post after post of how rosie things might be or could be or we would like them to be. We show you the honest truth. The nitty gritty of our lives, within reason. (Let’s face it, something things just aren’t meant for sharing. 😉 lol)

Rob and I spent the better part of 7-8 hours in L&D last night. When we arrived my contractions were 10 minutes apart. Then they were 7 minutes apart. Then 5 minutes. In the end, just before I was sent home, they were 3 minutes apart and kicking my butt.

Long story short, I was “violated” 6 ways from Sunday. Had one incredibly painful IV placed about 30 minutes before my release. And monitored for 7-8 hours. In the end, I had dilated to about 2 cm (an increase from the 1 cm/40% effaced I’ve been for 3-4 weeks) but that wasn’t enough. I needed to dilate more and faster for it to be “true labor”. They sent me home.

Elliott Richard was “spending the night” at Grandma and Grandpa G’s. I used that term loosely because apparently very little sleep was had.

Gavin spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa W’s. Although from what I hear, sleep was hard to come by there as well.

We got home at 2-ish am. I took a Darvocet and an Ambien to help me sleep. They finally kicked in (ie won out over the contractions) at around 4-4:30am. I slept for about 4 hours total last night. My uterus contacted away. Like the “Little Engine that Could” only without the accomplishment in the end.

We woke up. I took my morning meds. Made a quick trip to Wally World for envelopes for my cards. Came home. Laid down for a while. (Contracting 7-10 minutes apart all the while.) Grandma G and Aunt Jenny brought Elliott Richard home. Hung out with my Twitter Bug until the contractions became so bad that I was clinging to the couch for support and sobbing. Grandma G and Aunt Jenny came back. Elliott Richard was gone again.

Off to L&D we went again. So sure that “this was it”. So sure we would be seeing our Tiny soon. I contracted 3-5 minutes apart all the way to the hospital. I contracted during the entire trip from the ER to L&D. I contracted and I cried.

They wheeled me into L&D. My favorite nurse, Shawn, was on shift. She saw me. Then she saw the tears and lack of smile, which I usually always wear when I see her. (She is a truly special nurse in my book.) She caught on that we meant business and it might actually be it. It took a few moments to get my ID bands on because I was doubled over in pain. I finally flung my right arm out to the side so they could band me – pain or not. They debated moving my wheelchair because of the pain. I think I half mumbled, half grunted “it won’t matter”. So they moved me. As if I were either made of glass or going to shred their heads from their shoulders…I’m not sure which.

I climbed into bed with a lot of help from Rob. He helped me get dressed. Something that never happens due to my fierce independence streak. I think I laid my head on his chest and sobbed for a moment. I got into bed. Shawn came in. Hooked up the monitors. And as if she had flipped a switch (a very cruel and vindictive switch) it all stopped. My contractions disappeared. The few I had weren’t showing up on the monitor but were obvious upon viewing and feeling my belly. It all just came to a screeching halt.

I cried.

They checked me, again. I’m still dilated to 2cm. No change. These contractions that were bringing me to my knees sobbing in pain weren’t enough to get the job done.

I cried.

Shawn came back in. She zapped Tiny with a vibrator/buzzer thingie because he was asleep and they needed to see his heart rate with some increases and decells before they could release me. She placed it on my belly and *buzzt*. Tiny literally jumped from his spot head down with his back in the center of my belly to the left side of my belly. As far away from the violating “buzzt” as he could get. All in one moment, Shawn “buzzt” Tiny. Tiny jumped. And my entire uterus seized up in a massive contraction.

They were all happy with the outcome. We were discharged. The nurse who discharged me (not my beloved Shawn) said that the “seasoned nurses” swear by spicy food and sex. I’ve been eating spicy food. The other is a no-no while on strict bed rest, which Dr. D is adamant I continue until Tiny arrives or 37 weeks – whichever comes first.

We came home again.

Gavin is still with Grandma and Grandpa W.

Elliott was with Grandma and Grandpa G until about 2 hours ago. They were nice enough to bring him home along with Taco Bell for me (spicy food on a budget) and a sundae for Rob. Elliott fell asleep in the car. Rob carried him to bed.

I feel like a horrible mother.

I didn’t get to say “amens” (aka prayers) with Elliott Richard last night or tonight. I love to say “amens” with him. I didn’t get to tuck Gavin in or remind him that he needed to sleep and turn the TV off at 10pm last night or tonight.

When Tiny comes, if Heaven forbid he is in the NICU, I know I will camp out at the hospital. I will not leave. I will sleep in whichever room they see fit to give me. I will drag myself from bed every 3 hours to help feed him. I will pump enough milk to put most dairy cows to shame. I will ask questions. I will beg for chances to change diapers and watch baths. I will stalk my son, his nurses, his doctors and anyone else who may possibly have information on his progress and prognosis. My life Gavin and Elliott Richard, will be placed on hold. I will miss them. I will love them (no less or no more than Tiny). But I will be where I am needed most. And so the good of the two will stumble while I focus on the good of the one.

There is no doubt in my mind that Rob will at some point attempt to lure me home. Attempt to lure me back to normalcy. I can’t fathom that. I can’t fathom a sense of “normalcy” with one child fighting for life while the other two live. I can’t make that work out in my head.

In the end of July, I will be summoned to court. To defend myself against charges that have no basis within the scope of the real world. I will be drug my newborn child. Ripped away from him. I will likely be his only source for food. And yet, I will go. I will go because in the end of July, just as those few days from now, I will fight for the good of the one. While the good of the two must suffer. I will be angry. I will be hormonal. It’s likely that I will be blunt, which may or may not work to my favor. However, the fact will remain that for that day Gavin will be the good of the one. Elliott Richard and Tiny will be the good of the two placed on temp hold.

Until then, I am trying to find a way to survive. The contractions on a 10 on the lovely pain scale (that we all know I love so much) of 1-10. (1 being no pain at all and 10 being “a shark could be ripping my limbs off and I would not notice”) I’m so tired that Ambien on an empty stomach still takes 3 hours to kick-in over the pain. I’m so frustrated with my body and it’s sudden unwillingness to follow through. When I’ve been fighting it for 4 months to NOT follow through. I’m so frustrated that I struggle to see and feel the miracle that is every movement of Tiny within my belly. And this makes me feel horrible beyond words.

How many women would die to be me at this very moment? How many would love nothing more
and yet will not be granted such a miracle? What right do I have to complain and be irritated with the miracle that is our unborn son, when I myself was told 3 years that he was a complete and total impossibility.

For all of these things, and many other things that simply were unable to penetrate my sleep-hazy mind, I will not be awarded “Mother of the Year”. I am sorry to disappoint. I am a mother. I am a human. I am not Super Mom. At least, I’m honest about it. That counts for something, right?