Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Our Unique Mother's Day Weekend Celebration

Because I am sort of like a half-mother (or a mother who has eaten her kid, either way), Bradley was very sweet and decided to take me out for a Mother's Day dinner date to a restaurant that's just a few blocks from our apartment in downtown Provo.  We've been wanting to try this restaurant ever since we first drove past it who knows how long ago, and now that we live two feet from it we were like, BAM, let's do this.

Before we left, my sister had requested a belly picture to show her co-workers.  Yep, still pregnant.  Over 38-weeks along right here!




Early the next morning, however, Bradley and I found ourselves checking into the hospital at 4:30 AM, with me looking more like this...




...and with this lovely thing stuck in my hand (that was their fourth attempt at an IV--I had thrown up on my way to the hospital and was so dehydrated that they kept breaking through my blood vessel's valve)!




I had woken up with a headache that early, early morning and was out in the living room trying to get it to go away after many failed attempts, when I had realized that my normally spastic son was not moving.  Like, at all.  And hadn't for the past hour.  I then spent the next two hours trying the tricks to make him move--lay on my left side, drink juice, eat something sugary... none of it worked.

When I woke Bradley up and him bugging George did nothing to stir him, that's when I really freaked out.  Because, seriously, nothing makes him an angry wiggler like his dad bugging him.  At that point we were trying everything that pisses George off--shoving frozen bacon against my stomach, super full bladder, everything we could think of.  The little boy would not move!  And it was panic inducing!

However, getting to the hospital after over three hours of no movement... suddenly, George was fine.  He was moving like a fiend again.  His heartbeat was great.  That would be why I'm smiling in that not-so-attractive photo above!  My kid was okay!  He was just a butt weasel!  But really, George actually saved my butt.  My headache had taken a turn for the worse (which is why I had thrown up on the way there), and turns out I was getting hit-up with some pre-preeclampsia.  Like, not yet preeclampsia, but at risk.

So, to make sure that George and I were okay, Brad and I were at the hospital from 4:30 AM to 1:30 PM that Saturday.  This day included our Burrito Boy moving so much that the heartbeat sensor had to be shifted, like, every ten minutes, and then us going to the ultrasound appointment only to have him choose to spend the first thirty-five minutes of the forty minute appointment taking a nap.  Yep, he would not move for the ultrasound technician until the last five minutes.  He's apparently already a pill.

So, you know, beyond me breaking down into tears when they went to do their fourth try at an IV (yes, total meltdown.  Remember, needles are not my strong suit.  I'm just impressed that I didn't cry at any of the first three tries), and also sobbing because my headache got to proportions that I don't ever, ever want to return to, the hospital visit was actually really nice.  I mean, they gave me apple juice with rabbit turd ice and a bendy straw!  I also got to use a miracle drug that made taking a nap warm and comfy.  Unfortunately, that magic wore off within two hours and that's when the tears over the head pain began again.  Lortab fixed that, however.  Oh, thank goodness for Lortab!

But really, that kid of mine saved me.  If he hadn't stopped moving, I would've never thought to go to the hospital for my headache, and I was told that I could very well have developed preeclampsia (Downton Abbey and Sybil, anyone?).  So, thank you, Jorge.  For freaking out your parents, all to unwittingly save your mother from the worst headache she's ever experienced.  Without those pain medications, holy crap, I think I may have died.  Or something melodramatic like that.

Bradley also just went on to prove that, yet again, he is the most incredible man that could ever be called "husband".  Not only was he calm as this all was going on, but remarkably efficient--he packed a hospital bag in like five minutes flat all the while remembering that we should pre-register for the hospital online, as well as thinking to call his dad in the case another priesthood-holder was needed.  He told my mom what was happening because I couldn't without crying (and then made me talk to my mom anyway because he knew I needed to).  He helped me pull through three needle pokes without any tears and a lot less panic, and even during the fourth one, where I did finally cry, he helped me to cry it out and then let them finally do it.  Never once did he panic or make me panic, he was just there and calm and ready.

Oh, and when I barfed in the car?  It was in a barf bucket, thank goodness, but we had to stick it under our car because we didn't want it sitting in there stinking it up, so by the time we were checked out of the hospital at 1:30 PM, the barf had totally cooked into the barf bucket.  Just, baked.  And Bradley was the one to pick it up and throw it away.  He hates barf.  (And also may never drink V8's fruit juice again.)

Basically, he's greatness to a scale that cannot be computed.  He's constantly saving my behind.  And his son, however pill-ish he may be, saved my bottom, too.  And I love these two people.

(Even though the one is still in my belly.  And refuses to come out, even though his due date is tomorrow.)