Five years ago today was a Thursday. I don't have to look that up- I just know. I had been doing a bunch of last-minute errands the day before, preparing for Christmas, running around and exhausting my 5-month pregnant self.
I woke up feeling achy and off. I resolved to take it easy that day. I went so far as to pop in Baby Einstein for the 10-month old and sit on the couch to crochet.
I was wearing a dull teal top and size 8 non-maternity jeans.
By noon, I knew something was very, very wrong. I was bleeding. My husband was two hours away.
The doctor told me three things:
- I had to get into the office (despite the snow) ASAP.
- I should NOT- under any circumstances- lift my 30 lb baby son.
- To not panic- things like this are scary, but happen fairly frequently and are usually harmless.
Within four hours, I would ride with my sister-in-law to the doctor and find out I was in labor- 3 cm dilated and not yet 24 weeks pregnant. I would ride, semi-reclined in the back of a minivan, to the "big-city" hospital... the one with the level III NICU in case they couldn't stop my labor. I would call my husband, and my mom, and deliver the news so calmly and without any tears.... so calmly, my husband almost didn't believe me. I would kiss my baby boy goodbye as he rode off with my mother-in-law. I would get admitted and learn that I would NOT be home for Christmas.
Five years ago, I was praying and praying that my body could somehow sustain the pregnancy for another six weeks or more. Ideally, I would have loved another three or four months.
Five years ago today, I was full of fear and hope. I had no idea what I would be receiving for Christmas that year.
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