Monday morning

29 07 2008

After dinner, I sat at the table eating scraps of corn bread and fighting back tears. My husband was folding laundry and cleaning the kitchen and we were talking about the day. I know that the things that are going wrong with this pregnancy are not my fault, but I feel like a failure.

My dear friend, who is just about 9 months pregnant with her third child, arrived with her sweet little girls around 10 am. I was still in my pajamas, hair a mess, teeth unbrushed, glasses crooked. Micah was still in his clothes from yesterday and Asher’s t-shirt was on backwards. My husband was in his pajamas. He had not showered or shaved since Friday. There were crumbs on the counters. Crumbs on the floors. Crumbs everywhere.

While I went to my bedroom to get dressed, the kids began to play in the loft. By the time I could get my clothes on, face washed, and teeth brushed, my nearly 4 year old Asher was swiping the girls and his brother in the head with a foam sword. I asked him to stop and he ran away from me screaming. I put the swords away and dragged him to his first timeout of the day.

In the quiet minutes – three and a half quiet minutes to be exact – while Asher sat on the bottom stair, Micah went into the bathroom to try to fish used toilet paper out of the toilet his big brother had not flushed. I washed his hands and came back to the loft to catch Asher screaming because the baby had walked over his train set.

We went downstairs for a snack. We had pizza – which Micah calls pee pee – and beef jerkey – which Asher calls hard bacon. And some fruit and guppy crackers. By the time the snack turned into lunch, it was almost time for the friends to go home.

The kids were playing with Asher’s doctor set. Instead of a nice doctor, however, Asher was chasing his friend around with the plastic scapel pretending to cut her open. When it was time to say goodbye, we went back upstairs to gather up shoes and things. At this point, Asher lost it and hit his friend over the head with a part of his wooden trainset. She cried and was hurt, but my son was so lost in his obsession with his toys that he could barely apologize without looking at the train set.

It only got worse from there. Early in the afternoon, my husband found Asher wrestling with Micah, who was crying and terrified. An hour or so later, Asher pushed Micah down half a flight of stairs. Micah has a bump and a scrape on his forehead, rug burn on his back, and I’m guessing quite a headache from the fall.

Five time outs and at least a dozen spankings later, Asher is sleeping. My husband is downstairs doing dishes to techno music and I’m in bed, where I should have been most of the day. I had too many contractions today. They seem to be the worst when I’m on my feet, particuarly in moments of physical or emotional stress.

I feel like a failure. I feel guilty that I cannot manage the kids. I feel guilty that Asher is having such a hard time, because I know it is a reaction to me. I can’t take him to the park or beach. We can’t ride bikes or run in the sprinklers. I have to spend most of the day in bed or on the couch and I need his help.

Everyday he says, “Mama, I’m so mad at you.” I understand how he’s feeling. I’m mad at me.

I feel guilty that I cannot pick Micah up. And then in those moments when he needs me – like when his brother pushes him down the stairs and he is crying frantically – I do pick him up. And then I feel guilty because I am not supposed to pick him up. I feel even worse when I start contracting after I pick him up.

I feel guilty when the kids interupt Mark when he’s working at home. I feel guilty that he has to work at home to help me. I feel guilty that he has to bring me breakfast and do the laundry and the dishes. I feel guilty that we cannot have sex, even when he is the most amazing husband and daddy in the world.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to lay in bed and let others serve me. I don’t know how to rest. I don’t know how to take care of my children through this season. I love them and it breaks my heart to think about missing so much of their lives over the next six months. I don’t know how to encourage my husband through this.

I believe that for most women, pregnancy and birth are something natural and miraculous that our bodies are created to do. But for me, I feel like something has gone wrong. My uterus contracts and contracts, and at some point this will turn into labor. My cervix is short and will begin to change as the baby grows and adds pressure behind the contractions. And now the baby’s placenta is growing over my cervix. This means that at some point, if the contractions continue and my cervix begins to change, and if the placenta doesn’t move in time, I will start to bleed. This puts both my life and the life of my baby at risk.

And that’s scary. Underneath all of this I am scared. I am terrified of loosing our child. I am scared that everytime I go to the bathroom, I’ll see blood. That the last contraction would be one too many and the risks would become too real.




One response

29 07 2008

hi sara. what a day my friend. i am praying for you. and more than that I want to be one of those who gets to serve you during this season. can i start serving you by being your intercessor? will you call me when you need a specific prayer? let’s start there. more to come.

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