Tuesday was a wild ride. Not 10 minutes after I finished my previous post, I shut down the computer, headed upstairs and readied for bed. Tiff was very uncomfortable, so much so that she decided it best to call our doctor to describe her discomfort. He decided it was pains due to the pressure caused by the stitch so he said he'd be in on Tuesday and wanted her to come in a day early to have it removed. Here we go...we thought.
The procedure went as well as could be expected. It was tremendous pain for Tiffany having the actual procedure but as I have came to expect with her, she handled it with grace and determination. They immediately checked her cervix and she was already dilated at 2.5 cm. It was all about to happen! About an hour later she had gone to 4 cm and they told us to get ready, we were having this baby. The parents rushed over and the waiting began. Then something funny happened, she just stopped progressing. Nothing wrong, just the baby was not thinking that a Tuesday arrival was appropriate at this time. So we were sent home to wait it out.
At first, there was a bit of deflation but after I really thought about it, we had been given a special gift. While 50% would deliver soon after the procedure, she was one of the luck ones. One that was able to now head home and treat this arrival as a 'traditional' pregnancy. We now had the unique experience of being able to actually find joy and celebration in her water breaking or increased contractions. We actually could breathe easy as those very actions where now a reason to celebrate, not to find panic in. So here we sit some 60 hours later and we are taking it all in stride. The worries behind us, the anticipation around us, and the reason to celebrate just beyond our horizon that we have so desperately longed for.
Hours, days, or weeks...we have been given a great and unexpected gift. One of anxiousness and joy all rolled into every last contraction. The very reason for all of our pain is now in our grasp and we finally can sit back and take it all in.
E-I-G-H-T!?!?
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Eight. 8. Ocho. Anyway you say it, I don't like it. Eight definitely
removes any chances of being called a baby. Eight means going into third
grade. E...
13 years ago
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