8 Weeks Too Early

My water broke on Friday morning - three days after my 32 week doctor's appointment. I've always had such uncomplicated pregnancies it was honestly the last thing I was expecting. I was getting breakfast ready as usual for the kids who were clambering around the table. I walked into the kitchen and it just happened - a gush that soaked me all the way down to my shoes. It was unmistakable. (Even though my water has never broken on it's own before. With all of my other babies, the doctor had to break my water during labor). And I knew what it meant. Contractions started immediately. I panicked. Nate ended up rushing me to the emergency room - all four kids in tow (still in their pajamas). After the nurses and my doctor did a quick assessment which included an IV (for fluids and antibiotics), steroid shots (to help speed up the baby's lung development), an ultrasound (to check on remaining amniotic fluid levels), and lots of blood work and paper work, they transferred me by ambulance to a better hospital with a top notch NICU. Meanwhile, Nate spent a hectic morning taking on the kids, figuring out what to do with them and who to call for help, worrying about me, and emailing work constantly on his blackberry. A friend picked up all the kids at the hospital, took them back to our house and got them ready for school. She and another friend took Eliza for the rest of the day (including a trip to the doctor after she accidentally drank a bottle of hand sanitizer) As soon as my mom heard what had happened, she was on the next flight and arrived here Friday evening. I can't imagine what we'd do without her.

So here I am in the hospital. No baby yet thankfully. Contractions have pretty much stopped and as far as everyone is concerned the baby and I are both "stable". I lost so much initial amniotic fluid that my stomach visibly shrunk and I hardly look pregnant at all. Which makes me even more aware of how little (and not ready) this baby is. Everyone here - the neonatal specialists, the maternal-fetal specialists, and my own doctor - seem concerned but confident. They are constantly weighing the risks of infection (and low amniotic fluid levels) the longer the baby stays in utero with a ruptured membrane verses the risk of delivering the baby too prematurely. They have been monitoring my contractions and the baby's heart rate non-stop. They check my vitals every two hours. And draw my blood every morning to check for even the slightest indication of infection. Right now, it looks like they are hopeful (as long as I don't go into labor) about letting the baby mature one more week before delivery (which means one more week tied to this hospital bed and away from my family - ugh). But apparently one week of fetal development at this stage makes a huge difference. Even so, it still means our baby girl will be born premature. Which scares me. And instead of 19 months apart, Eliza and her sister will be 17 months apart.

Overall I'm bored and having a hard time staying put - connected to so many wires. I'm worried about my baby - listening non-stop to her heartbeat on the monitor and panicking at every dip and spike. Worried about what complications might lie ahead. I'm thinking constantly about the kids at home - their meals, routines, homework, practicing, activities. Missing them more than ever and wishing I were at home to play with them, read to them, talk with them, and kiss them good night. But I'm also grateful in so many ways. I'm grateful my baby is alive - moving and doing well despite everything. I'm grateful for my mom - dropping everything to fly out here and (amazing as always) jump in and take over without missing a beat. I'm grateful for Nate - unflappable through it all, being the mom and the dad, running back and forth between baseball games, school, home, the hospital, and work. And being at my beckoning call (thanks for all your much needed deliveries - books, toiletries, a computer! I love you.) I'm grateful for so many friends. So many phone calls. So many visitors. So many prayers. So many people wanting to help - wanting to give. Taking care of my kids. Bringing me ice cream and treats. Bringing cards and fun things to keep me busy. I feel so loved. But mostly I'm grateful to be a mother - the work, the pain, the worry, the joy, the laughter, and the love.

I'll take it all.

Any day.
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